I got boobs early. Like real, real early. Legend has it that at age 6, I was abruptly forbidden from playing shirtless football with the neighborhood boys. My poor mother, a lifelong A cup, watched in horror as my tits grew and grew. There seemed to be no end to their magnificence. Of course, I didn’t realize the raw power they held until I was 22. No, seriously. 22. That’s when I understood that I needed to dress them up and take them out on the town. It’s been a big breast party ever since.
At 12, however, they were a burden. Running was difficult, if not impossible. People routinely bumped into my boobs when reaching for the salt or trying to hand me objects. Daily I stuffed these ridiculous mounds of flesh into cheap, white bras that provided no real benefit; they just strapped them down. Then my boobs and I went into the world, totally oblivious.
Fat Camp was a Big Boob Bonanza but even by fat girl standards, I had a healthy set of jugs. I was also completely and totally innocent. Like wide-eyed innocent, didn’t know nothin’ about nothin’, as all 12 year olds should be. There were two categories of boys: my brother and my father. My brother and all his friends were mean and dumb. My father was old. As far as I was concerned, there was no other kind of boy.
Many years later, I choose a college based on its academic reputation and location. Turns out, that college also had an alarmingly low number of males. Because of the imbalance, dudes who would never get laid in the real world got laid at that school. I imagine Fat Camp was a similar situation. Keep in mind, the age of the fat campers was 12 to 17. There was definitely some fat teenage sex happening. And remember, I was tall and busty—no one knew I was only 12. Except Marni, who figured it out when my father sent me a care package that included a book called “What’s Happening to My Body.” Jesus. (OMG I wonder if there's a book called "What's Happening to My Body, Jesus?")
I really only remember two boys from that summer: Will and Mike. Will was tall and pale and not even really fat. Pudgy, maybe. But not to the point where his parents needed to send him away to deal with it. Will was Mr. Personality. All the girls liked him; they giggled in his presence, cocked their head to the side and twirled their hair. He made the rounds, doing God only knows what with as many girls as he could. I know he got around to Marni, who was totally the Fat Camp Hot Chick. Since Marni and I were friends, I found myself hanging out with Will more than I would have liked.
I couldn’t figure out what the big deal was. I’d never seen such skinny pale legs in my life. He had a bad haircut and his neck was in desperate need of a shave. He also had acne, which was totally disgusting. ( I was blessed with amazing skin...until I turned 26. Then all hell broke loose). Will also wasn’t very interesting. His jokes weren’t funny, he would have rather burped the alphabet than read a book and he swore a lot. And not “damn” and “shit.” He said “fuck” all the time. That was the mother of all swears. I once got fined $20 for saying “fuck” in front of my sister. I’m totally fucking serious.
One evening during Movie Night, I sat beside Will and Marni, bored because we were watching The Dark Crystal again. I hate that goddamned movie and I blame Fat Camp. Suddenly, and without warning, Will turned to me and said, “You gotta let me feel your tits before they get small.”
Let me put this in perspective: he may as well have said to me, “Tonight I’m going to murder you while you’re sleeping.” My reaction was one of shock and fear. Why would I ever let him feel my breasts? Not just him, but anyone? Marni was giggling, and in hindsight, I understand that she was giggling because if she had a normal reaction, Will would consider that difficult and dump her. But at the time, I thought that she too had lost her mind. I mumbled something about having to pee and got out of there.
For days afterwards, Will would casually remind me that he needed to feel me up. For some reason, everyone thought this was hilarious. I had felt my own boobs and there was nothing special about them. I finally asked Molly why Will wanted to feel me up so bad. She looked at me like I was nuts and said, “Because he’s a boy.” When I didn’t say anything in response, she eyed me closely.
“Are you a virgin?” She asked.
I’m 12, I wanted to say. Of course I’m a virgin. But I just nodded.
“Holy shit!” Molly said. “I lost it when I was 13!”
Years later, I saw the movie Little Darlings and cried when Kristy McNichol had her tragic first time with Matt Dillon in the ramshackle boathouse. No one’s supposed to go out like that. But in the moment, I started to think I was weird or something. Was I supposed to let Will feel my boobs?
And then there was Mike. Mike was a tall, big lumbering 15 year old who hung out with all of us but was pretty quiet. I didn’t think much of him; after all, he was also a boy. The only thing I knew about him was that he was from Minneapolis, like I was. Mike wasn’t as gross as Will but he still thought things like farting were funny. Molly was after Mike on day 1. He seemed perplexed by her advances and although she told tales of hot, sweaty make-out sessions in the woods, I suspected she was lying.
One night, we had a Fat Camp Dance. That was the same night Marni taught me how to shave my legs. I wore a pink and white skirt with a white blouse. Chase, one of the counselors, had organized the dance. There were card tables set up with healthy snacks and sugar-free punch. At first, we all stood in our groups, whispering and giggling and no one was dancing.
“Come on, everyone!” Chase shouted. “It’s a dance! Do you know how many calories you burn dancing?”
Chase started us off with INXS and by the time Bon Jovi was played, I had finally grown tired of running my hand up and down my amazingly smooth calves and started dancing. Eventually, the first slow song of the night came on. Everyone cleared the floor, except Will and whoever he was into that night, and Molly dragged an awkward Mike on to the dance floor. As the night wore on, I started to feel bad about not having anyone to slow dance with, which was weird because I had never felt that way before. When Chase played “She’s Like the Wind”, someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned around. Mike stood in front of me, staring at his shoes.
“Wanna dance?” He mumbled.
I looked around for Molly and didn’t see her. I shrugged. “Ok.”
I can easily say it was the most uncomfortable 3 minutes of my life. Mike put his hands on my lower back and I put my hands on his shoulders. Then we rocked back and forth while Patrick Swayze crooned about looking in the mirror and seeing a young old man with only a dream. (What the hell does that even mean?) We didn’t say a word to each other the whole time. I had never been this close to a boy and it was kind of nice...kind of. I didn’t know what to do with my body or my face, so I just swayed. When the song was over, Mike let go of me and smiled. Then he asked if I wanted to go on a walk. Again, I shrugged. “Ok.”
I don’t remember what we talked about on our walk but I do remember when he suggested we sit under a tree. Then he pointed out a bat in the sky. As I looked up, he kissed me. But I mean, he kissed me. It was wet and sloppy and I was totally grossed out. When I was a little kid in pre-school, one of the after-school helpers (who was 8) used to take me in the closet and kiss me. But by “kiss”, I mean he would press his lips against mine super fast and that was it. This was totally different. He thrust his tongue into my mouth and wriggled it around. I felt like he was trying to swallow my head. When he finally stopped, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stared at him. What the hell was that? What did you just do to my face? After a long silence, Mike finally spoke.
“I can’t believe school starts in a month.”
“Yeah.”
“What school do you go to?” He asked.
“Sandburg”, I replied.
Mike turned to look at me. “Sandburg Junior High?”
“Yeah.”
Mike’s eyes got really wide. “What grade?" he asked
Shit. "7th."
Mike and I never talked again and that's really ok because I don't know what other people's first kisses were like but that was terrible. The following day, Mike clung to Molly like she was his mother and did so until the end of camp. I never let Will feel my boobs but he stopped asking, which I suspect was a result of a conversation that started off with, "Um...did you know Dresden is only 12?" I returned to the real world much wiser and much more convinced that boys were disgusting. And still with giant, giant knockers.
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