The schoolboys took notice, and before I knew it I was on my first date. He had grabby hands and sloppy kisses, but I still had a good time. I hooked up with another ball player the following week. Keeping them from going up my shirt wasn't easy. I let them touch my breasts over my clothes, but that was it. This went on until the football team's captain took me out. Conner acted different. He did nothing more than give me a kiss on the cheek after our date. For the first time, I wanted to go out with the same guy again. Conner took his time, and a few weeks later, my shirt and bra were completely off. He became the love of my teenage romantic life. He was the onehis hand in my back pocket when we walked through campus, hot kisses, and eventually backseat sex. We talked about attending the same college and getting married after we earned our diplomas. Even our names were the perfect match- Conner and Cami.

He played three sports and I attended every game. No, I wasn't cheerleader material because my coordination wasn't the best. I still enjoyed learning the cheers while I drooled over Conner's body on the field or court. Yes, he was still a growing teenager, but he lifted weights and had bulges in all the right places. I would lay with my head in his lap, running my fingers over his abs. They turned me on like nothing else. His biceps came in a close second. All he had to do was flex and I was a wet panty goner. I was the luckiest girl alive.

At least until the end of my junior year.

Leaving school late one evening after an ACADEC meeting, I noticed Conner's truck parked in a dark area next to the gym and I walked over. His practice had ended an hour earlier and I figured he was waiting for me. What I discovered was my future fiancé in the cab of his lifted truck having sex with the head varsity cheerleader. I was devastated and began yelling at him, calling him every name in the book. This activated a side of Conner I'd never seen. I'll never forget what he said.

"You're the locker room joke," he sneered. "Half the team has slept with you because of your big tits. Now I've had you too. Written on the locker room wall is 'For big tits and a quick fuck, call Cami,' and under it are all the names of the guys who took you up on your offer. You'll find my name at the bottom of the list and I'm sure next week another guy will add his."

Through my tears, I realized Conner hadn't even known I was a virgin. I ran to my car crying, vowing to never return to school.

There was no way I could tell my mother the truth and she refused to allow me to stay home with the weak excuses I gave her. At school the following day, I asked one of the guys I previously went out with if it was true. He blushed and nodded his head, unable to look at me and answer.

The hardest thing I ever did was finish my junior year there. I switched back to baggy clothes and covered my eyes with glasses again. No one spoke to me. I had allowed my ACADEC friends to fade away during my stint with popularity and they weren't forgiving. I heard the whispers in the halls from boys and girls. The words "slut" and "whore" were the most common. I kept my head down and tried fading into the background.

That summer, my constant begging finally paid off and my parents switched me to the much smaller Downieville High School for my senior year. The girls at my new school wore cute spaghetti strap shirts with their colorful bra straps showing and the shortest shorts and skirts they could get away with. I hid large white bras with concealing clothes, talked as little as possible, and buried myself behind books again. Sadly, the rumors followed me to my new school. I refused all requests for dates, didn't go to my high school prom, and kept to myself. If there were a yearbook caption for most boring student that would be me.

I dreamed every night about breast reduction surgery. Eighteen was the magic age, but the cost was prohibitive unless a doctor felt my breasts caused back problems. At seventeen and eighteen I wasn't that lucky. I began wearing sports bras in a size too small. They were cheap and mashed my boobs down tight.

I swore off muscled jocks forever.

In college, and for the first time in almost two years, I made a few friends. Courtney, my roommate, was the best friend I'd ever had and she pulled me into her inner circle. I actually confided to her about what happened in high school. Like most women our age, we talked about guys. I told her I had a thing for man muscle and we scoured the Internet for hot-bodied jocks. Even with Courtney's constant harping about my clothes and lack of eye contact with those around me, I remained shy. She began dragging me to assorted ball games and had me lusting after the exact guys I knew were the worst.

I managed to keep myself hidden from college men until Maddux. He was a soccer player, and somehow, he saw straight through my rumpled appearance and quirky glasses. I held out against dating him for a month. His persuasive tactics included lots of flexing muscle that drew out my wild muscle-crazy side. The man excelled at making shirtless look like a fashion trend. A few weeks later, I was flat on my back in his bed. I enjoyed the sex more than I had with Conner, but still, something was missing. That sizzling something other girls talked about when it came to sex. I didn't get it. Sex was fun, but not earth shattering.

Maddux loved my boobs and paid them constant attention when we were in bed. Outside of the bedroom, he was glad I kept them hidden because he didn't want his friends taking an interest in my chest. His obsession with keeping me modestly dressed was a clue. I was in love and completely blind to the warning signs that Maddux wasn't who I thought he was.

A year after our relationship began, I found Maddux in bed with Courtney. Maddux's jealousy and keeping my body hidden came from his own infidelity. I dumped him without the war of words I suffered from Conner, but the damage was done. There would be no more wild Cami. I locked her away forever.

The following day, I found another semi-part-time job. This allowed me to move into a quad apartment where I had my own small room. I avoided my former best friend and was no longer in her circle of friends. Eventually, I became good friends with one of my quad-mates, Tyson. He was as far from jock material as a heterosexual male could get. Tall and skinny to the point of emaciation, just by looking at him you knew he was a total geek. We attempted a very short friends-with-benefits relationship before deciding the benefits didn't work for us. He was the second person I confided everything to. Maybe it was because I knew he would never sleep with my boyfriends if I ever changed my mind about hooking up. I told him every painful detail, even about my fascination with man muscle.

Tyson had seen me naked and knew what I did to hide my breasts. Other than trying to convince me I was beautiful, he left me and my constrictive bras and baggy clothes alone. He managed to bug me enough that I lifted my head and made eye contact with people. We remained best friends even after his move to the East Coast post-graduation. When he left, it was easier to return to my shyer self, and my old habit of avoiding people took over.

I rubbed my eyes, tearing myself from the painful memories of my past. I began packing my suitcase. When finished, I dipped some celery into peanut butter for dinner. After straightening my apartment, I crawled into bed, needing sleep. As tired as I was, I had trouble shutting down my brain. It pissed me off that my last thought before I fell asleep was Van Stelson's ripped chest.