“I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.” — Jessica Rabbit

Puberty hit me overnight. Well, at least that’s what it felt like for me. I went to bed a girl, like I had a hundred times before. But this time, while I slept, my hormones took over and changed everything. When I woke up, I was a thirteen-year-old woman. Particularly in my chest. I had gone from an A-Cup to a C-Cup. (This is not an exaggeration: I skipped B-Cups entirely, they never ever fit me.) Soon, I’d be a DD.

Initially, I loved my breasts. They were huge, round, movie star breasts. I’d always wanted to look like Jessica Rabbit, and everyday when I looked in the mirror, I saw that I was growing into an hourglass figure just like her. As my breasts grew, my hips also pushed outwards. I loved to wear bikinis, I loved to wear tight shirts. I loved looking like a woman even though inside I was a little girl, trying to look like a cartoon character.

One day I was at a waterpark, wearing a bikini just like my best friend and most of the other women and girls were wearing. My friend leaned over, whispering in my ear, “Do you ever notice people talk about them?”

“About who?”

“Your boobs,” she said, nodding her head to an adult couple in a line parallel to ours. “I just saw her say to him, ‘they’re huge!’ and they were looking at your boobs.”

There I was: a kid wearing a bathing suit at a waterpark, whose body was being commented on by adults. My suit was not any more revealing than anyone else’s, it was solely about…