Brother Likes Boobs
By Pan
Chapter 1
There was no context, my brother just said it to me one day.
“God you’ve got huge boobs.”
I was so stunned, I didn’t say anything in response, but the phrase stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Boobs. Huge boobs. I had huge boobs.
At one point, I went into the bathroom and took off my shirt, just to look at them. He was right, of course—I did have huge boobs. That wasn’t new to me—I’ve been chesty since puberty hit—but I’d never honestly put that much thought into them. Up until now, they’d just…been there.
It’s like when someone tells you to be aware of your tongue: there’s nothing you can do about it, you just notice it, sitting in your mouth, pressing up against your teeth.
Huge boobs. I had huge boobs. No matter what I did, no matter where I was, there they were, right on the front of my chest.
Huge. Huge boobs.
I stared at them for longer than I’d like to admit, before putting my shirt back on and continuing my day. Your nose is always there, right in the corner of your eye—you learn to tune it out. But I couldn’t tune my boobs out. Every time I moved, they jiggled slightly—they’d been doing that for as long as I could remember, but now I was noticing it. Every jiggle reminded me of my huge boobs.
That night, when I was going to bed, a thought struck me. My brother had noticed my huge boobs—did everyone? Again, I’m not stupid—I’m a woman. Of course people were going to notice, and judge me (at least a little) on them. But the way my brother had said it…
“God, you’ve got huge boobs…”
God. Like it was a big deal. Like he was surprised that he’d never noticed before. Probably just because he was my brother—other guys, they didn’t have that familial filter. It was probably the first thing they noticed about me. Hell, for some of them, it was probably the ONLY thing they noticed about me. There were almost certainly people in my life who entirely defined me by the fact that I had huge boobs.
The thought made me more than a little uncomfortable.
Huge boobs, too. Not just big, not just large. Certainly not…I dunno, pretty. Do guys think of boobs as pretty? I know some girls who have girls I’d certainly call pretty, but I think for guys, the size is all that matters.
The size is all that matters…and mine are huge.
I’m a double-E cup. So yeah, I’ve got huge boobs. Huge boobs. Certainly a lot larger than the average, which I think is a C or a D-cup.
My boobs were HUGE.
For a minute, I had trouble breathing. I felt like the weight of my huge boobs was pushing down on my chest, crushing the air out of my lungs. My huge boobs, sitting on top of me like boulders, defining me, controlling me, shaping my life.
It passed, and I was able to breathe again. As I did, I tried to feel exactly how my boobs moved when I was lying in bed, not wearing a bra. I wondered how they moved when I wasn’t paying attention to them.
I wondered how many other people WERE paying attention to them throughout the day. Probably a lot, if even my own brother had noticed.
Huge. Huge boobs.
I’d almost drifted off to sleep when something struck me. If size was all that mattered for boobs, and mine were huge, did that mean that was…good? I’d attracted a fair amount of attention for my boobs, ever since I was a young teen and they sprouted, but I’d never thought about whether it was positive attention or negative attention.
Were my huge boobs sexy? Or were they gross? Was I a babe, or a freak?
I had to know.
I got up, pulled a shirt on (I normally sleep in just my panties) and tip-toed down the hall to my brother’s room. He was asleep when I sneaked in, but it didn’t take much to wake him up.
“What?” he grunted, understandably annoyed by my 2am visit.
“My boobs…” I said, stopping as soon as I heard the words come out of my mouth. How embarrassing! What the hell was I doing?
Well, I’d come this far…
“My boobs,” I continued, after a blushing silence. “Are they…too big?”
“Nah,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “Everyone knows—big boobs are sexy.”
In response to my thanks, I got a pillow thrown at me, and so I left my brother to drift off again. My burning question had been answered, so as soon as I got back to my own room, I immediately fell into a deep sleep of my own.
The next morning, I woke up with a smile. I felt so relieved—big boobs were sexy! To celebrate, I decided to do something I don’t normally do:
I decided to show a bit of boob.
Not a nipple or anything like that. Normally my neckline is right up at my neck, but I was feeling good about my body—better than I could ever remember feeling. And so I pulled one of my two cleavage-showing tops out of the drawer, and wore it that day.
I was still hyper-aware of my huge boobs, but it didn’t bother me. Big boobs are sexy. Today especially.
Like I said, attention to my chest is nothing unusual, but today I was looking out for it. And my brother was right—everyone knew that big boobs were sexy. I got a lot of attention, even for a girl as well-endowed as me. There were a lot of men staring.
Everyone knows—big boobs are sexy.
The sentence kept rolling around my mouth, over and over. Everyone knows—big boobs are sexy. God, I’ve got huge boobs. Huge, sexy, big boobs.
Some of my thoughts from the previous night returned—how huge WERE my boobs, compared to the average? And so I started checking out every woman who walked past. God, my boobs were huge, and big boobs were sexy…so could I find boobs larger than mine?
Well, I’m proud to say, no one I encountered that day had boobs as big as mine. I saw some that could arguably come close—one of my friends, Merinda, had large boobs…but they weren’t huge. Still attractive, but not sexy. Huge boobs are sexy. Everyone knows that.
And since no one’s boobs were as big as mine, no one had boobs as sexy as mine.
How great!
As I was stepping out of the shower that night, I glanced over at the mirror. It was fairly foggy, but I could still roughly see my reflection…and I could particularly see how huge my naked boobs were. (how could I miss it?)
Now, I’m as straight as they come. But my brother’s words were ringing through my head—big boobs are sexy. Everyone knows.
Everyone.
Without even thinking about it, I stepped forward and wiped off the mirror, so I could see my boobs better. God they were huge. And big boobs, I suddenly realized…were sexy.
As I stood there, staring at my huge boobs in the mirror, my breathing got faster and faster. How had I never noticed before? Big boobs were sexy. My big boobs were sexy. I had huge, sexy boobs.
I was suddenly more turned on than I could ever remember being.
A part of me felt like something wasn’t quite right…surely I shouldn’t have been this turned on by my own body. By my own big boobs. God they were huge. And—it was impossible to admit—sexy. Everyone knew that.
That thought ran through my head over and over as I got off, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. God my boobs were huge. And, everyone knew, big boobs are sexy.
That night, as I lay in bed, I was still horny. My orgasm had been quick and satisfying, but here’s the thing about having huge boobs—god, they’re always there. They’re attached. And my awareness had turned into a constant arousal—how could I not be turned on, knowing how close I was of a pair of big, sexy boobs?
Even in the dark, when I couldn’t see their fullness, I could still feel them. Their weight, their movement every time I moved…if I focused on it, I could even feel the air on my nipples, reminding me that I was the owner of a pair of huge boobs. Big boobs were so sexy…
It was late before I finally drifted off. I’d masturbated so many times that I lost count. When I woke up, my huge boobs were the first thing I saw, and I masturbated again at the sight of them.
I ran into my brother at breakfast. We made small talk for a while, and I couldn’t help but notice his attention drifting to my boobs. Clearly he was still adjusting to the fact that god I had huge boobs.
He must have been attracted to me. Everyone knows big boobs are sexy.
Everyone.
At one point he noticed me noticing, and a sheepish grin came across his face.
“Sorry,” he said, and I laughed in response. There was no need to apologize—I had huge boobs, and everyone knew big boobs were sexy. It would have been weirder if he hadn’t looked. And then he said something a little weird.
“You must hate having to keep your tits out of sight.”
Before I could respond, he drank the rest of his coffee and left the room. I just sat there, speechless and stunned, mulling over his strange remark.
I was broken out of my reverie by the sound of the clock chiming the hour—crap! I was going to be late! I quickly packed the rest of my stuff and left, my brother’s strange words still echoing in my head.
“You must hate having to keep your tits out of sight.”
You MUST hate. I knew it was just a turn of phrase, but for some reason, it almost sounded like a command. No, that was ridiculous…he wasn’t telling me what to do. He was assuming something to be true.
He was assuming that I MUST hate having to keep my tits out of sight. My boobs…god they’re huge. They’re so big.
So sexy.
Glancing down at my huge boobs, I noticed I’d chosen to wear the only other top I own that shows cleavage.
Maybe that was what he was talking about. He’d seen how much I enjoyed showing off my cleavage, and worked out that the rest of the time, I had to keep them out of sight.
Because…um…
Now that I sat down to think about it, I couldn’t work out why I did have to keep them out of sight the rest of the time. They were MY huge boobs, after all. And they were sexy—everyone knew that.
I glanced down at my exposed cleavage again, and confirmed just how sexy they were. I’d have to find a bathroom soon and get off—my big boobs were just so damned sexy.
So huge. So sexy.
He was right, I suddenly realized. My boobs—god they were huge—were so big, and everyone knew that meant they were sexy. And here I was, depriving the world of getting to see my tits.
I hated it.
I hated having to hide my tits. I hated having to keep them out of sight. They were my boobs—I alone got to decide whether they were shown off or not, and in that moment, I decided.
I wanted to show them off.
Keeping my tits out of sight? I couldn’t think of anything I hated more.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no reason I couldn’t show off my cleavage all the time. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight. I was wearing a relatively modest top—with a bit of effort, I could show off so much more of my tits.
A few hours later, as I stepped out of the mall, I wondered if I’d gone a bit too far. At first I’d just wanted to buy a few new shirts and blouses—just so I could show off a bit more cleavage. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight. God they were huge…and everyone knew, big boobs are sexy.
But after I’d bought half a dozen new shirts, a thought struck me. Cleavage was all good and well, but really…my tits were still mostly out of sight. And I hated that.
Obviously I couldn’t walk around topless (as much as I would love to) but I couldn’t help but notice a string bikini, hanging on the rack. Now I have a swimsuit at home—it’s a one-piece, and I hate wearing it and having to keep my huge boobs out of sight.
For some reason, I’d set all these rules about what I wore—rules that kept my tits out of sight, which I hated. It was like I was ashamed of my huge boobs, but that was ridiculous—big boobs are sexy. Everyone knows that.
I bought the string bikini. And then I bought two more. We have a pool at home, and so if I needed to justify it to anyone, i could say I was wearing my bikini-top in case I wanted to go for a swim.
But who would complain about huge boobs?
I went into the change-rooms, got myself off (something I’ve worked out I pretty much have to do every hour…it’s a hard life, having huge boobs!) and changed into my string bikini.
Boy oh boy did I got a lot of attention. My brother was totally right—EVERYONE knows that big boobs are sexy.
I ran into my brother when I got home, shopping bags in-hand. He goggled at the sight of my huge boobs in my new bikini. He’ll get used to them—I’m planning on wearing it around the house a lot.
It looked like he was going to say something, but it had been a long bus-ride home, and almost forty minutes since I’d gotten off. I’d been so aware of everyone staring—everyone knowing how sexy my huge boobs were. Everyone knowing how much I had hated having to keep them out of sight.
Well, my tits weren’t out of sight any more, and I was loving it.
I just smiled as he stared at my tits, and quickly excused myself. I hoped my arousal wasn’t obvious—one of the flaws of having a string bikini, I guess.
When I came out, my brother was gone. I didn’t see him again until breakfast, the next day—I was wearing a different string bikini, but I don’t even think he noticed. He just kept on staring at my huge boobs. I could still hear the shock in his voice when he’d first noticed how huge they were.
He was getting up to leave when I noticed that I’d been pressing my chest forward, trying to show off my tits as much as possible. I just hated keeping them out of sight—I’d have done anything to make sure they were always, always visible.
“One of my ex-girlfriends had big boobs,” he mused as he began to walk out the door.
“Oh?” I said, one eyebrow raised. “That must have been fun—big boobs are sexy.”
“It was,” he said with a smile. “Fat tits feel amazing.”
I rolled my eyes at his words. “Fat tits.” What a turn of phrase. Were my tits fat?
Strolling over to the mirror, I removed my string bikini. I hated having to keep my tits out of sight—it was so great when I was alone: I got to show off my huge, sexy boobs.
Turning left and right, I could feel myself getting aroused, just staring at my boobs, really taking in how huge they were. So big, and so sexy.
But were they fat?
Sure, they were large, but that’s not really fat. The rest of me is relatively slender—I’m not a stick figure or anything like that, but while I have curves, it’s nothing to compare to my tits.
My big, huge, sexy tits.
Of course, I realized, there’s one way to find out if they’re really fat.
It was strangely hot, watching as I slowly reached up to grab one of my tits. It was a simple test—if they felt amazing, they truly were fat tits. If they just felt okay, they were big, huge, sexy…but not fat.
They felt amazing. Soft and fleshy and warm and squishy, and…fun.
I definitely had fat tits. I must have stood there for close to an hour, just groping myself, loving the amazing feeling of my fat tits. Fat tits. Big boobs. Call them what you like—they feet amazing.
And when I worked out I could pull a nipple up to my mouth, and suck on my own fat tit?
The sensation was enough to make me cum. God I loved my huge boobs. They were so sexy, and they felt amazing.
After I got dressed and left the house, it was difficult to resist slipping one hand up my top and just feeling them all day long. I just wanted to grope my big, fat, sexy boobs. It was hard enough, having to keep my tits out of sight (although the top I’d chosen showed more cleavage than most women had breast) but now I had to resist reaching up and touching them all day.
I couldn’t wait to get home, strip off, and spend all night touching my fat tits, groping my big boobs, and think about how sexy they are.