I was nine years old the first time I felt a girl’s boob; and her name was Ms.Downsey. I didn’t mean to touch my fourth grade teacher’s boob. I innocently went up to her desk to ask her a question about an assignment we had to do, and to waste some time in the class instead of writing a bunch of BS on a page, sitting in my death metal chair. I swore they picked out classroom chairs from the prop collection of Saw. As I approached her desk, I said her name and went in for a tap on the shoulder with my index finger as she was turning around. It was an accident that everyone, including Ms.Downsey, would remember. I kept my finger on place of her “cushins” for a good minute, because I was shocked, trying to remember what just happened. She looked down, also in shock, and quickly sent me back to my seat. And that is how I got my nickname Boobs, for obvious reasons.

The second time I felt a girl’s boobs was in ninth grade. I was thirteen and covered in acne; she was sixteen and smokin’ hot. She had long blond hair that ran all the way down her back, and a body Kate Moss would die to have. She had heard that I thought she was the hottest girl in school, and that I wanted to get my hands on her. Though I thought this was a death worthy embarrassment, she thought it was “cute”; plus she had guys lining up to touch more than just her boobs, so an awkward thirteen year old wouldn’t be such a big hassle.

We met in a park after school that was practically empty, except for a few of my horny friends who were hiding in bushes trying to capture the moment for themselves. I never once had a moment that just I could have. We sat down on a snowy bench under a bald tree and faced each other. Though it was thirty degrees outside, I was sweating due to the excessive amount of layers I had on. I wanted to have a good memory of this big event and the girl who so kindly helped me experience it, so I tried to make basic conversation so I could know more than her name and an estimation of her cup size. “So… Palicias gives us so much homework this year… and uh that kind of sucks.”

“Yeah. It like totally sucks…” She looked down and then quickly back up at me. “So! You ready?” I nodded my head. She took her blond waves off of her shirt and pushed them towards her back. I took my palm and lightly touched one of her boobs. She giggled, “here, try this.” She took both my hands and placed them on her boobs agressively. I pulsed my hands open, close, open, close, open, close. I closed my eyes while I did this, trying to feel something within me. All I felt was a little bit of a boner coming on. This was different than what I expected. I opened my eyes and took my hands off of her boobs. She smiled and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and was on her way.
Once she was gone, my friends ran out of the bushes screaming with smiles on their faces. My best friend Kyle spoke to me first, “You just touched Hilary Mentens boobs!” Thanks Kyle for that reminder, I had almost forgotten. The rest of the day was filled with questions like “How was it!?” and “What was it like!?” and “Is it true they’re furry!?” I answered all of these questions with a good or a fine, or a no or a yes.
When my friends and I had departed, I walked down the snowy roads to get to my house. When I got home, I took off my boots and my obnoxiously big jacket, and walked into my kitchen. It smelt like apple pie and hot chocolate. Though I was disappointed that the apple pie was just another scented candle my mom had collected, I was happy to witness a mug of hot chocolate on the counter waiting for me. As I grabbed my hot coco, taking a seat on a counter, my mom walked in to greet me. “How was school hun?” she asked me. She was flipping through the mail as she blindly walked into a countertop.

“Fine,” I answered. I jumped off the counter, and started walking out of the room.

“Anything interesting happen?” she called out as I was walking upstairs.

“No!” I shouted back. But that was a lie, because something interesting did happen; something very interesting. I don’t think that the actual touching of Hilary Mentens boobs was the interesting part, but rather the feelings I felt while touching Hilary’s boobs, which was none. ‘What was wrong with me? Am I gay?’ All these questions crossed my mind. I mean boobs are idolized by perverted boys like me. I just didn’t understand why I felt nothing.

However, I finally understood the third time I touched a girl’s boobs. I was sixteen years old and so was she. I was still awkward with acne, and so was she. I was still perverted and always horny, but she was not. She always looked at the bright side of things, and always found the sun on rainy days. She would scream at me whenever I had done wrong, and she would scream her favorite song lyrics as we drove around in her car without anywhere to go. She believed her dreams always had a deeper side to them, and she always thought I had a deeper side to me too, which she constantly searched for. She feared being alone and hated the silence, because that’s when her thoughts were always the loudest. She starved herself for days because she didn’t think she was thin enough. I always told her she was beautiful, and then she would giggle and close my eyes with her fingertips telling me to go to sleep. We would sing “Queen” songs while we lay upside off of her bed, and watched old cartoons until she fell asleep in my arms, which she had always done. And her name was Sarah.

On a Sunday night, when Sarah’s parents had left the house, she snuck me into her room. We were laying on her bed, looking up to the ceiling, talking nonsense. “Styles, can I ask you a question?”

I looked at her and smiled. “Shoot,” I said.

She kept her eyes on the ceiling but I was still watching her lips move. “Why do you like me?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked her. A feeling of worry and nerves crept up from my stomach.

She looked at me. “Like, why me? Why did you choose me?”

“Because you are beautiful. Your eyes, your lips, your soul, everything about you is beautiful.You just make me happy.”

“If that’s true, then why can’t I see that? Why can’t I see that I’m beautiful and strong and deep like how you always say I am?”

“Maybe you’re looking through the wrong pupils,” I said taking her finger and placing it near my eyes. A tear slowly ran down the side of her face. I took her face with both of my hands and kissed her. “Sarah, you’re beautiful and I love you.” She pulled me in for another passionate kiss and within seconds she was pulling off my shirt, and I was pulling off hers. For the third time, I placed my hand on her one of her breasts as I kissed her; I felt it. A feeling i had never felt before. A mixture of excitement and fear all in one, and she was guiding me through the map in her head as she was tracing the blood in my veins.

And that’s when I realized it. I realized why I didn’t feel this way when I had touched anyone else before. Sarah isn’t Barbara Downsey or Hilary Menten, she is Sarah Hilligan, and that’s why I felt this way. Touching Sarah’s cheek sent shivers down my spine, and kissing Sarah’s neck made my toes curl in a bunch. I felt this way for Sarah because she used nicknames that never included the word ‘boobs’. I felt this way with Sarah because she was perfect and beautiful, even though she did not see it. I felt this way for Sarah because I loved her eyes, her lips and the way she could make music with not only her voice, but with her words and even her silence. And I felt for Sarah, I’d melt for Sarah, I loved Sarah, because she could not do this for herself.