Juggs McGee

February 5, 2014 § 2 Comments

The first dude to ever cop a feel didn’t have any trouble with the front closure, and for some strange reason I was relieved. My bosom was finally being appreciated. I learned I enjoyed having them touched. Finally, useful for something. A handful. Actually, two handfuls. I still hadn’t compared naked tits to anyone else I knew, I didn’t really know how I stacked up. Though it was safe to bet I was pretty stacked as an 8th grader with Cs. I did hear one girl in my dance class had Ds. The rumor flew. “Can you imagine?” One gossiper asked me.

“No.” I knew by her connotation to tailor my answer, but I was almost floobing out of my cups. So, yeah, I could imagine having Ds, and I was terrified.

“I would kill myself if they ever got that big,” she dramatized.

“Yeah.” I agreed, secretly hoping that the floobie I was experiencing was just my bra telling me it was worn out.

My floobies once again got me another trip to Victoria’s Secret. Turns out, mine were Ds too. I cried in the dressing room. I found a different style bra I liked and my mom bought it in every color. This was getting expensive. Then, just when we thought they couldn’t get any bigger… 5 months later I was back at Vicki’s picking out DDs. This time I was only allowed a black one, a white one, and a nude one, just in case this wasn’t the end. I cried again. 5’2″ with 34DD, I looked like a cartoon character.

Flattering leotards were becoming increasingly harder to come by as were clothes. I was basically a 10 up top and a 4 on the bottom. Then summer approached and the tube top 90s fashion was anything but bra friendly. I began to notice divots in my shoulders from my bras and my terrible posture while sitting, as well as neck pain from pulling my straps too tight. And I was only 15. I would joke with my flat chested friends, if I could only give them some of mine.

By the summer of sophomore year, it was full on hate to my boobs. My best friend and I were inseparable that summer and I spent most nights at her house crushing hard on her sister’s friends. We were totally in love with several members of that year’s senior class and would drool over the yearbook while waiting for them to stop by.

It seemed like overnight I had gone from humble housewife Cs to pornstar DDs. With equal swiftness I went from being a nobody to my body preceding me. People somehow began to recognize me as “Juggs.” Perfect (sarcasm font). The one thing I hated about myself had now developed a nickname.

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Keep in mind, it was still the summer. I was on the Dance Team, so I was around the school for practice, but I was crossing paths with only a small section of the student population. Regular classes didn’t start for another month, how was this getting around so fast? Every party, gathering, bon fire, monday night bowling I went to people would snicker as I walked into the room. To be honest it was mostly dudes, because no self respecting chick would call another girl Juggs. No one ever said it to my face, so I wasn’t entirely sure how deep this ran. I was waiting in line for the bathroom at a party and got stuck next to a guy who was just putting two and two together. He turns to me and says, “Oh you’re the girl with the really big…” Pregnant pause as I glared at him, “Eyes. Really big eyes.” Great cover.

By the first football game of the season, I found out the origin. My bestie’s on and off again boyfriend had been partying at her house with her sister while her and her parents weren’t home. He and a couple other dude’s managed to pass out in my best’s room. When dude opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a picture of me and her on her wall and he said, “fuck, that chick’s got some juggs!” And everyone thought it was hilarious. I had an air of mystery because I didn’t directly run in their circle and I wasn’t in their grade, yet when I would show up at functions it would be a Juggs sighting. When school started, I had had about enough of the nickname.

You would think after a few months this would blow over, but never underestimate the amusement of adolescent boys in a boring town. For a while I just thought it was joke between my best’s on-again boyfriend and his friends. If it stayed amongst the senior class, I could deal with it. I didn’t have any classes with them and they didn’t shout it down the hallway. It would be awkward when another person would finally put the Juggs to the girl. “Oh YOU’RE Juggs.” I’d just smile a bashful smile. It went on like this for months.

My skin had gotten a little thicker by the time the dance team was rehearsing the Guy/Girl dance. My partner was a handsome shy football player with six pack abs who would later become my high school sweetheart. However, his brother, who was in the senior class, still thought the whole Juggs thing was hysterical.

When I would call his house he would tell my new sweetheart, “Juggs McGee on the phone for you.” He would be teased relentlessly around the house as brothers do. My sweetheart did not let it slip past him. I had no idea Juggs was a household name until the day I met his mother.

Much later, after I became a regular at their house, did my sweetheart tell me that for the first 3 months of our relationship (and the day she met me) I was referred to as Juggs McGee. She did not actually know my name for some time. Even after she met me she couldn’t remember my real name. Later we were all able to have a good laugh about it and his parents had “Juggs” airbrushed on a t-shirt for me while they were in Florida. A weird sign of affection, but I think it was affection and not detest.

The nickname didn’t follow me to college, thank God, the people I met there were slightly more mature. Only slightly. I am still called Juggs by certain people from my hometown. And that’s cool. Everyone has a history, even my chest.

Just in case you were wondering, here’s what Urban Dictionary had to say:

An amazing woman with many wonderful qualities, all of which are overshadowed by her exceptionaly large, perfectly round and supple breasts.
I think we must be related, Ms McCleavageston.
There is one more part of this boob story. Next week I will tell you about boob related injuries and how the twins are doing today. 
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