Miracles of Puberty

But I'm saying too much, too soon, am I not? Okay, from the beginning…

Hi! My name is Tara and I am hot!

Yeah, I know that's a little bit blunt, isn't it, and even aggressive, but I want no idle chit-chat nor any hint of false modesty in these pages.

Certainly not here, where all I wish is to be as honest and free and, above all, happy as I can!

So no, I will not slowly describe my body while pretending that I don't know exactly how smoking hot I look, only for later to admit that, yeah, 'I guess I'm kinda pretty, right, and I even understand why so many men want to spend, mm-mmm!, so much time by my side, right?'

Ah, blow me! No, I'm not gonna waste anybody's time with these false flags: I am a steaming, scorching hot piece of a woman, even hotter than many strong men can handle, yet this has not been the case all the time.

In fact, right up until my eighteen years I had been quite insecure and unpretentious regarding my own looks, which were indeed quite ungraceful —to put it really mildly. I'm one of those people for whom puberty arrived quite late, and certainly much later than all my friends, which made me an ugly duckling in a world where all others already had wonderful feathers and so many boyfriends and one-night romances —dozens of them, in the case of the most 'out-there' girls.

While all these skinny bitches —of whom I felt a tiny bit of envy, I won't deny— got boobs, butts, thin waists, silky skins, rosy and tight-y lips, I kept being clunky underweight mess of a woman, with super thin, almost skeletal legs and disproportionally long and disparate arms, one longer than the other, not to mention my height.

I mean, I was tall! Freakishly so! So tall, in fact, I was considered something of a medical aberration at such young, tender age!

See, while many adult women would beg for a few inches more (on their legs, of course) but never go beyond 5 1/2 ft, already on my fifth or sixth grade of school I easily reached 5.64 ft, which, if taken in account with my excessive thinness, made me as elegant-looking as a famine-stricken giraffe with severe bone defects.

O, it wasn't long before my little 'friends' noticed this tiny 'detail' and soon created for me the most wonderful little nicknames, like Princess Stick and Micaela Jordan —the long lost, talentless sister of Michael!

'Hey, Tata! For real: haven't you considered joining the women's basketball team?', they've asked me many times in all seriousness, which annoyed me even more so than if it had been merely a tease.

But, frankly, it wasn't half as bad as I may let it appear, mostly because I relied a lot on the empathy and friendship of the other boys, with whom I felt much more at ease.

They thought it was cool to have such a 'down-to-Earth girl' by their side and extended to me the same affection and brotherly love they had among each other, which turned me for a while into a true tomboy, a manly girl more interested in boyish activities instead of the 'puerile silliness' of all other 'sissy girls'.

I reckon much of this personality remained with me until later in life, helping me in areas where many other women, sadly, fail so frequently: in my career, for instance, I've learned to be proactive and assertive, never accepting a deal I considered unfavorable, and in my love life, oh...!

Let's say that, in love as well as in business, I learned to be much less passive that most women; never to wait for good things to happen to me, but to instead go after them myself and make them my own!

So, those were neither the worst, nor the best years of my life, but rather just mostly-disappointing ones. I went by my elementary school years without a single boyfriend or haughty 'doctor plays', thinking of myself too much of a 'featureless board' to ever get the attention of a boy, so I've just swallowed my jealousy and carried on, for early on I knew there was much more to life than just silly romances, and that only study and hard work could give me what Mother Nature so cruelly had denied me.

But Mother Nature, oh!, barely did I know what she had in store for little, awkward me!

"This one's gonna be a looker when she grows up", some very clever adults said a few times, looking me at the apex of all my chunkiness. I heard them, but never took them much seriously, like any impertinent child when dealing with adults.

My, oh my, how right they would all prove to be!

The transformation happened around my first year high. It all started on the breasts, which had always been noticeable and firm, though rather cramped, but soon grew so much and so fast they made me a usual face on the town's little clothing store:

'Mmm, did your bra break off or...?' The employees usually asked.

'No.' I usually replied. 'I need a new one. Bigger. Much bigger, actually.'

My breasts developed day after day, night after night with no rest for over six months, to the point I could no longer cup each of them with just a hand and much beyond, finally stopping at the margins between a D and a freaking E cup! Thank God they actually stopped, otherwise they'd get ugly and ridiculous, not to mention their weight!

For they were hard and solid like titanium, two true cannonballs embedded on my bust! After the scare, of course, came the pleasure of walking down a road and feeling those two feminine mountains perkily hop and bounce up and down, bountiful and heavy, defying the fabric of my shirts, which had to be always strong and thick so was not to reveal my nipples, which were always hard, swollen and protuberant regardless of whether I was aroused of not.

Further down my wonderland, history repeated itself: my lower body, which had always been quite rectangular, without a waist worth flaunting, sunk unto the belly as if someone had ripped a rib out of my cage, to the point my own mother —half joking, half scared— looked at me once and said, while I changed my clothes:

'Tatty, you're... mmm... thin! I mean... are you sure you don't want to get to the doctor and see if, you know... you're alright?'

'Oh, trust me, mommy!' I smirked, 'I'm more 'alright' than ever!'

And my dad also teased me, barely containing his pride —and apprehension— for having sired a beauty such as me:

'You eating well, Tatty?'

And I had the urge of turning my back to him, holding up my unbelievable buttocks and answering with a sweet, naughty smile: 'you see these tits, daddy, and this ass? You bet I'm feeding well, dear daddy!'

Speaking of which, it seemed that my bottom had envied the breasts and actively gambled with them that it would manage to grow even more, because god-almighty-and-all-angels-in-heaven! (and little devils in hell!), my buttocks grew so much I could almost hear them swelling on my sleep!

Like bamboo sticks... but they were my butt! A bamboo-butt, if you will!

Seriously, it was downright surreal how my buttocks went from two decently-sized perky balls to two tremendous spheres of pure muscle and raunchiness, rock-hard and always steep, appetizing to any eye and terrorizing to any jeans!

I grabbed them with my hands, which were dwarfed in comparison, and slapped them very strongly after much admiring them on the mirror, and was impressed by not just how they barely moved, but also by how they seemed to slap me back, making the palms of my hand hurt!

'Literally stone!'

But no, it was meat, and what a tasty meat it was! I had always been an active and sporty girl, yes, and I had even started going to the gym a few months prior to all this madness, but not even a fitness diva would be able to get an ass like mine so quickly! I loved taking each buttock with a hand and seeing how much **** I had to apply to keep them apart from each other.

A simple tightening of my ass and clap! They closed off on each other despite my best efforts!

'I pity the man who wants to stick his tool in there!'

And my legs... oh, oh, oh, Lord! It was almost embarrassing to walk with those two long, muscular logs of meat down the road. To just walk was quite challenging on the first few months, as my legs felt as if I spent whole hours just working them out on the gym, ready to burst at a moment's notice: each muscle fiber of my legs seemed alive, pulsating with energy and heat, and my powerful thighs sometimes stung after brushing against each other for so long during even very short walks!

'Tata, hey!' my friends approached me and swallowed up nervously next to me. 'You're looking... well!'

And their tongues never went much beyond that, for they could do no more than to just stay with their mouths hanging and their lips drooling.

And they all kept getting smaller and shorter, those poor little guys, because as my thighs got thicker, my legs got longer and my whole body sprouted upwards —and I, who already had some 5.64 ft before this whole metamorphosis, suddenly jumped to 5.9ft in less than six months, stopping at 6.06ft by the end of high school—, a beautiful graduation gift, in my opinion.

As for my face, the changes were more subtle, yet still perceptible: I had always been quite charming, and this puberty-strike helped to highlight my strong latino features with pinches of delicate European angles. You know them: a triangle-shaped shin and strong, profuse cheeks, while the nose was oh-so thin and my eyes temptingly large. I was the whole deal!

More noticeable were the lips, though, which before were pale and dry, much like the rest of my body, and then grew large like the breasts and the butt to the point I could barely close them properly, as if they had been stung by a bee.

They were left like this, partially open, in that sensuous pose of a woman who knows she's hot and invites her man to a kiss, or a supermodel posing to the camera or admiring her striking beauty on the mirror —a pose which I would later call "the Angelina Jolie".

Finally, climbing a little bit higher to the very top of myself, there was the hair, always long, black and smooth thanks to my strong-willed, hot-blooded, unbending Latino heritage. It grew a little bit longer, gaining luster and glistening beautifully under the sun while its strands whipped my newly thick, delicious ass during long walks which tempted many eyes and provoked endless catcalls.

I won't deny those were super fun years! As much as I had downplayed the importance of physical features up to that point, focusing instead on studies and what more, I'd be lying if I said that this super gift from Momma Nature wasn't one of the best things that happened to me all my life!

And, heck yeah!, I made sure to use my recently acquired features to finally indulge my curiosity and get to know everything the other girls, so much more 'advanced', already knew for years: getting catcalled, hearing a cheesy pickup line, kissing a tall, hunky boy and letting him discover my body little by little, caressing my inner thighs and squeezing my tight little cunt along with my butt and my breasts, where he would lay down his lips and kiss them slowly, all the while taking my clothes off, then my bra, then proceeding to suck my big, steel-hard nipples which almost lactated of pleasure, ooh...!

Even though the men I got to know, sadly, almost always left me wanting so much more! There was Rodrigo, for example, who was my first: a big, well-built dark-haired gym rat who loved showing off his physique in tight shirts and purported to be the high school's ladies man, but who, during the action time, the funky-funky, the ferocious fight beneath the sheets, was a big fat wimp! Definitely all smell and no steak, and the definite proof that looks, oh!, do not mean character... much less lovemaking skills!

'You like that, babe? You're liking it, hey, love?', he alternated these petty commands with many apologies every time he thought he was getting a little too rough on me (o, Lord, I wish!), 'I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, love. Hey, you cumming?'

Yeah, I was. Coming home pretty fast, frustrated and angry!

I could have been a virgin, but I was no fool, and I knew sex could be so much better than... that! So I persisted —despondent but undaunted!— on my search for a better man, and I soon found myself swiftly rewarded.