Harry Boobday


The morning was mild and the leaves were just breaking on the trees when Cecilia stepped out of the townhouse where she lived with her mother, locked the door carefully behind her, and set off for school. A thin, shy, brown-haired girl, she habitually walked with her head down and books pressed against her chest. She was a little worried about the history test she had that morning. She noticed someone coming out of the Nomeda house next door, probably Nick. Maybe she could avoid him.

In contrast to the trendy townhouse where Cecilia lived, the Nomeda house was a big, stately, old Victorian building that squatted in the middle of a huge lot like it had been there forever, its yard perpetually shaded by a ring of grand old elms and maples. The house was a better preserved example of the rundown, older homes that had been torn down to make way for the new townhouse complex. Cecilia was one of the few teens in the complex, the majority of the units being occupied by upwardly mobile young couples or established professionals. Although Nick was her age he attended a different school, some private institute for gifted students.

Cecilia looked up to see Nick Nomeda looking at her. That guy gave her the creeps. There was something weird about his eyes. He smiled at her as he walked closer. A sly, knowing smile, almost sinister. He said something, still looking at her. It sounded like "harry boobday"

"What, what did you say?" she said blankly, her eyes locked on his. "I didn't hear you."

"I said Happy Birthday, Celia. It is your birthday today, isn't it?"

"What? Oh, yeah, it is. Thanks." Those eyes....

"You're eighteen now, right?"

"Yes. How did you know--"

"I guess you're legally an adult," he said. "and all the pleasures of womanhood are yours." He turned suddenly and walked away.

Cecilia shook her head. What was that all about?

 

Maybe I'd better get a haircut, Cecilia reflected, looking at herself in the mirror next morning. I'm getting kind of shaggy. She ran her hand through her mousy brown hair. It felt a little thicker than usual, probably that new shampoo. But hadn't she gotten a haircut just two weeks ago? She finished getting dressed for school.

 

Lydia Loveswell had just popped out to get the paper when she heard a friendly voice behind her. "Good morning Mrs. Loveswell." She turned to find the Nomeda boy smiling at her. He had schoolbooks under one arm. "Good morning. Uhm, Nick is it?" She knew he was the son of the Nomeda's who lived in the big house at the end of the street. She didn't like them particularly; they always struck her as a little strange. And the boy was just odd, in some undefinable way.

"Yes, that right. Nick Nomeda. I guess we're neighbours. Nice day to be outside, isn't it."

Somehow Nick's innocent remark made Lydia feel very awkward. Of course she was hardly dressed to be outside. She was standing on the front steps of her townhouse, still in her nightgown and slippers, with her housecoat unfastened. She had just opened the door to get the newspaper.

"Yes, yes it is." she said uncertainly, drawing her robe more tightly around her. He had not taken his eyes from her face, but somehow she felt exposed. There was something odd about this kid.

"I hope we can be good neighbours," the boy went on. "My mom says a neighbourhood is sort of like a marriage. If you want to get along you have to be co-operative. Make accommodations. Otherwise you'll get into a fight with your neighbours and end up not talking. Sort of like a divorce, huh?"

Lydia stood motionless, newspaper in hand. What a peculiar choice of analogy. Did he somehow know of her own impending divorce? How could he, she had only been to see her lawyer today. It was just a coincidence. "Yes, I guess it is sort of like that," she found herself saying. "You have to try to co-operate." What was it about his eyes?

"Well, I have to get to school. I'll be seeing you, Mrs. Loveswell." He turned and trotted away down the street, leaving Lydia standing on her front step. After a moment she shook herself out of her reverie and went back inside.

 

Later that day Cecilia slipped into a washroom between classes, dropped her books beside the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. She lifted her loose sweater and examined herself. No wonder she had felt so uncomfortable this morning: her bra was too small. It was an old one, and she had probably just outgrown it. She decided to go shopping after school for a new one.

Late that afternoon Cecilia tried on the new bra in the changing room of a store in the mall. She had graduated to a new cup size. Finally. Being a late bloomer was one thing, but Cecilia had despaired of her breasts ever getting to decent size. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. Maybe she should get a haircut while she was here.

David Loveswell put down his briefcase and leaned over to give his young wife a peck on the cheek. She turned away. "You're late," she said coldly.

"Awe c'mon, don't start that crap. I just stopped for a drink on the way home. We won the Crumpett case! I felt like celebrating."

"You could have called."

"Shit, Lydia, baby, I never got the chance. Come on, don't be mad." He put his arms around her. "Look, I'll tell you what. Why don't we skip dinner and have a little celebration of our own." He let one hand stray to her behind so she would know what he meant. "Afterwards we can order in Chinese food."

Lydia, who hated being called baby, was about to reply that she was in no mood for his thoughtless advances. But then she remembered her conversation with the Nomeda kid that morning. Maybe she should try being a little more co-operative. Accommodating. That was important, wasn't it. She forced a smile. "All right, Mr. big-shot lawyer. Let's celebrate."

"That's my girl!" David was privately surprised at his wife's willingness to have spontaneous sex, but he wasn't about to let a good chance go to waste. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. Later, after David had finished his usual selfish lovemaking, Lydia lay on the bed and reflected that it had been a little better than usual. She had co-operated, concentrating on getting him off rather than just her own pleasure. She felt good about that.

 

"There you go," said the stylist, lifting off the blanket. "What do you think?" Cecilia regarded herself in the mirror over the sink. Her new haircut looked sharp, her normally drab hair appearing somewhat fuller than before. Maybe a shade lighter too. That new shampoo was working wonders. "I like it," she said. She squirmed a little. Somehow she had bought the wrong size of bra.

 

It was Saturday morning and Cecilia regarded her naked torso in her bedroom mirror. There was no doubt about it. Her breasts were getting bigger. That was good news as far as Cecilia was concerned, but wasn't this kind of fast? She was on her second new bra in less than two weeks. Talk about a growth spurt. She hefted her breasts experimentally. Yes, they were definitely heavier. She brushed a thumb over her left nipple and started at the rush of pleasure. More sensitive too.

"Isn't it about time you got a haircut?" Cecilia's mother said over breakfast one morning.

"But Mom, I just got one. Less than a week ago. My hair is going nuts!" She brushed her long bangs out of her eyes.

"Don't be silly dear," her mother said, "Hair only grows an inch a month."

"Mine's more like an inch a day," Cecilia said, but her mother wasn't listening.

"There goes that Nomeda boy. What's his name? Rick?" She was looking out the window.

"Nick"

"Yes, of course. He's a strange one. I wonder what he's talking to April about?" April was a neighbour. She worked in an office downtown, real estate or some such. A round, friendly woman. "You know, I ran into him on the street the other day, and we had the strangest conversation. He's remarkably thoughtful for a boy his age. We got talking about his schoolwork, and he kept saying that it wasn't brains or luck that got you through but discipline. You had to work at it, like anything else. Discipline...." She took a sip of her coffee, lost in thought. Cecilia brushed her hair out of her eyes and felt her breasts shift beneath her sweatshirt.

 

"Look," said Lydia Loveswell, hands on her hips, "If you must drag me to these stupid company parties, you could at least have the decency not to flirt with every bimbo in the place!" She glared at her husband furiously.

Her husband crushed his beer can in one hand. "I wasn't flirting, dammit! I told you, Monica simply wanted to know something about my work so I told her, that's all."

"I'll bet she did. Does your legal expertise include cross- examining boobs? Hell, David you were practically drooling!"

"Lydia that's bullshit and you know it. I was just working the room. These parties are important; if I want to get ahead, I have to fit in socially with the senior partners."

"Oh, really? Tell me, which of Monica's headlights is the more senior?" She looked at her enraged husband in disgust.

He thumped his hand on the arm of the chair. "Jesus Lydia, will you give it a rest! It just so happens that Monica is a fully qualified legal secretary, and she works for one of the partners. She can be a pipeline to the inside circle. It's not my fault that she's also good looking. I was just being sociable." Though he would be a lot more than just sociable given half a chance. Shit but that woman had a body. Wasn't shy about showing it off, either.

"Sociable!" Lydia spat. "You danced with her half the night. It might have been sociable to spend a few minutes with your own wife, too! Or were you too mesmerized by big tits to remember that?"

David said, "For god's sake Lydia stop it! You're acting like a jealous fishwife. Monica is a great dancer and I happen to like dancing. And maybe I wouldn't need the company of other women if my wife was a little more of a real woman and less of a dried up prude!"

Lydia reeled at the insult and started back with a vicious retort. Her conversation with Nick Nomeda came back to her. Co- operation. That was key. She forced herself to calm down.

"I--, well, all right," she said softly.

David blinked. "What?"

"You're right, David. I'm over-reacting. It was just a party, and, and you know what you have to do to get ahead. I guess I can't blame you for talking with Monica, she is very pretty. Do you want another beer?"

David looked at her, nonplussed. "That would be fine," he said.

 

"Hey, Celia, you got your hair done!" exclaimed her best friend Leanne by her locker one day. "Looks good!"

Cecilia brushed her hair back and smiled nervously. "Thanks, I'm, uh, wearing it differently. Makes it look longer." She wanted to talk about something else.

Leanne ran her fingers through the shoulder-length hair. "Did you color it too?"

"No!"

"Oops. Sorry. I just thought, it looked...lighter, that's all. Why are you so touchy?"

"It's nothing. I'm having a bad hair day."

After school she stopped by a hairdresser for another haircut. She was too embarrassed to go back to her regular salon, not less than a week after her last cut. As she sat forlornly in the chair the woman fussed over her light brown hair, suggesting a number of different styles. "It's almost a shame to cut it," she insisted, fluffing it up with her fingers, "It's so strong and healthy. You know, it would take a perm really well."

"Just cut it." Cecilia growled. "Short."

The hairdresser sighed. "Very well, if that's what you want." She picked up her scissors and proceeded to trim Cecilia's hair boyishly short. Cecilia sat uncomfortably in the chair, reminding herself that after the cut she really had to go buy another new bra.

Both improvements lasted less than three days.

Cecilia came into the living room to find her mother flipping through a catalog. It looked like mostly fashion leather. "Mom," she said, "I think there's something wrong with me." "Why, what makes you say that?" her mother said, setting aside the glossy catalog. "Goodness, but your hair is getting long, isn't it. Why don't you get it cut?"

"But I did! On Tuesday. And the week before too! My hair is growing like crazy. Look, it's down past my shoulders now. What's happening to me?"

"Oh come now, Cecilia, nobody's hair grows that fast."

"Mom!"

"OK, OK, let's take a look." She got to her feet and walked around her daughter, examining her hair from all sides. She ran one hand through the thick locks. "It looks very nice dear," she said kindly, "You must be taking better care of it." Cecilia rolled her eyes but said nothing. "Hmmm, that's funny." her mother said, examining the top of Cecilia's head. In her heels she was several inches taller than her daughter.

"What? What's funny?"

"Your hair is lighter at the roots. Almost blonde. You haven't died it or anything have you?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, I can't see anything at all wrong with your hair, dear. Maybe you're going through a growth phase?"

"I'm eighteen! This is as grown up as I'm supposed to get."

"Hmmmm. It is unusual, I'll grant you that. Still...."

"It's not just my hair, Mom."

"Oh?"

"My breasts too. Look." She opened her blouse. Her breasts were round and pert, the nipples distended.

"Honey, why aren't you wearing a bra?"

"Because none of them fit, Mom. Haven't you been listening? I've gone through three bra sizes in the last two weeks! I won't be able to get into my clothes soon."

"Well, that does seem rather fast. But you were always sort of small, then, weren't you dear."

"Well, that's not a problem any more, is it?" Cecilia said sarcastically. "And besides, they're really....sensitive. You know?"

"Oh, I see, do they hurt?"

"No, that's not what I --"

"Look, Cecilia, you're just blooming a little later than the other girls, that's all. You should be delighted. Don't worry, in a few weeks you'll be perfectly comfortable with the new you."

"But Mom--"

"Look, if it makes you feel better, if this is still bothering you in another week we'll go see Dr. Bloomsworthy, all right?"

"Sure Mom." She sighed deeply.

Her mother turned to walk away, walking elegantly in her high heels. Cecilia frowned. "Mom?"

"Yes dear." She had picked up the magazine again.

"Why are you wearing heels at home? I thought you said those shoes pinched your feet."

She smiled. "They do. I'm punishing myself."

"Punishing?"

"Yes. You see, I had a cookie after lunch today. If I'm going to loose that ten pounds I've been talking about I have to maintain better discipline. So I'm punishing myself. Every time I take a step it reminds me that snacks are forbidden. It's a simple system."

Cecilia rolled her eyes again. Why did her mother have to be such a flake? She rebuttoned her blouse, and one finger accidentally brushed a nipple. She shuddered, and fought the urge to do it again.

 

"Sorry I'm late honeybunch," said David Loveswell casually, setting his briefcase on a kitchen chair. "We had a late meeting about that bankruptcy. I guess I sort of forgot about the time."

Lydia put down her book. "You always forget about the time," she said curtly. She rose. "Anyway, your dinner is in the oven."

David caught the anger in her voice. "Look, don't start, OK, Lydia. I can't go ducking out of an important meeting just to call my wife! This was a pretty intense discussion."

Lydia scowled at him. "It only takes five minutes, David. Is your precious lawyer's time so valuable you can't tell your own wife she's wasting time making supper?"

"Look, I just never got the chance, all right. Now I've had a long day, I'm tired and I'm in no mood for your bitching. So let it go, OK?"

"Oh sure! Just toss me aside like yesterday's newspaper. For a change you could -- I mean you should --," she faltered, frowning. After a moment she continued in a calmer voice. "Well, you're home now, so let's not argue. Did you have a busy day?" She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

"What? Uh, yeah, pretty busy I guess. Lot of referrals lately, which is good. Shows the partners trust me."

"Well, come have supper. I kept it warm for you." She patted his chair.

David sat and ate, studying his pretty young wife warily. She was acting a little strangely. They had been fighting of and on for most of their four-year marriage, and David privately feared a separation lay ahead. But they were arguing less and less lately because Lydia kept quitting half-way through. In the midst of a furious exchange she would stop, gather her thoughts for a moment, and then capitulate. Tonight David had anticipated a stormy reception at home, but Lydia had abandoned the argument almost before it got started. Now she was being extra nice to him, as if she were somehow embarrassed about having raised her voice. She must have noticed the alcohol on his breath when she kissed him, but she never even mentioned it, even though it blew a gaping hole in his concocted story about a long meeting. In fact the only meeting he had attended was in a bar with Monica, the stacked secretary.

"I'm sorry I blew up at you like that," Lydia said a few minutes later, taking his empty plate away. "I should have realized you would be working. Would you like a martini?"

"Yes! Sure. But I thought you didn't like me drinking the strong stuff at home."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, never mind that, I was just fussing. No, don't get up, I'll get it." She tripped over to the bar and began mixing spirits. Still unsure of what was going on, David followed her into the livingroom and settled comfortably into his favourite chair.

A moment later Lydia slipped into his lap with his drink. "Here you go," she said, "olive and all."

David sipped it. "Mmmm, perfect." He decided to press his luck. "So, what say you and me go to bed?"

"Now? It's only seven-thirty!"

"I know." He pawed one breast crudely.

To his amazement, Lydia did not pull away. "Ooooh, David you randy man. Come on, finish your drink and let's go!"

As usual, once they got undressed David was on her in an instant, apparently incapable of grasping the concept of foreplay. But this time it hardly mattered because Lydia was already wet. Just the thought of giving her husband sex, of doing something to please him, was enough to turn her on. And David's powerful, artless strokes pleased her like never before. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him to her. "Oh yes yes yes!" she thought dizzily, on her way to a blinding orgasm, "it feels so good to co-operate!"

 

Cecilia stood before the mirror in her bedroom, examining her nude reflection critically. She had to admit it looked pretty good. Her hair was getting lighter, no question about that, and it fell down over her shoulders in rich, inviting tresses. She had cut it herself the other day, carelessly whacking off big chunks with a scissors, but it had already grown all that back and more. Now it fell down the middle of her back, well below her bra strap. Or where her bra strap would be if she were wearing any these days. It seemed pointless to invest in new ones until her "growth spurt" was over, which didn't look to be anytime soon. Smiling, she hefted her full chest in both hands, admiring the swelling roundness of them. She had always wondered, back in her bee-sting days, what it would be like to pack a pair of proper 36's. Well, now she knew.

Although the rapidity of their growth still alarmed her, Cecilia conceded privately that she liked her new look. Her breasts were as round and flawless as those of the pin-up girls she saw on the covers of men's magazines, jutting proudly out from her chest like twin balloons. Yet somehow despite their size they defied gravity so well that she was able to get away without a brassiere. Her hair, previously limp and thin, was growing thick and bouncy even as it lengthened. She was getting lots of looks at school; from classmates, sometimes even from teachers. She was getting asked out on dates too. For Cecilia that kind of attention was a new thing and she was basking in it. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find clothes in her closet that she could wear, however. A major wardrobe upgrade was definitely called for.

She was still holding her breasts, and inevitably her fingers began to gently knead and caress. "Mmmmmmmmm, that feels nice," Cecilia muttered, as her fingers strayed to her reddening nipples. Her boobs were so incredibly sensitive these days. Sometimes even the feel of clothing against her bare chest was enough to set her off, which made for interesting times at school. Especially when she wore the green wool sweater.

She was actively squeezing and fondling her breasts now, and her breathing was becoming rapid. "I'm soooo hot," she told her reflection. One hand slipped downward and began to tease the outside of her sex, pushing aside the sleek curls of pubic hair. At least her hair down there wasn't growing any faster, although she noticed that her triangle was growing lighter to match the hair on her head. Still fondling her boobs with one hand, she slipped in one finger, then another, not at all surprised to discover she was already moist. Her hips were starting to gyrate, back to front. Cecilia gazed into the mirror at the sexy, long-haired young woman who was pleasuring herself with increasing energy and had trouble believing it was her. "Ohmygod," she groaned, stumbling backward toward the bed. "I think I'm going to be late for school!"

 

Dr. Bloomsworthy scratched his head, surveying Cecilia's bare chest with a physician's eye. Yet she wondered if there wasn't just a bit more than professional interest in his intense gaze. They were in one of the doctor's examining rooms, and Cecilia was seated on a high table, her new sweater in her hands. "I can't say I've ever seen anything like this before," he said, now studying Cecilia's silky smooth hair over the top of his glasses. He picked up a long lock and let it fall. "When did you last get your hair cut?"

"Sunday. I did it myself again, with a pair of scissors."

"But that's only three days growth! How much did you take off?"

Cecilia shrugged. "About a foot, maybe two. She grabbed a strand of blonde hair and pointed at the middle. "About here."

The doctor held up the lock of hair where she had pointed, let it fall in loose curls. "But that's-- that's over a foot of new growth! In seventy-two hours! His voice quivered with astonishment. "Extraordinary. Altogether extraordinary!"

"I didn't believe it myself when she first told me, Doctor," said Cecilia's mother. She was sitting in a chair by the wall, her purse in her lap and her back straight. She was still wearing the toe-pinching high heels, coupled now with a long, tight, leather skirt in tasteful lavender. "But she showed me the cuttings. What do you think it means?"

Dr. Bloomsworthy frowned. "Maybe some kind of hormonal imbalance. I'll have to run some tests. Have there been any other changes besides the accelerated growth?

"Other changes?" Cecilia scoffed. "Other changes! Doctor, I'm blonde! Don't you remember I used to be a brunette? I dream of Celia with the lank brown hair. Now I'm a beach bunny! It's starting to curl on its own too. This is just too weird." She toyed with a yard-long strand of gorgeous blonde hair, a feminine gesture she had picked up without realizing it.

"And you say your breasts are also showing accelerated growth?"

Cecilia arched her back a little, letting the melons on her chest jut out a little further. "What do you think, Doctor," she teased. "You saw me a couple of months ago, remember? For that flu. I was a thirty-two inch bust then."

He was studying her with a mixture of shock, scientific interest, and, something else. "And now?"

"I was a nice 36 last time I measured myself. But that was a week ago. I'm quite a bit bigger now."

Dr. Bloomsworthy fished around in a drawer until he found a tape measure. He slipped it around her chest and pulled it tight across the front. The tape pressed gently against Cecilia's nipples and she drew in her breath. "Be...be careful, Doctor," she breathed.

He pulled the tape away with his finger marking the measurement. "Extraordinary," he said again. "You're sure it was just a week ago?" Cecilia nodded. Still holding the tape measure, Dr. Bloomsworthy stepped back, scratched his chin and studied Cecilia's chest for a long time. He looked fascinated. Cecilia was getting a lot of looks like that these days. In spite of herself she felt her nipples stiffening.

At last she said, "Doctor?"

He roused himself. "Hmmm, what? Oh, yes. Quite an exceptional thing. It could just be a late spurt of maturation, after all, I suppose. But the rate of growth is unusual. I'd like to do some blood work, if you don't mind Celia. That's the quickest way of seeing if anything is amiss. Are you feeling any discomfort?"

Cecilia blushed a little. "Well, no pain, if that's what you mean. But they are really, uh, sensitive."

"I see. Well, no need to be alarmed just yet. It could be nothing. I'll take a little blood now, and we'll get that out of the way." He began pulling vials and syringes out of a supply cabinet. "Which arm would you like?"

Cecilia's mother got to her feet quickly. "I'll just, um, wait outside if that's all right," she said, averting her eyes. She hated needles.

Dr. Bloomsworthy looked up from swabbing Cecilia's arm. "Yes, of course. But please send the nurse in, won't you?"

Cecilia's mother exited quickly, the enchanting sway of her derriere exaggerated by the high heels and advertised by the curve- hugging leather skirt. She had taken to walking with a deliberately feminine gait, putting one foot directly in front of the other as if she were walking a tightrope. When Cecilia asked her about it she had explained that she was trying to improve her posture. It was a simple matter of self-discipline, she said.

Dr. Bloomsworthy drew two blood samples and put the vials aside. Then he looked at Cecilia's chest and scratched his chin again. He bent down and examined them, one at a time, with the intensity of a collector studying rare postage stamps. "Uh, Doctor?" Cecilia queried.

The doctor looked up. "These are really quite remarkable." Unexpectedly he reached out and cradled them, one in each hand.

Cecilia gasped from the sensation. "Oh! Please, uh, do be carefulllll, Doctor!" she exclaimed.

"You must have exceptionally strong musculature, here," he explained, running his fingers down the top slopes of her breasts.

"Doctor! Please be, be, careful. I'm really, verrrrry sensitive!"

He let go of her breasts, reluctantly, just as the nurse entered the room. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Cecilia drew a deep breath and reached for her sweater. "Believe me Doctor, it wasn't pain! When will you have any results from the blood tests?"

"Give it a week or so. Until then try not to worry too much. I'm sure it's nothing out of the ordinary." He seriously doubted that last statement.

Cecilia struggled into her snug-fitting sweater (it hadn't been snug when she bought it) and threw back her long blonde locks. "Thanks, Doc." she said, then left to find her mother.

Dr. Bloomsworthy watched her go, taking a long last look at her incredible boobs and blonde hair. Extraordinary. In twenty years of medical practice he had never seen anything like it. And in twenty years he had perfected clinical detachment to the point where even the most captivating display of feminine charms had no effect of him. Until now. He looked down at the steel-hard erection straining his pants.

"You called, Dr. B?" said the pretty young nurse.

"Oh, yes, Yvonne, could you send these boob samples over to the hospital? Sorry, I meant blood samples. Yes, please send these blood samples over to the hooterville. Have them run all the standard tits. I mean tests. I'd like to have results by mammary, er, monday." He was perspiring. "Just send the damn samples."

"Of course, Doctor," the nurse said, backing out of the room.

 

"Why do you have to wear pants all the time," David Loveswell complained one evening. "You have such great legs." In this he was being perfectly honest. Lydia's legs alone were a large part of the reason that he had married her. David was sitting in the livingroom, working on his second martini that Lydia had prepared for him.

Lydia was just putting away a couple of magazines and she looked down at her fashionably snug bell-bottoms. "You don't like these? You told me they flattered my behind." She was very well dressed for an evening at home, in a new striped sweater and black, wedge-heeled sandals.

David was feeling a little loose from the booze. "Sure, they're great, but they're still pants. Why not wear a dress now and again. Make you look like a real woman. Give a fellow something to come home to."

"Well David, I don't think --" She stopped and considered. The habit no longer surprised David, nor did her compliance a moment later. "You always did like my legs, didn't you honey. Tell you what, wait here and I'll go get changed." She shuffled off to the bedroom in her platform sandals.

David admired the sway of her rump beneath the tight pants and smiled slyly. He still had no idea what had come over Lydia, but he definitely liked it.

Cecilia was late for school again the morning after her visit to Dr. Bloomsworthy. She spent a long time sitting in front of her bedroom mirror combing her long blonde hair. It seemed to fall into place pretty much on its own, sliding in gentle, glistening waves down to the small of her back, but Cecilia loved to comb it anyway. It took a long time for her to convince herself that it was truly her reflection looking back at her. Was there something different about her face? She pursed her lips, trying to decide if they were fuller, or if it was just the framing effect of the hair. And down below were her marvellous, ballooning breasts, with the raspberry red nipples that hardened at the lightest touch. Would they ever stop growing? She couldn't resist touching them, to marvel at their new smoothness and unnatural buoyancy, and that felt so good that she ended up back on her bed for a long and delightful finger fuck. When she recovered her breath she dressed in a pair of stretch jeans and one of her newer sweaters that wasn't yet impossibly tight.

The door to her mother's room was slightly open as Cecilia passed by, and she noticed her mother getting dressed too. She stopped and did a double-take. Her mother was already wearing high heels, a sleek new pair in patent black, and dark stockings with an elaborate woven seam up the back. She was busy clipping the stocking tops onto the bottom of a black silk thing that looked like a tight bustier. "Mom?" Cecilia said.

"Oh, good morning dear," her mother said with a smile, looking up. "Aren't you a little late for school?"

"Mom, what is that you're wearing?"

"This? Why this is a corset dear. How do I look?" She finished the last clip and pirouetted gracefully. She reminded Cecilia of an illustration from a Victorian adult novel. The satin corset pulled in her stomach and pushed her breasts out and up, where they spilled over the top invitingly. The lace cups of the corset skimmed just below her nipples. Her legs looked splendid in the sexy stockings, and the seams up the back led the eye from the tops of her four-inch heels upward in gentle curves to where the garters stretched across her black-pantied behind.

Cecilia frowned. "You look, um, good, Mom, you look good. But isn't that thing a little uncomfortable?"

"I'll get used to it, I'm sure. It's all a mat--"

Cecilia raised a hand. "Don't tell me. It's a matter of self-discipline, right?"

"Exactly dear." Her mother beamed. "Now run along before you're late for school."

Harry Boobday

--- 4 ----

"Mmmmm, yum yum yum I love David's cock," said Lydia Loveswell to herself as she slurped noisily on his tool. "Why on earth didn't I try this sooner?" They were in the livingroom, David in his favourite chair and Lydia on her knees in front of him, looking like a wet dream in black lace underwear, sheer black stockings and mirror-black high heels. It was an outfit David liked. Lydia's sexy little black dress was lying on the floor.

"Hey, you're getting a little better babe," said David arrogantly. "Try to take a little more in this time." Lydia did as she was instructed, concentrating on swallowing as much of her husband's substantial cock as she could manage. Her long earrings glittered as she bobbed her head up and down. She still wasn't expert by any means, but David said she was improving, and that was what mattered. She wouldn't be satisfied until she could swallow him completely.

Sex was so much better when she made an effort to be conciliatory, Lydia reflected, as she earnestly gave her husband his evening relaxation. Throughout their marriage she had resisted oral sex, convinced it was degrading and uncomfortable. Now she realized that attitude was selfish and unco-operative, and she was eager to make amends. Unexpectedly, she discovered that she loved it! She had never imagined David's cock in her mouth could feel so good! If this was co-operation she would co-operate night and day! In fact sucking David off got her so excited that Lydia had started playing with herself while she sucked. She stopped though, when she realized it was taking her concentration away from giving him her absolute best effort. That was critical. She had to make sure she accommodated his needs.

 

The Vice-Principal frowned as he studied the papers in front of him. "Cecilia, I called you in because I'm frankly concerned about your performance in this last semester." He looked up at her from behind his old oak desk and Cecilia was certain she detected something more than professional interest in his eyes. His gaze lingered on her supernatural chest, ill-concealed behind a bulky black sweatshirt with the logo of the city football team on the front. She matched the sweatshirt with clingy, black tights and low-heeled black ankleboots. The dark clothing contrasted splendidly with the radiant waterfall of hair tumbling down over her shoulders and far down her back, and the slimming tights only emphasized her top-heavy figure.

Cecilia wasn't at all surprised that the VP was staring at her. Just about everyone did lately. She could hardly go out on the street without causing traffic accidents. She gave the VP her best sweet-innocent look, while girlishly twisting a strand of hair around one finger. "Why, whatever do you mean, sir?" she said, trying not to sound nervous. She had never been summoned to the VP's office before. Generally only chronic flunkies, truants and trouble-makers got sent to the VP. There had to be some mistake.

"Cecilia," said the VP, "You have always been a consistent student. I've got your reports here and I see mostly high C's and B's, even a few A's. If you finish your year with the same level of performance, I see no reason why you shouldn't get into college. But lately you have fallen off rather badly."

"I have?"

"You came down badly on your history midterm. You failed your last two math tests; and now Mr. Faraday tells me you haven't even turned in a book review for English class."

"Well, I've been, uhm, kinda busy," Cecilia said lamely. In truth she hadn't been doing much homework lately. She was out on dates most nights, and when she did half-heartedly sit down to read one of those boring English books her attention would wander to the marvels of her ever-growing titties and before she knew it she had lost a lazy hour sprawled on her bed playing with herself. The books were too hard anyway.

"Evidently not too busy with classes, though," the VP said. He held up a stack of late-slips. "Cecilia you have been late every morning this week, and last week too. You have been skipping classes and cutting out early. This simply will not do!"

Cecilia shifted her weight slightly and the movement made her breasts bounce a little under the sweatshirt. She noticed the VP's attention shift back to her chest. "Now, Cecilia, I realize that you have gone through an um, unusual, er, period of... delayed development, and I can imagine that that has been somewhat, ah, distracting." He seemed uncomfortable with this part of the discussion. "Nevertheless, I simply cannot let this truancy continue. You need to be applying yourself if you want to finish the year with a respectable average. Therefore," he pronounced, "I am assigning you detentions every evening until you have made up these tardies."

Cecilia was shocked. How could he do that! She had dates lined up every night this week, she couldn't waste time sitting around in study hall! There had to be some way out of this. The VP did seem to like her looks; maybe she could sweet-talk him.

She planted her best pouty look, and lowered her heavy eyelids. She was wearing dark mascara to highlight her three- quarter-inch lashes. "Sir," she said softly, deliberately tossing back her mane of shiny blonde hair, "I don't think you understand the strain I've been under. My body is changing so fast!" She took a couple of steps around the side of his desk, walking with the deliberate wiggle she had seen her mother use. "I mean, I've put on more than nine inches of bust size in less than a month! And they're still growing! See?" She tugged down the bottom of the sweatshirt, letting her breasts bulge through the fabric.

As she had hoped, just the outline of her boobs was enough to distract the VP's attention. His gaze rivetted to her chest and his frown softened. "Yes, well, perhaps this has been, er, a...tumultuous time for you, but, uh, that is, you mustn't let your uh, physical condition, interfere with your schoolwork," he said, with rather less conviction than before.

"But Sir, they interfere with everything!" Cecilia demurred, taking another step toward him. "I'm even having trouble finding clothes that fit. That"s why I've been late for school some mornings." Well, that was one reason.

She smoothed down the front of her overfilled sweatshirt as if to emphasize the point, and the effect was even more gratifying. The VP couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. "Yes, I see, uh, well, perhaps there are, uh, mitigating circumstances here, but still, you must understand, the rules on attendance are firm." He licked his lips. "Very firm...."

Smoothing down her sweatshirt brought the soft cotton fabric against Cecilia's nipples and a familiar tingle coursed through her. She felt certain from the VP's rapt gaze that she could talk her way out of this; men just couldn't seem to resist her marvellous titties. "I guess I have missed a few classes," she said contritely, shrugging back her golden locks so her breasts bounced charmingly. "But things have been really confusing lately. I've gotten sooo big, sooo fast, that I can't even find underwear that fits!" She dropped her voice to a secretive whisper. "So, you know what? Most of the time, I just don't wear any. Look!" Abruptly she grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled it up over her chest.

Cecilia was standing right beside the VP's chair and her eye- popping breasts were suddenly bouncing and swaying right before his eyes, the nipples red and protruding. The Vice-Principal gasped in shock. "C-Cecilia! What on earth are you doing! Put those away this instant! They're gigan -- I mean, cover yourself!" But he was staring helplessly.

Cecilia felt wanton. "They're unbelievably sensitive too, Sir," she said, running her hands over the swollen globes. She pinched her nipples and thrilled at the feeling. "Mmmmm, that feels so intense. See how my nipples are all stiff? They're like that practically all the time."

"Now, Cecilia I, I order you t-to cover yourself this instant!" said the VP, an edge of shrillness in his voice.

Cecilia ignored him. "Look," she said, "I can even suck on my own nipple." She bent her head and used both hands to raise her left breast to her lips. She suckled noisily for a few moments, occasionally swirling her tongue around, mewing contentedly. "That feels so wonderful," she said, batting her long lashes.

"Cecilia, please..." the VP moaned.

She slid one knee up onto his chair. "Now you try."

"No, wait, you musmmphth mmmphth mmmmmmthm" The VP's pitiful protest died on his lips as Cecilia calmly thrust her tit into his mouth. Instantly his basic instincts took over and he began sucking and licking in earnest, all thoughts of discipline forgotten. His hands came up to encircle her breasts and he bobbed and nibbled hungrily on her boob while Cecilia soothingly stroked his hair. When after a long time his mouth slid off her red, wet nipple, it was only to transfer, panting, to the right breast and start over.

"Oh fuck but that feels good!" Cecilia exclaimed, eyes closed. Already her first orgasm was not far away.

Forty-five minutes later Cecilia stepped out of the VP's office into the deserted hallway, smoothing down her clothing languidly. The sweatshirt hid the shine on her chest where she had rubbed the VP's semen into her skin like rich lotion. Wonderful man, he had saved a second round for her. She looked at her watch. She was late for supper, again, and she had to get home to prepare for tonight's date. She headed for the door, pausing just long enough to toss a wad of late slips into the trash bin. A lone janitor was cleaning the floor and he gawked at her as she sauntered by, all tits and tights and fabulous blonde hair. Tomorrow, she decided, she would pay a visit to her English teacher.

 

The telephone rang several times before Lydia heard it over the vacuum cleaner. She turned off the machine and tripped over to the telephone table, her high heels silent on the carpet. "Hello. Oh, hello Mr. Barrett." She listened for a moment, idly examining herself in the hall mirror. Her mascara looked good.

"Yes, I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you about that," she said at last. "But I don't think I want to proceed with the divorce....yes, I know you've done a lot of paperwork already, but you see, David, my husband, and I have come to a reconciliation." What a funny word, she thought. She remembered the way they had "reconciled" on the diningroom table the day before and her pulse quickened. Only half-listening to the lawyer, she slipped one hand under her miniskirt and gently stroked herself with a red-nailed finger. David liked it when she didn't wear underwear at home. It was so convenient for quickies. "What's that?" she said to the telephone. "Oh, no I'm quite certain. Yes, you can, mmmmm, put the file aside. That's fine...if you have to bill for oooooh, time spent, then please go ahead. My, my husband will take care of it." She sighed. "He takes care of everything." She was using two fingers now. The lawyer rang off and Lydia turned her full attention to her thrusting fingers, watching herself in the hall mirror. A divorce was the last thing in the world she wanted now. Not after she had learned so much about being co-operative. She hoped David would come home soon.

 

It was late Saturday morning. Cecilia stood before her bedroom mirror, naked except for a pair of gaudy, mirror-black pumps decorated with long silver chains. The shoes were brand new, discarded after a few days by Cecilia's mother when she moved up to five-inch heels. Cecilia admired her image vainly, casually stroking herself with one hand. "Let's face it, honey," she told her reflection, "I'm a goddess. A fucking love goddess." Puckering her deep red, lusciously full lips, she blew herself a kiss. She ran her free hand over her super-sized breasts, enjoying their smooth feel and impossible roundness. Maybe her chest had finally stopped growing; she had measured herself three days running and come out with the same measurement: 44 inches, a little more when the nipples were hard, which was pretty much all the time. Maybe now she could start wearing a bra again. She snickered. "What the fuck for?" she asked her breathtaking reflection. Her breasts continued to flout the laws of physics, bouncing high on her chest and straining outward without the slightest regard for gravity. Perhaps that contributed to their almost hypnotic effect on men.

Her hair had stopped growing too, or at least it had slowed down a little. The colour of corn silk and shiny as spun gold, the thick coils cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, framing her smooth, impossible curves like a golden halo. The mantle of curls ended just above the crease of her ass. Cecilia had given up trying to keep it shorter when she noticed that the more she cut off, the faster it grew back. Only when it was at full bum-length did it slow down to something even approaching normal. Now she only had to cut it once a week or so.

With her fingers still teasing above and below, Cecilia made her way back to her bed. "Mmmmm this love goddess is horny," she murmured as she stretched out on the unmade bed, golden hair all around her and her enormous breasts pointing skyward like ballistic missiles. She had been out very late the night before, on a date that had blossomed very quickly into a backseat lovefest. The poor fellow had sprouted a hard-on within minutes after Cecilia got into his car.

Cecilia withdrew her hand from her lovenest and wiped her fingers on her nipples until they glistened wetly. She had moved her bed around so she could watch herself in the mirror while she played. The telephone rang several times before Cecilia noticed. Then she remembered that her mother would be out at her Saturday morning aerobics class. She rolled over on her side and lazily picked up the telephone by her bedside. "Hello."

"Ah, Cecilia, is that you?" said the voice.

"Yes, this is Cecilia." She brushed her right breast idly with a lock of hair.

"Oh, good, I'm glad I caught you. This is Dr. Bloomsworthy. We finally have the results of your blood work. I'm sorry it took so long, but the lab had to repeat some of the tests. The results are....unexpected."

"Oh?" said Cecilia, without much interest. Her free hand strayed downward. She was so horny this morning.

"Tell me," said the telephone voice, "have your breasts, uh, continued to enlarge?"

"Oh, yes, they're much bigger now."

"How... how big?"

She told him.

There was a long pause. "And your hair?" His voice sounded a trifle husky.

"Still growing," said Cecilia. Except on my legs, she reflected idly; she lifted one leg and ran her free hand down the smooth calf. She was still wearing her mom's high heels.

"Cecilia," said Dr. Bloomsworthy, "I think you had better come in and see me right away."

Cecilia's hand was busy between her legs again.

"Really? Why's that?"

"Your blood tests showed a massive hormonal imbalance. Estrogen levels especially are extraordinarily high, and growth regulators are off the charts. It's almost like you're going through puberty, except magnified somehow. Are you following me?"

"Wha? oh, s-sure Doc." She cradled the telephone against her neck so she could use both hands to stroke herself.

"I don't want to alarm you," the doctor continued, "but I'm sufficiently concerned about this that I think you should come in for some more tests without delay. Then maybe we can start thinking about a treatment-- Cecilia are you all right?" She was panting into the telephone.

"Sure, I'm fffffine doc, just oh oh, yes, just fffine," Cecilia gasped. "I'll call you back!" She hung up abruptly. Maybe she should be concerned about the hormone business, but she was too horny to think about that right now. And besides, why would she want to get treatment for her wonderful titties?

 

Dr. Bloomsworthy parked his car in front of the row of townhouses and checked the paper in his hand. Yes, this was the street. He climbed out of his Peugeot into the bright spring sunshine and surveyed the quiet street. The townhouse complex was a splendid example of insensitive development, plopped down square in the middle of an established, if inopulent, neighbourhood with only a token attempt to conform to the architecture of the older houses. Hadn't there been some sort of noisy protest when the development was proposed? It had made the papers for a while, if he remembered rightly. He looked about him. Most of these graceful old brownstones could be quite lovely if they were given a little attention. The big one at the end of the street was especially impressive, although its dark exterior and heavily shaded yard made it look forbidding.

Back to the matter at hand. Dr. Bloomsworthy checked the address in his hand again, and looked for house numbers. Where would unit 24 be? He had decided to make a house call on Cecilia himself, to see if he could convince her to come in for another examination. The results of the blood tests were amazing, to say the least, and if Cecilia's description of herself on the telephone had been accurate, she was a medical mystery of the first order. It was of course, medical curiosity that motivated him. That and concern for a patient's well-being. The fact that he already had a boner just from anticipating what she looked like was irrelevant.

The townhouse complex was bigger than it looked, and unit numbers didn't run in order. Dr. Bloomsworthy conceded eventually that he would have to ask directions. It was a fine Saturday afternoon and many of the residents were out in their doormat-size yards. Dr. Bloomsworthy decided not to disturb the young woman who was mowing the lawn in a bikini and high heels. A few doors farther along, however, he encountered an even more interesting sight.

The woman was petite, but her figure could only be described as lush. As curvaceous and perfectly proportioned as a spiral staircase, she was tending flowerboxes by her front door, her every move and gesture effortlessly smooth and sexy. She was dressed in bright, tight, red shorts and a matching athletic top that bared most of her deeply tanned belly, topped off with white canvas ankle boots. Curly brown hair framed a dimpled, high-cheeked face.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," Dr. Bloomsworthy said politely. "Could you tell me where unit 24 is?"

The woman looked up and a warm smile suffused her features. "Well, hellooo there handsome," she said, stepping down the front steps toward him. "What made you decide to brighten up my day?" Her perfect legs glinted as she walked and Dr. Bloomsworthy noticed she was wearing sheer nylons. Her every move radiated sex appeal.

"No, really, I just need to find unit 24, if you don't mind," said Dr. Bloomsworthy. This woman was doing nothing to relieve his hard-on.

"Pleasure to meet you," the woman cooed. "My name's April. What's yours?"

"Uh, Bloomsworthy. Edgar Bloomsworthy. I'm looking for a patient of mine, she lives in --"

"Ooooh, you're a doctor!" April gushed. "I love doctors. Would you like to come inside for a drink?" She looked up at him brightly.

"Uh, no, thank you, not right now; I have to find unit 24. My patient --"

"You know, as a doctor I bet you'd like to hear about me," April interrupted again. "I've lost 53 pounds in under four weeks. Pretty good huh?" She took a step backward and posed with her hands on her full hips.

Dr. Bloomsworthy accepted the invitation to stare at the intoxicating curves spilling out of her too-small top and shorts. "Fifty-three pounds! Are you quite certain? What kind of diet did that? You should be more careful; extremely rapid weight loss can be dangerous!"

"Oh I didn't go on a diet. The weight just melted away! And I feel splendid!" She slid her hands deliberately down her hips.

"Extraordinary" breathed the doctor, staring. "Altogether extraordinary."

April shuffled forward and took his arm. "Maybe you should come inside and examine me," she urged, pulling him toward the door. "I probably need a complete physical."

With some difficulty Dr. Bloomsworthy resisted the invitation. "No, wait, miss...uhm, April, I really can't right now." He unpeeled her hand from his arm. "I have a house call to make. If you could just tell me where to find unit 24?"

"If I tell you, will you promise to come visit on your way back?"

"Well...OK, all right, I promise," the doctor lied.

She diddled with his tie. "Three units down, the red door on the left side. And when you come back, I'll show you my new exercise program!" She blew him a kiss, then walked back to her doorway, one hand on her hip, the tight shorts, sleek nylons and block-heeled boots displaying her lush curves to maximum effect.

"Holy cow," breathed Dr. Bloomsworthy, watching her go. "Maybe I should move into this neighbourhood."

With April's directions it took only a moment to find the right door. He rang the doorbell and waited. After a few moments the unmistakeable tap of high heels could be heard from the other side. The door opened, and Cecilia's mother stood in the doorway. "Dr. Bloomsworthy!" she breathed.

The doctor's jaw dropped. He knew Cecilia's mother as a patient, but he had never seen her -- could not have imagined seeing her -- like this. She was dressed in a black satin corset with red laces up the bodice, tied very tightly in a big knot just below her protruding cleavage. Lacy red garter straps pulled sleekly over her black silk panties, connected the bottom of the corset to the top of black fishnet stockings, which in turn sleeked down her long legs and disappeared into a pair of calf-high black leather boots. The boots had red laces up the front, also tied very tightly, and about the highest heels the doctor had ever seen. She wore red satin gloves that ran up her arms well past the elbow, and a black velvet choker, inlaid with glittering, multicolored rhinestones.

After a long silence the doctor finally managed to stop gaping and attempt conversation. "Ahhh," he said blankly. He swallowed. "G-Good afternoon! Hu..how...how are you?" He noticed that her hair was done up in some complicated, elegant braid, and she was wearing carefully applied make-up that highlighted her eyes and lips.

Cecilia's mother looked down at the gleaming, pointed toes of her boots. "I've been bad," she whispered apologetically. "Please spank me!"

 

The familiar scent of candles permeated the livingroom as Nick Nomeda walked in. His mother looked up from her meditation and smiled at her only son. "Have you finished?" she asked.

"Yes Mother. I gave Cecilia a gift for her eighteenth birthday, as you asked me."

"How thoughtful of you. Did she enjoy it?"

"I'm sure that she does. I have given gifts to many of our other new neighbours as well."

"Excellent. Your father will be very proud of you." She rose gracefully and stepped out of the bright pentangle painted on the floor. "We didn't want that new building here, as you know, but your father thought it would have been...conspicuous to use our full powers of dissuasion. So now we must learn to get along with our neighbours. Were all your gifts accepted?"

"I believe so, Mother."

"Excellent," she said again. "You have learned your lessons well." She kissed his cheek. "I always knew you were a backward child," she said proudly.