She dropped the bomb on New Year's Eve.
I'd been going steady with Julie for four months and things were going great. She was the best girl I'd ever dated - we seemed to click in so many ways that I'd actually begun thinking about marriage. What can I say? I'm into advance planning.
But the cool thing was that after six months of dating more and more regularly, the idea of marriage wasn't scary. I tried picturing what it would be like to spend every day with her, and the picture was pretty darn nice. I didn't tell Julie, of course, and I didn't mention it to my friends; they'd just rib me about it. But I thought about it every now and then -- it was a possibility, and that was more than I'd thought about any of the other girls I'd gone out with.
Besides, I knew what the guys would say. "You just like her tits, man." If I told them the truth, they wouldn't believe me. Yes, her tits were magnificent. Her most outstanding physical feature (pun intended), as she liked to joke. And yes, her tits are what caught my eye and led me to screw up my courage enough to ask her out. But ask anyone who's actually married (as a few of my friends are now) - it's much more than tits that makes a fine wife. And Julie was more than a great set of tits, a lot more. She was funny, exciting, smart, and sexy. She was a lot of fun to be with.
I'll have to admit, though, her tits were amazing. They were huge, bigger by far than any girl I'd ever seen in person or in pictures. They were each nearly the size of a football helmet, and she wore clothes which did little to disguise their massive size. Her bras looked like enormous contraptions made of baggage straps or something; when she managed to extract herself from their captivity, her tits hung huge and full, firmer than anything so massive had any right to be.
Julie enjoyed her tits, too. She enjoyed the lustful glances from boys, relished the jealous glares from women, and adored it when I massaged them in our weekend lovemaking sessions. She didn't wear low-cut blouses or anything overtly provocative, but she also didn't wear bulky sweaters or loose-fitting tops designed to hide her assets. She wore more-or-less typical college clothes: team shirts, solid blouses, cardigans, and other standard stuff. On her, though, it all looked fantastic.
New Year's Eve in 1998 fell on a Thursday. I'd taken the day off from work at the library, and spent it relaxing with Julie at my apartment. We'd rented a few movies and spent the day munching popcorn and cleaning the kitchen, with a midday break for some fabulous sex.
By 11 PM, we had cuddled on the couch with a chilled bottle of White Zin in front of us and an oversize knit blanket wrapped over our combined bodies. The lights were turned down kind of low as we watched Dick Clark in New York City. The man was amazing. I had no clue how old he was, but I'd heard he'd done this watch-the-ball-drop thing back in the 50's too. Hard to picture.
"Hon?" asked Julie, her head still nestled on my shoulder. She snuggled a bit and I smelled the honey-flower scent in her hair.
"Mmmm?" I replied.
"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, and turned my head a bit to look at her. She still wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were pinned to the TV, which had now decided to entertain us with the Budweiser lizards. I don't think she was paying any attention, though. She swallowed and paused for a second.
"Wanna hear how I got these tits?" she asked. I blinked. She still wasn't looking at me. "Got these tits"? What does that mean?
"Ummm... I just kind of assumed nature had gifted you particularly well." I said, and rubbed my hands up her body to her tits. She giggled a bit.
"Sort of," she said. "But not in the usual way."
She snuggled a bit closer and settled in. I dropped my hands to her waist and hugged her. She still didn't look at me, preferring to watch Dick Clark, who was back on the tube in front of a large crowd of people in overcoats. I turned to watch him as well as she told me her story.
"When I was fourteen," she began, "I had no chest. And when I say no chest, I mean no chest. No need to wear a bra at all, but I wore my training bra anyway. You had to wear something in gym, or you got teased unmercifully.
"All my friends were beginning to grow. One of them had already gotten B-cups, and she loved to show 'em off. I was so jealous it wasn't even funny. I prayed and prayed for breasts; big breasts I could use to get boys. But nothing.
"Until one day I woke up and found my tits had grown. Overnight. Oh, they hadn't grown much, just barely a cupful. But I was ecstatic. When I went back to school a few days later, I looked around and realized I was no longer the ugly duckling being left behind... I was just 'below average.' I was delirious. I knew I wouldn't have to go through life flat as a board. Maybe I didn't have much, but I had something.
"A few months later, I started praying for bigger boobs, as my friends kept growing and developing into bigger girls. My breasts had stayed stubbornly stuck at a basic A-cup, refusing to budge even a portion of a cup. I prayed harder, but still nothing. Eventually, I gave up and forgot about it. It looked like I was destined to have 'itty bitty titties.'
"But then it happened again. One morning, I woke up and my boobs were bigger! I was so happy - I'd grown about a full cup size again! I ran out the next day and bought myself B-cup bras. I never even noticed... but I'm getting ahead of myself.
"I went back to school and got a compliment or two from some of my friends. They noticed I was bigger, but that wasn't surprising. At fifteen, some of us were still growing. But one year later, I noticed it. See, next year, I was sixteen, and my parents let me stay up at their annual New Year's Eve party.
"It wasn't a lot of fun, since they had only invited grown-ups, but I stayed up anyway. I wanted to watch the ball drop, and see the start of a new year. So I counted along with all the people in the room as we counted down the final seconds of 1992. And then it happened.
"As we hit zero and everyone tooted their tooters and started to sing, I felt warm. More than warm, I felt flushed and all tingly in my chest, and a little dizzy too. I looked down at my chest and saw it - my breasts grew.
"It didn't take long, and it didn't hurt. In fact, it felt nice and sort of warm and tingly. But I saw it. My boobs definitely grew. They pressed out on my blouse, swelling and filling out my bra beyond its usual capacity. Not very much, but in just a few seconds I was sporting a pair of definite C-cups.
"I thought at first that I was dreaming or something. I'd never been awake on New Year's before. Maybe it was an optical illusion. But they sure felt real! I was tired, though, and kind of sleepy, so I went to bed. But when I woke up in the morning, there they were: my new boobies. They were only a little bigger than before, but it was noticeable. I mean, B to C? You bet I noticed!
"A new set of bras soon followed, and a little more lively dating that year in high school. Boys sure noticed when you had C-cup boobs, at least a lot more than B-cups. Oh, I wasn't the biggest girl in school, not by a long shot. But I was happy, and my boobs were bigger."
She stopped in her story, and I discovered I had been slowly tightening my hold on her waist as her tale got me excited. I was embarrassed but not surprised to find that I was sporting a full-on chubby that was throbbing like it was connected to a massage machine. Luckily, she wasn't sitting right on my lap, so I don't think she felt it - but she was sort of up against me in the right area, so it was possible. I cleared my throat and tried to calm down.
"I can guess what happened next," I volunteered to break the silence. "Every year?"
"Yes, every year," she sighed, and resumed her narrative. "Every year on New Year's Eve. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but every year on New Year's Eve, my boobs grow. This will be my seventh year of enlargement."
"Wow," I breathed. "What size bra do you wear now?" I could guess, but I'd never actually looked at the tags on her bras.
"EE-cup," she replied. "Soon to be FF."
"Wow," I repeated, unable to think of anything more constructive to say. We sat there for what felt like days, but must have been only a minute or two, silently watching Dick Clark interview some TV star. My mind was a whirl - a girl whose boobs grew every year? It's like a gift from God, a fantasy I never thought could happen.
"Do you still like me?" she suddenly asked, in as small a voice as I'd ever heard her use. I half-sat up in surprise, and tightened my hold on her.
"Like you?" I cried, lifting her up and half turning her to face me. "I love you!"
"Even with my problem? Think about it, Mike, in a few years I'll have to tote my tits around in a wheelbarrow!"
My hard-on liked that idea as I stiffened even further. But my brain was still driving my mouth.
"You don't know it's going to keep happening! Maybe last year was your last year! Maybe all you need is to find the right guy, and your problems will be over..." my voice trailed off as I realized where my train of thought was going.
She realized it too. But she grabbed hold of that train and urged it on.
"You think so? Oh, Mike, how I'd love to... find the right guy..." her voice trailed off as she looked up and straight into my eyes. I found myself saying it even as I bent down to kiss her.
"Maybe you already have..."
The kiss lasted a few lifetimes. It was our best ever. As we broke for air and looked back into each other's eyes, I suggested something else.
"Then again," I said softly, "I wouldn't complain if your tits grew a little tonight."
"Oh, Mike," she giggled and batted at my chest playfully. "You don't like my tits? You want them bigger?"
"I like 'em fine," I opined, my hands seeking to prove my assertion, vigorously. "But with more of you to love, I'd love you even more!"
"Oooo," she cooed, leaning close for another kiss, "a poet!"
We kissed again, and when we came up for air we heard Dick and the crowd yelling numbers at us.
"Five!" shouted the TV, "Four!"
"Oh, my, Mike. It's time..."
I kissed her again as we listened to the final numbers and the horns and music sounding the start of 1999. Julie leaned back and wobbled a bit.
"Honey?" I said, concerned and holding her a little tighter.
"Mike, it's time again. I'm growing again. Ooooo..." and she held me tighter around the waist.
I looked down at her impressive cleavage and saw a blush spread across her bosom. Then, noticeably, I saw it swell.
Her breasts pulsed lightly, in time with her heartbeat. But they burgeoned from her blouse's neckline like slowly-rising bread in an Easy-Bake Oven. I watched, mesmerized, as her massive mammaries strained the fabric. I heard the tension increase as her shirt tried to contain their growing girth. Threads creaked and Julie groaned.
Then it stopped. Her breathing resumed a more normal rhythm and her eyelids fluttered open.
"Ooo, Mike," she breathed, and leaned into me. I was intensely aware of her newly-enlarged breasts pressed against my frame. My dick was so aroused that I felt it must have been tapping her on her shoulder by now. I could barely speak.
"Wow," I said. Hey, it was all I could manage at the time. See if you could do better!
Julie smiled up at me, and raised her hands to massage her boobs.
"Mmmm," she moaned, "they feel even better when they're bigger. They always do."
I swallowed, hard. Julie grinned even wider, then reached to my crotch and giggled.
"Oooo, you like this, huh? You like to watch my titties get bigger? I might have to let you watch, then, every year. You wanna put that big, hard rod to use, lover?"
I blinked and nodded, still unable to speak.
"Then Happy New Year, baby," she said as she started unbuttoning her blouse. "This is for you."
Happy 1999, Everybody!