Small Changes

by Mich

For my entire life, up until the day that I woke up and it all started to change, I was pretty much the opposite of what I wanted to be. Not in terms of my personality, my brains, my talents. All of those were fine as far as I could tell. I had a loving family, although maybe my annoying little brother could go, my grades were good, I had the best best friend in the world, and I loved painting, which I was apparently good at.

All of my problems, at least as it seemed to me, were with my body.

Who am I? Well, you might have heard of me. Probably have, actually, especially if you're reading this. Samantha Barnes. But back then I was just Samantha. Sam, to my friends and my family. Nobody cared about my last name, with the possible exception of the few people who commissioned paintings from me. Back then there weren't many, but it was a pretty big deal that little-ol-me, just a junior in college, was an official name to these people.

But back then, just Samantha, for the most part.

Tall Samantha. Skinny Samantha. Samantha Stork.

See, along with my great features, including my hilarious personality, my sharp wit, and my ability with a paintbrush or a stick of charcoal, came a lot of baggage. The most obvious one, and the one that seemed to bug me the most, was the one almost everyone told to me in surprise when we first met.

"Wow you're tall!"

How many times do you need to hear that? Maybe once, possibly twice, just to ram it home. But everyone said it. Everyone. Even Alice, my best friend and roommate, said it when we met on orientation in high school. I know they can't help it; how often do you meet a girl over six feet tall? My 6'1'' height meant that I towered over not just most girls I met, but most guys as well. It didn't help that I was so skinny that I had several different health teachers ask me, with various subtleties, if I were anorexic. No, I would insist, I just never really managed to break 130 pounds, try as I might. And I really did try—at one point in high school, when I was still around six feet, I was eating so much that I should have been putting on at least a pound a week, if not more, according to my doctor. But blame my fast metabolism, because I paid for all of that food in the bathroom later. No, nutrition just didn't stick to me.

So I was extremely thin, extremely tall, and... not much else. My hair managed to be both an ugly color of graying-yellow despite me only just passing my twenty-first birthday and so brittle that I couldn't grow it out past a very short bob without it constantly breaking or growing split-ends. I literally had no breasts to speak of, so I never even wore a bra at any time, my hips were straight lines from my thin stomach to my stick-like thighs, I had pretty bad acne, and I could not figure out the proper way to pluck my eyebrows and shave my legs for the life of me. Somehow my skills with a brush did not translate to a razor at all, despite my years and years of attempts.

I was a mess.

And on this particular day, I was in any even worse mood due to a fight with my bestest-of-the-best friend the night before.

It was a Monday, bright and early, and I woke up to hear birds singing stupidly cheerful songs outside of my window. I swung my legs out of bed, my sagging pajama pant legs flapping, and violently threw the drapes closed before leaving my room, self-consciously ducking through the shorter-than-average doorway.

Alice and I rented an apartment about twenty minutes' walk outside of our college campus. It was a brand new concept for both of us: although we had moved in that June, after talking our respective parents into paying for the lot, school had only been in session for about a month and it was taking a little getting used to. Especially the low doorframes, which had caught me off-guard on a few early mornings. On this particular morning I had a hangover due to the party Alice had dragged me to the night before.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, stolidly chewing through some cereal, specifically not looking at me.

Even hungover, even angry, even at six AM, Alice was still beautiful. She was a tiny thing, or so she seemed to me, at just barely five-foot-four, with rich mahogany hair that she kept in wide curls down to her shoulders. The deep color complimented her light complexion perfectly, and the bags under them couldn't take away from her beautiful big eyes, the Asian slant from her mom's side of the family only making her look more exotic. By all rights, her awesomeness would have stopped there, but she wasn't just beautiful, she was curvy. A round butt, a very very slight tummy, and boobs that seemed absolutely enormous to me but were really just C-cups fleshed out her figure.

Ha! "Just" C-cups. Like I said, to me they were impossibly huge.

She must have felt my jealous eye roving over her, sitting there in her big sleeping t-shirt, her milky thighs just peeking out from underneath. Her jaw, like mine, was set.

We didn't talk at all that morning.

The argument was really over something stupid, to be honest. She, like most people, thought that I needed to loosen up. That I wouldn't be so self-conscious if I just learned to live with what I had, if I had some confidence. There had been a party the previous night, to celebrate some stupid something-or-other at a house rented by a few of our friends, and, as usual, I had been dragged along kicking and screaming. Only instead of being allowed to sulk in a corner with my cup of beer as usual, Alice had pushed me all over the place, insisting I meet more people, be friendly, maybe have more to drink. Anything to break me out of my shell.

"We're juniors!" she had said. "College is half over! You need to shape up!"

She picked the wrong set of words there, even if she was joking.

"That's easy to say!" I exploded. "You like your shape! It's simple for you! Every guy here wants you, every girl wishes she was you!"

It was the only time in my memory of being friends with Alice that I could remember my anger being directed actually at her. Sure, I had been jealous of her for our entire friendship, but I couldn't really blame her for that, could I? It wasn't her choice to be born with flawless skin and perfect hair and those awesome, awesome tits. But it felt like that night she had been thrusting it at me, again and again, that I was always going to be Samantha Stork.

"Woah, you're tall!" some drunk asshole said as he stumbled past, his eyes boggling.

Steam poured out of my ears. I downed two beers to cool myself off, failed at that, and staggered home to my bed where my feet, as usual, hung off of the end.

I dressed that morning with tired apathy. I pulled a t-shirt over my head and pulled on some sweatpants. They were short, only making it halfway down my calves, which probably only made me seem even more gigantic, but I didn't care: late September was still pretty hot in my small college town, even if it was bright and early in the morning. I put as much makeup on as I could reasonably do so, in order to hide my nice crop of zips and to hopefully make my pale, thin lips more appealing. I grabbed my bookbag and my helmet, specifically didn't say goodbye to Alice, who was now brushing her luxurious hair in the bathroom, and left the apartment.

Down the stairs, lift my hand to slap the landing above as I now always did, unchain the bike, strap on the helmet, go to class. As usual, I tried to slump down in my seats as much as possible for lectures, keeping my mousy head below eye-level. I never raised my hand, either to ask a question or answer one, and I hardly knew anybody in my actual classes. It was how I liked it.

My classes were done by mid-afternoon, which gave me time for some swimming. As the most gawky girl you had ever met, I was not one for physical prowess. All of my teachers would pin me for either track or basketball but I had virtually no coordination on the court and could just not get the pace down for running, no matter how hard I tried.

Heck, I wasn't even that good at swimming. I just liked doing it. In the water, everyone's the same height, for the most part—they just have different lengths. And while I wasn't the fasted swimmer, and always seemed to end up burping half of the contents of my stomach up whenever I finally got out of the pool, there was a gentle tranquility I found in doing slow, ponderous laps.

Then I would get out of the pool, bark my shin on something idiotic, and remember who I was. Samantha. The girl who had to get the large-sized men's bike just so her knees didn't end up in her chest. The girl who could probably wear just swimming trunks to the pool and not be called out for it. The one that everyone assumed would just break in half one day.

I biked home, still fuming at Alice, but then I opened the door to a friendly, apologetic face and my heart melted.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Alice said, wringing her hands together, twisting them up in the hem of her top. Below the pleated skirt she was wearing her knees were locked together, one toe, clad in striped stockings, tapping against the floor with nerves. Adorable, of course. "I've been thinking about it all day and I was such a jerk this morning and last night. I guess I just don't think of you as tall or anything, just my friend who needs to get over something. But it's obviously much harder than that, and I'm sorry."

"Geeze," I said, closing the door behind me. "It's okay. I was stupid, too. How could you know how embarrassing it is for me?" My face was turning red, and I knew that if I had a mirror it would be showing up in awkward patches across my cheeks, not in the warm glow Alice was showing. "I'll try to be better," I said, and we hugged fiercely. This was a mistake. What should have been a patching up of our little spat only reminded me of our differences: her head pressed into my empty rib cage, her full and warm breasts pushing into my abdomen. In hot jealousy, I could feel my eyes getting humid and drippy. Choking it back, I bee-lined for my room.

Alice was clearly confused. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I blurted. "Just want to change, that's all." But the hitch in my voice gave it all away.

Inside my room, with a dumbfounded Alice still standing in our kitchen, I collapsed onto the floor, drawing my knees up to my chest and crying as quietly as I could. How could anyone know how horrible it was to be me? How much of a burden it was to be the most foul combination of ugly features? Alice may have been sympathetic, but she could not have an inkling what it was like to be the complete opposite of her: too tall, too skinny, entirely, completely, and unequivocally flat-chested. She had never had an awkward talk with her mom where she was told that she could probably stop wearing training bras, did she?

If only it could all be changed.

I looked at myself in the mirror, peeking through my straw-like hair. If I was shorter, maybe this would all be manageable. Hell, I could still be tall. Just not a giant, towering over everyone else in the school, with all of my physical failures out on display. But you can't really do anything about that, can you? You can get breast implants, butt implants, die your hair, hell, wear wigs. But you can't really make yourself shorter.

I could picture it, though. Being short enough that I could wear high heels specifically to be taller than everyone else. Looking guys in the eyes instead of from on high. Just four inches, or even three. Five-foot-ten. I could live with that. But six-one?

I could live with it, I guessed. I had for the past few years. But it was just so painful that sometimes I needed to cry.

"Ten," I said. Five-ten. That would be the best, wouldn't it?

Two hours later I emerged, having at last changed clothes as I claimed to have been doing. My pajama pants were still an inch above my ankles, and flapped in the breeze of my long strides, but Alice pretended not to notice as she heated up the dinner that she had prepared for me an hour earlier. I mumbled thanks to her, watched an episode of some vapid show without paying much attention, before truthfully saying that I felt light-headed and wanted to go to sleep. It was probably all of the crying.

When I woke up, I didn't know it yet, but everything had changed.

Tuesdays and Thursdays I started later than the rest of the week, so when my feet hit the floor Alice had already left for her economics class. Despite my drama-filled Monday, I was almost inspired by an unusual cheerfulness. I showered, got dressed, and ate breakfast, all still ducking through the doorways, before sitting in front of the half-finished canvas that I kept in the corner of our living room so I could get a head start on a project whose due date I had coming up. I was painting a landscape, some rolling hills and a farm. It wasn't the most original work, but it was quite a change from my usual paintings of bodies and forms, and I was having a lot of fun with it.

So much fun that I almost failed to realize over an hour had passed, and I would soon be late for my typography class.

Grabbing my bag and pulling on my helmet, I jogged outside and failed to notice that I had to reach up a little bit more than usual to brush the next landing up. After all, I still didn't have to stretch; how would I have reason to watch for that?

The first one that really hit me was when I got on my bike and it felt like the pedals were just slightly too far. Assuming the bike seat had somehow gotten raised, I adjusted it the necessary inch and made my way to class.

Really, there were so many things that I should have noticed, but you don't see these things when they're that subtle, when they can't possibly change. You find yourself justifying, instead. My shoes feel looser because I wore different socks; my pants reach lower because I'm wearing my belt weird; I can't see as far in a crowd because there's an unusual distribution of tall people around me.

All quickly reasoned and then filed away. The cognitive dissonance of "I am shorter than I was yesterday" was just too great for my brain to overcome. It took until I was once more back home, with Alice humming from the kitchen, before anyone bothered to point anything out to me.

Thank god for Alice; if it wasn't for her, who knows what might have happened?

"Dinner's ready," she sang from the kitchen, pulling her pan of baking chicken from the oven. I painted a few more strokes into my stormy sky, enjoying the effect it had on bruising the clouds, and dropped my brush into my bucket. I stood up, dusting my hands off on my pants, and turned around, beaming.

It's amazing what can happen in the space of a day. Just the previous morning, Alice and I were steaming mad at each other, refusing to even meet eyes. Now we were back to perfect buds, happy to see each other.

And then Alice looked up and saw me. She stopped in her tracks, halfway between the kitchen and our secondhand table.

"Are you... shorter?" she asked. The word seemed alien to her lips, like she didn't want to say it. But it was the only thing to say in that situation.

I laughed, of course. "What do you mean? I'm not wearing my shoes, if that's what you're talking about."

"No," she said, finally setting her steaming plate of noodles and chicken on the table, then tilting her head at me so that her wavy hair fell onto her shoulder. "I mean that you look shorter."

To my discredit, my mind started going to very mean, accusing places almost immediately. "If you're trying to be nice or something," I said, "it's a pretty stupid way to go about—"

"Sam," she said, interrupting me. That look was still on her face, as well as a very small look of fear in her eyes. "I am completely serious. Turn around."

Shutting up, I turned. Behind me was a poster for The Shining, one of Alice's favorite movies. "What's up?"

"Where is your eye-level?" she asked. I shrugged.

"'STANLEY KUBRICK'S'," I read out loud. My eyes were dead level with the words. I turned back and saw Alice shaking her head in disbelief. "What of it?"

"You were way over the height of that poster yesterday, Sam. Now your head is just an inch or so over it."

I started laughing. The absurdity of it was idiotic! Had she moved everything in the apartment higher, just to make me feel better? I had heard of gas lighting, but normally you did that to make people go crazy, not to make them feel better!

She boggled at me. "I'm serious, Sam! This is nuts! We have to measure you!"

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, Alice, we can measure me. Then I get to eat your delicious chicken, okay?"

Dutifully I let myself be lead over to a wall, where she marked the top of my head by standing on a chair. After a scavenge through her room for a measuring tape, she held it against the wall and dropped the other end. Sighing, I bent down to pick it up.

"Five feet, ten inches," I said. Then it hit me. "Wait a second. Let me see that measuring tape." I took it from Alice's still hand, running through it to make sure all of the other numbers were there and looked to be properly spaced apart.

They were.

It was accurate.

I had a minor freak-out.

Forty-five minutes later we were both sitting at the dining room table, drinking cups of green tea that Alice had brewed for us. "How does something like this happen?" I asked for the millionth time.

"Well," Alice said slowly, "you have to ask yourself: what did you do differently today?"

I thought back as well as I could. Nothing, as far as I could tell. I woke up feeling pretty good, in fact. My feet hadn't been hanging off of the end of the bed, which was unusual, but maybe I had curled up a little bit. I shook my head. "Nada."

She gave me another sideways look. "Well," she began again, "yesterday you were freaking out about your height, just a little."

I gave a nervous giggle. "Maybe a little. But you can't actually make yourself shorter," I said.

She shrugged, her long locks bouncing. "You can't actually become shorter, either," she said, "unless you have some horrible skeletal disease, and those don't normally strike overnight."

I couldn't help but grimace at the thought. "Right."

"So," she pushed, "What did you do when you were in your bedroom, when your dinner got cold?"

A blush spread across my cheeks at the blunt question. "Mostly felt sorry for myself."

"And?"

"Thought about how much easier it would be to be shorter."

"And?" She seemed to be looking for something specific, so I gave it.

"Wished I was shorter?"

She jumped to her feet, her huge eyes sparkling. "Aha!"

"Alice," I said, my eyes rolling, "wishes don't come true."

"Maybe they don't," she said, "but you're three inches shorter than you were yesterday!"

"Supposedly."

"Well," she said, "prove it!"

"And how should I do that?" I asked. "No way am I trying to make myself taller again."

Now it was my friend who was rolling her eyes. "Come on, you're always complaining about almost every aspect of your body. Just change something else you don't like!"

It sounded stupid, but I must have given her some kind of accepting look, because she sat back in her chair with a satisfied, expectant look on her face. Try changing something else I don't like? I guess it wouldn't hurt. But where to begin? I took a long sip of tea, thankful it was still warm, and then less thankful when I set the cup down and a matted strand of wet hair slapped me in the face. It must have dipped into my cup. I sighed and was tucking the strand back behind my hair when inspiration struck. Just like you can't change your height, you can't really change your hair either, can you? Not permanently or easily, and my problem wasn't that I wanted it shorter. I just wanted it to be able to get a bit longer, have a bit more body, maybe be an actually pleasing color. Just... be healthier, really.

"Okay," I said, trying not to let my voice betray my secret excitement. "I'll try it."

Closing my eyes to Alice's grinning face, I clasped my hands around my tea mug and tried to think back to the previous night. What exactly had I been thinking when I had wished to be shorter? Well, that was one thing: I had been exact, naming the precise height that I wanted to be. I had pictured myself with a pretty detailed visualization, a trick I had learned when I started painting. And... that had really been it, hadn't it?

So I painted a picture of myself in my mind.

First I darkened my hair so that it was a proper shade of lightish brown, not this weird mix of blonde and grey. The kind of color people mean when they say a dirty blonde instead of just blonde hair that looked permanently dirty. For a moment I considered making my hair identical to Alice's beautiful shade, but realized that would make my jealousy almost too obvious. Instead I strengthened it in my mind, making it be slightly wavy and curvy instead of the flat short sheets that currently sprouted from my head, ready to break off and fall out at the slightest touch. Finally I lengthened it, just a bit, just so that it was actually long enough to reach below my jaw line, to brush my neck in the back. Actual medium-length hair. What a thought!

When the picture was formed in my head, I held it all in its completion, and thought to myself "This is how I want to be. I want my hair to be exactly like this: darker by a few shades, longer by three inches, stronger, wavier."

And then I felt the most remarkable, strange feeling, like my head was getting a massage and a wash by invisible hands, all at once. It was an intense, warm feeling, and it quickly faded, but it was so memorable I wondered if I had felt something like that in my dreams the night before, when I had shrunk.

I opened my eyes and saw that same strand of ugly, straight, brittle hair, still wet from my tea.

Alice's eyes were huge and expectant. "Did it work?" she asked me in almost a whisper.

Stupid question, really; couldn't she see my hair? "Nein," I responded anyway, neglecting to mention the weird feeling on my scalp that was quickly fading. It must have been just my dumb imagination doing that.

My neck tickled; I scratched it.

Alice's eyes were widening even more and she was staring right at my forehead. "What?" I asked, refusing to let my voice get higher in excitement. Despite myself, my hand was shaking as I reached behind my ear and grabbed that still-soggy strand of hair and pulled it in front of my eyes. Only it wasn't the same strand it was before: instead of being a straight, sharp dagger of painful, horrible hair, it had a slight wave to it. The grey hairs in the small bundle were disappearing before my eyes, and, as I held on to the same spot, my hand slowly lowered as the hair grew out.

Holy shit, it had worked.

After several minutes of excited screams, several gushing repetitions of "what the shit?" and more than a few tugs at my brand new hair to test its durability and, well, realness, Alice and I calmed down. We were sitting on my bed by that time, both of us looking at me in the huge mirror that took up my sliding closet doors. I couldn't believe how I looked, even with just a few small changes. I wasn't a hotty, or even pretty, but my hair was getting there, and I had lost some of the awkwardness my previous height had bestowed on me. Now that I was looking for the differences, I could see them: my head didn't seem so strangely small on my long body, my hands were a little less lengthy, even my feet were scaled down the tiniest bit. And my hair! It was shiny, for once, and looked like it had been freshly washed and conditioned. It was the perfect shade of wheat blonde, approaching a light golden brown with none of that mixed up stuff before, and it fell in a few soft layers to a spot between my jaw line and my neck. I even had a part on the left side of my head, now, instead of the idiotic "right down the middle" method my hair had previously taken.

"Can you do this, Alice?" I asked, still gawking at my reflection. She had been swinging her feet on the bed, but at that mention she froze.

"I don't know," she admitted, then closed her eyes. "How did you do it?"

"I don't really know, either. I pictured how I wanted myself to be, then described in almost-exact terms in my head how I wanted to change."

"Hmm." She concentrated, her small brows, neatly plucked, furrowing. After about thirty seconds she opened her eyes again and looked intently at her reflection, then sighed and flopped back onto my bed. "Nope! Just you, it seems." She grinned up at me. "So what are you going to change next?"

I bit my lip. I admitted that the idea was extremely tantalizing, but I was never really a rash person. Blame my growing up with an extra half-foot to my height and more than a few stumbling accidents. "Maybe I should think about it for a—"

"Oh come on!" Alice exclaimed, interrupting my protests. "I know what you want, you know what you want, don't be an idiot!" She grabbed at her chest in her neatly buttoned blouse, her small hands almost enveloping her large breasts and grinned wickedly. "Jesus, Sam, give yourself a nice rack and let's move on, already!"

I blushed and stammered. I really wanted to wait, and she didn't understand. She didn't have this ability. If I didn't slow down, I might start making poor choices. Then again, I could always change myself back, couldn't I?

"What were you trying to wish for?" I asked, hoping a distraction would throw her off. It did not.

"Change yourself and I'll tell you," she said, waggling her eyebrows and biting her lower lip.

Rather than fighting her, I turned back to the mirror. God, I wanted boobs. More than anything. Hell, if I had known about this before, I might even have wished for actual breasts before I wished to be shorter. Maybe.

"Fine," I said. Instead of closing my eyes this time, I stared intently at my actual reflection and then just painted my mental image over that. If I had breasts, my shirt wouldn't be as loose as it was, hanging off of my chest like that. Instead it would be a little tighter, and you would be able to see my hard nipples pressing against the fabric. Especially since I wasn't wearing a bra. Not huge, maybe not even as big as Alice's were, at least relative to our respective frames. Just... existent.

I whispered the words in my head, mentally framed the image, and, very slowly, like water dripping into a bowl, I felt warmth trickle into my chest.

A hot, delicious burn, like draping a heated massage thing around your neck, or that first dip into a hot tub, filled my chest. I peered at my shirt, watching for changes as best I could while the warm rippled through me, but I didn't see anything.

"God this is so cool," Alice said while she squirmed in excitement. "You're going to be a perfect ten!"

I just shrugged. "Eight. Maybe."

"Why stop at eight?"

I didn't have time to respond, because an electric bolt shot through me when I realized I could feel some changes actually happening.

It's difficult to describe the feeling of breasts growing. When it happens to real girls, girls who aren't me, it happens too slowly for them to notice. Once day they look closer and realize that, yes, they probably need to start wearing a bra. For me it wasn't like that at all: I could feel the weight, no matter how small, forming out of nothing, the fat and breast tissue layering on, cell-by-cell, above my ribs. True to my mental image, my rock-hard nipples were pushing against my shirt, moving it outward, as the small, firm forms behind grew. Just a little... just a pinch... just a small change.

"Holy fucking shit," Alice breathed. "Just like that."

The grin on my face was a mile wide when my boobs stopped growing. I stretched my arms back, letting the braless wonders push against my now fitted t-shirt. Two mounds, not even big enough to fill a hand, were clearly there for all to see.

"How big did you go?" asked Alice. "I was expecting huge ones." It was like a note of disappointment was there in her voice.

I shrugged, watching the very slight jiggle in my chest as I did so. "I didn't want to go crazy just yet. Get a feel for them. Besides, I'm so skinny that getting bigger ones would be pretty out-of-proportion."

The grin on Alice's face was back, like the Cheshire cat's. "Not so thin anymore," she said. "Or you don't have to be!" There was a look in her eye that I wasn't quite comfortable with, but then she was reaching for the hem of my shirt. "Come on!" she cried, "let's see 'em!"

I fought against her, half-heartedly, before she ended up straddling me on my bed, my shirt half over my head, my new hair smushed up against my face. Both of us were breathing hard as her hips ground into my stomach, and I knew that the weird, excited look in her eyes must have been mirrored in mine. She gingerly stroked around the edges of my right boob, her finger gently flicking across my erect nipple. "They look gorgeous," she breathed. They did: two tiny hills, sloping out from my chest before rounding inward, moving softly with my heavy breaths, capped by two pink, eraser-like nipples, both of which were thicker and much sexier looking than before.

We must have both realized what we were doing, what it looked like, at the exact same instant, because in a flash we were both sitting apart on the bed, me pulling my shirt down, her fidgeting with the quilt on the other side of her, both of us avoiding the other's eyes.

"Aaaaanyway," I said, now playing with the hem of my shirt. "I think I'm going to go to bed. It's going to be a long day tomorrow until I can get some new tops. I'm going to need to bike across town."

Despite the previous embarrassment, Alice pouted and turned back to me. "Aw, come on! There's no reason to stop there!"

There was a reason, and I knew it: once I started changing more than a few things, I would need to change everything. And who knew when this would run out? what if I made a mistake? What if it only lasted for a set period of time? But it was so hard to explain these things to Alice, who didn't have this kind of power. And I had had only had it for maybe 24 hours!

"Come onnnnnn," she repeated. "Just one more thing! Maybe your skin? Never worry about zits again! Or give yourself permanent lipstick! Or stronger ankles!"

Then again...

"Well," I said, feeling another flush of excitement coming on, "if I'm going to be clothes shopping tomorrow, might as well finish with my proportion changes..."

"Attagirl!" It was like someone had told Alice that Christmas was four months early. She clapped her hands and leaned towards the mirror while I stood up and regarded my legs.

After today, I would never have to worry about looking like a boy again. I would have curves all along my body. This would be my last change, anyway. I eyed the straight line from my stomach down to my thighs and pictured how it would change, the skeletal changes that my drawing classes had taught me would be necessary, how much fat to add on to make it all proportional. I did the mental math in my head for all of these things, another thrill going down my body as I imagined actually having a BUTT, a real one that boys peeked at when you walked past, nice and firm to show off in jeans or shorts or skirts.

Another mental snapshot, another imagined command, and now boiling, loving water was pouring through my core, making all of my thighs and hips and butt feel like they were covered in a fiery hot blanket.

I rubbed at them with my hands.

The smile on Alice's face must have been causing her pain, but she still managed to be looking absolutely sincere and enraptured. "How many inches did you add?

I did the calculations; my waist and hips had both been 23 inches for my entire college life, and now I would be having an amazing hourglass figure. "Seven," I said. "A perfect 30 inches." My legs jittered as the changes began.

With my hands clasping around my legs at my hips I directly felt almost all of the changes happening. The feeling as my skinny, stick-thin legs plumped up, layering on fat and a little muscle. The tiny grating as my pelvis and thighs shifted position oh-so-slightly. I ran my hands up my waist, loving the gradual slope that was forming there, then back down to cup my butt through the thin sweatpants. The thong I had been wearing was getting tighter against my butt cheeks as they pushed out against the stretchy fabric of my pants. I clasped my ass in my fingers, loving the touch of smooth softness instead of bone and muscle just barely covered in a thin layer of fat. I turned around and saw that my sweatpants were actually getting tight against my behind and I suddenly realized what the real purpose of these kind of sweatpants were for: not just for something light and comfortable, but to make your ass look amazing.

It felt like the changes were complete. I turned back and looked at the mirror, then ran my hands down my waistline again before bringing them up to cup my breasts. I was an awesome, curvy figure, tall, sexy, and thin. I still had acne and many, many other problems, but at that moment I couldn't see them. I just saw the amazingly attractive girl that I now was.

Clapping brought me to my senses, and I saw that Alice was unironically cheering me on. "More!" she called out. "Encore!"

I grinned, brushing my new hair out of my eyes. "That's all for now, Alice. Maybe tomorrow."

She heard the note of finality in my voice and gave up on pushing me forward. "Awwww," she moaned, but at last pushed herself off of my bed. "You're a no-fun jerk," she said, but there was teasing in her voice. "When are you going shopping tomorrow?"

"I figured during my swimming time. I don't think my suit will fit me, anyway."

She stomped her foot. "Aw, man. I have Econ then! Come on, wait for me?"

I lifted my hands. "Maybe you should skip class if you're that excited for it."

She growled in frustration and I closed the door on her, laughing, loving the tiny bounces running in my backside that I now felt with each step.

Then I fell back into my bed and stuck my hand down into my panties, feeling the slight heat that I knew was waiting for me.

I had never been the best masturbator. Something down there had just never quite clicked with me. Alice claimed that self-made orgasms were even better than ones from boys, but having no experience in either area I was not one to make a comment. Hell, although I got horny as much as any college girl could be expected to, I just never seemed to be able to let that steam off. It felt nice to play with myself, sometimes, but mostly I just put that energy into other things, like painting or swimming or whatever.

That night I so, so desperately wanted to get off.

I rubbed my new thighs together, loving the way that they softly whispered across each others' skin. My breasts were hot and felt like they weighed a ton on my chest, even though it couldn't have been more than a few ounces. And my hair! Oh, I ran a hand through my hair, tugging on it softly, loving how smooth and strong it felt.

And, though I had no real idea how to properly get myself off, I slept more peacefully and happily that night, with two fingers inside me, than I had since hitting puberty.

***

I'm not one for dream sequences. They always seem like such an easy copout in movies and TV shows and books, a way of saying "Hey, here's what's going on inside the character's head! Isn't this so much easier than coming up with a meaningful way of putting this?" But sometimes dreams happen, and sometimes they're meaningful.

That night I dreamt that I was a knockout, and the best part of it was that it was almost completely true.

I walked into a crowded house, new shoes clicking on the polished tile. I was wearing three inch heels, which brought me back to my former height, but instead of making me look awkward and weird I looked sexy and powerful. Everyone looked up to me and gaped at my beautiful face. My hair was twisted up into a neat frill, my lips looked bee-stung and enticing, my skin blemish-free with the faintest blush. I was wearing a dress that didn't just have a neckline, it had a belly button line, showing off my smooth and sexy tummy along with the edges of my pert and perky breasts, which jiggled and swayed with every step. The skirt was cut short, just barely covering the bottom of my ass, and every other step or so it would flip up just enough to give onlookers (and there were many onlookers) a peek at my perfect curving cheeks.

Milky thighs. Toned and sexy arms. Perfect hair, lips, and eyes. I was a goddess there, and everyone, not just the guys, not just the lesbians, wanted me. All of the straight girls realized they were bisexual that night as they gazed on my magnificence, the few gays guys wondering what it'd be like to take me for a ride.

Beside me was Alice, and while she was beautiful and sexy as well, she commanded none of the presence in the room that I did. She looked up at me, the smile in her eyes telling me everything, and took me by the hand. "Come on," she said, and I could hear her over the thumping bass and chattering voices that were all talking about that awesome girl, "let's go."

And she led me into the crowd.

When I woke up, covered in sweat and shivering with excitement, I first checked the mirror to see what I looked like. To my continued surprise, I looked exactly the same as I had going to bed the previous night: curved, rounded out, and much more attractive than I had ever been. I jumped out of bed, shut off my alarm, and almost skipped out of my room to find Alice eating breakfast.

"When's the next party you know of?" I asked. She gave me a look, then swallowed.

"Tomorrow night, to celebrate the week almost being over, up at the Toad pad."

"We're going," I said, and the smiles that spread on our faces almost matched.

Classes would have been boring and standard if everything hadn't been so different. Now, instead of blending into the crowds, I held my head up, noticing the looks and peeks that guys and a few girls gave me. I found myself constantly playing with my new hair, twirling it around fingers, brushing it back and forth. Absently I would realize I was rubbing my hands on my thighs through the stretchy pair of pants I had slipped on, or that my hard nipples were showing, even through the double-layer of t-shirts I was wearing in lieu of a bra that actually fit.

I also noticed things I had been too dumb to realize the day before. How much room there was between my knees and the undersides of my desks, how high doorways seemed now. Three inches doesn't seem like much, but when you've been a certain height for most of your life, it can be an eternity.

At last classes were over and I was biking across town to the closest department store, my credit card growing heavy in my purse. I was there for nearly three hours, trying on things, testing to make sure my imagined measurements were exact, getting too much of a thrill at the numbers clerks were saying. The load on my backpack and hanging from my handlebars was immense for the ride back in the dark, but oh-so worth it. I had bras, shirts, shoes, panties, skirts, shorts, loose jeans, tight jeans, and a new one-piece swimsuit. I knew that if Alice had been there with me she would have insisted on a bikini, and I had almost gone for it, but no: I swam for me, not for other people.

Although maybe that would change. After all, I still had a few hundred dollars more.

Humming and whistling, I tried to block out the encounter at the checkout line from my mind. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on that kind of stuff. But the image was so fresh.

He had been cute, was the problem. Tall, taller than me, muscular but not a weight lifter, a strong jaw, and bored enough to be friendly and funny with everyone in line. I had almost brushed my hair over my eyes and gone in stealthily before realizing I had way more reason to be confident than ever before. So, straightening my back, brushing my amazing hair out of my eyes, I smiled at him.

"How's it going?" I had asked.

"Fine," he had said, pushing each item through the scanner. "Do you have a rewards card?"

"Uh, no," I said, then affected a tone I thought was playful. "Should I get one?"

"Nah, probably not."

He scanned in silence. The weight of the conversation was killing me. Here was your chance, Sam! Try out the new bod on a hot guy! What would Alice do?

"Um, so, there's this party tomorrow, that I'm going to?" I said, kicking myself for sounding like a dumb Valley girl. "Do you want to go?"

And then the moment. He looked up at me, his eyes travelling up my body, tracing the lines of my hips and chest. His eyes met mine, and a hopeful note filled up inside of me.

Then his eyes raked my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth.

"I'm, uh, busy," he said.

We completed my checkout without another word.

Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! I berated myself on the ride home, unable to stop my attempts to be pessimistic. You should have listened to Alice and done more! Fix your acne, cleared up your blotchiness, anything!

But no. I had to be calm. Scientific. Make small changes now, maybe, maybe, more later.

I was greeted with extreme excitement at the doorway to our tiny apartment, however, and everything was soon forgotten as I tried on clothes for Alice late into the night.

The next morning was one of my late start mornings, so I decided to shave my legs in preparation for the party that night. I filled the bath of up with nice hot water, enjoying the feeling of it over my new thighs and hips, and was about to start lathering up when I flashed back to the checkout boy.

It had been a full day without making any changes to myself, maybe it was time to test it again. Just a few small changes, nothing too crazy. And the best place to start? Body hair.

I regarded my legs. There was a few days' worth of stubble there, true. But I also had somewhat thick hair on my arms, nothing crazy, but noticeable to me. Plus my eyebrows probably needed to be plucked a bit, and there was a tiny amount of fuzz around my lips. What if I made it all go away? Permanently? Hell, I could even trim my crotch. Maybe not completely shaved, but at least make the hair thinner, neater, and less of a tangle. If I was going to try to pick up a boy, it seemed only natural.

So I pictured myself how I wanted. I went over each and every appendage and mentally removed the hair, clearing the pores completely of follicles, making them unable to grow. I pictured my eyebrows, normally completely natural, and removed any traces of a unibrow, neatening them up around the edges. Lip-hair disappeared. My bush I cut down, imagining the hairs growing soft and silky and tightened up, forming a small heart-shape above my pussy.

And then I mentally stated each and every command in my queue. No leg-hair, no arm-hair, no armpit hair, perfect facial hair, perfectly trimmed pussy. As I went through them, I got more and more excited. No more razors! No more shaving anything! No worries about finding a guy that finds pubes gross!

The heat that went over my body was a lot closer to a million tiny pinpricks that time. It wasn't unpleasant, and in fact felt liberating, freeing, like acupuncture probably feels. When it at last faded, I leaned back in the back, sighing. I was going to be so, so sexy. "Sixy," I breathed, loving the mental image.

When I opened my eyes, a million tiny hairs were floating in the water around me. Some were pubes, some were leg stubble, some were eyebrow hairs. I ran a hand up my leg and felt a baby smoothness. My bush was exactly how I had pictured it: neat and beautiful and soft to the touch. My armpits were absolutely hair-free, dark crevices of silkiness. I touched my face and felt the clear, natural-feeling line where my eyebrows now stopped. Then I ran it down for my upper lip and felt the hard, hot nodules of my acne.

Well. Something could be done about that.

After washing my hair and putting it up in a towel, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. My face definitely could have more than a few things done about it. Although my nose was fine (maybe I could make it a tiny bit smaller), and my jaw line was okay (could it be rounder?), and my chin was passable (it was so square!), the acne was a problem. I wanted clear skin, and, by god, I was going to have it.

I pictured my face exactly as it was, only clear. Perfectly smooth and clear. Like my legs were, my arms were, my perfect ass was. Smooth and acne-free. I pictured it so that, when I blushed, it came in a smooth pink glow instead of red splotches. If I smiled scars and pimples wouldn't stand out. It would just be... a face.

And then I made it so.

As my skin was bathed in a purifying warmth, I found myself smiling uncontrollably. But if this kind of reaction made me smile a lot, I was pretty sure I could deal with that. "Five by me." And then, as I watched, the acne just faded into my face, like it had never been. I was left smooth and pale and perfect.

Only now all of the other problems with me were that much clearer. My nose looked gargantuan, so long that it would be hitting my tits in a few years. My chin was wide and manly, my jaw way too square. And my lips! Don't get me started. I thought I was turning into a sexpot, more turned on than I had ever been, and even then I didn't want to kiss those thin, pale flaps.

A ton of adjustments popped into my head. Tiny ones, really. I wanted to be recognizable as me, still. Just... make my face a teeny, itsy-bitsy more round, my chin a little more pointed, my nose maybe a millimeter shorter, a millimeter higher, my hazel eyes seem a tiny bit less sunken.

And, well, okay. Plump my lips up more than a little. Make them round and full, not quite bee-stung, but at least pleasing to look at. Keep the bottom one slightly thicker, because I always found that sexier, just maybe an atom or two more plump. In my mind's eye I puckered both of them and saw lips that I actually did want to kiss.

Each feature burned in that cleansing warmth, and I felt the energy building up. That would be enough changes, though. "For now," I said out loud, as I watched the lines in my face blur and then resharpen, as my mouth became a little more weighty and full. I licked my lips and loved the feeling of flesh on them.

I took a step back and looked at myself. Completely free of unwanted hair, sporting two very beautiful and nearly-perfect breasts, my hair strong and wavy and sexy, my hips round and ready to fuck. Jesus. I was everything I had ever wanted to be.

I couldn't wait until Alice saw me.

***

We were a half-hour late to the party because Alice was so excited by the changes I had made to my face that she insisted I needed to go through my entire wardrobe again. She was the fashion expert, so I trusted her judgment that "form follows facial features." After nearly an hour of trying on different combinations and sets, we had finally settled on a classic look: white tank top with spaghetti straps, low-cut enough to see my lacy black bra and the tops of my fresh tits; tight denim skirt with a wide white belt, again low-cut to see the white flesh of my hips and the very bottom of my belly-button, ending at least four inches above my knees; white sandals with a two-inch heel. We pulled my hair into kind of a spiky punk do and barely needed to spray it to hold it in place. "Your wizard hair," Alice commented, "is easier to order around than you." I tried to take it as a compliment.

We probably would have still been on time if I hadn't taken the time to compare myself to Alice. We were both standing in front of my mirror again, enjoying the sight of two girls about to go have an awesome night. I loved the way my silky smooth and powerful legs appeared from beneath my skirt, the way it hugged my hips and showed them off while still being somewhat alluring. The way my boobs, even though they were relatively small compared to Alice's, still managed to create cleavage and look sexy astounded me.

Then I looked at Alice. She was wearing jeans, a purple v-neck top, and black flats. And somehow... something about her looked sexier than me.

She must have noticed my stare because she opened her mouth to ask why I was looking, shifting her body, and it was then that I realized what it was. I may have rounded my face out, added tits, widened my hips, but I still had the body proportions of a 6'1'' girl who was under 130 pounds. My stomach was almost concave, not the tiny sexy curve of Alice's. My arms were sticks, with no dimples at the elbows like hers. My jaw was nicely formed, but bony.

Well, I could fix that, I reasoned.

"What's up?" came the question at last, as I looked back at myself.

"One more change," I said, "before we go." I was painting the picture across my reflection already.

She rolled her eyes, but I could see the excited twinkle in them. "Come on, we're going to be late."

This time I felt like my entire body was wrapped in a warm blanket, vibrations and electric currents running through it. "Three," I breathed.

Her face grew concerned. "What was that?"

I felt the changes beginning as I turned to her. "We're only three minutes late," I said. "Keep your pants on." I turned back to my reflection and saw exactly what I had pictured bubbling up beneath the surface. I ran my hands over my arms and felt the minute layer of fat there, really less than a quarter of an inch. My face had only gotten a few millimeters, nothing more than something to keep the bone from showing through. My hands felt down my sides, loving the nearly undetectable fat that was keeping my ribs from probing through my shirt, and at last ended up on my stomach, which was now a very, very small tummy that showed between my top and my skirt. Really, it was a tiny curve outward from my waistline, before smoothly transitioning back up to my ribcage.

I had let a little fat get everywhere, to be honest, and I didn't mind the lovely feeling of my skirt getting a little bit tighter, of my boobs plumping up just the smallest amount from my shirt.

There. Now I looked perfect. Hell, I didn't just look good: I looked hot.

"Really?" Alice asked. "You added fat?"

"I didn't look natural," I reasoned.

She tried to fight a nod, but couldn't help it. "Bah, I guess you did. You are the one taking all of those anatomy classes." We made our way to her car, grumbles getting back to me constantly about how easy it would be for me to keep my weight under control and other nonsense. I wasn't really listening, instead reveling in how sexy I felt, in the way my thighs very lightly rubbed together with each step, with the small bounces my boobs took.

We were in the car (my seat pushed all the way back, of course) when Alice asked what would turn out to be a very important question.

"So what's with the counting?"

"Huh?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

She gave me a look, a more serious one than normal. "That's what I thought. You keep saying numbers."

"When?"

"Whenever you do one of your wishes."

I shook my head, loving the way my hair slapped lightly against my face. "No I don't."

"Yes," she said, "you do." She took one hand off of the steering wheel to tick numbers off. "You told me that when you first changed you actually said 'ten' out loud. Then the other day, before your hair changed, you said 'nine.' You insisted you were an eight when I said you were going to be a perfect ten, just before your boobs changed, and you said you had added seven inches to your hips. This morning you did, what, three separate changes to your body? Six, five, four. And just now, before adding the pounds on, you said three." She turned to me, and I could feel the frown of confusion on my face. "What happens when you get to one?"

I shook my head again, this time more fiercely. "I think you're seeing things that aren't there, Alice. I would notice if I were counting down, wouldn't I?"

"Hmm," was all she said. Then: "Maybe it's the limit."

"What limit?" I sighed.

"To how many changes you can make. Maybe you only get ten."

"Well, good thing I haven't been going crazy with them, huh?" I asked, feeling frustration. What was this? Some kind of jealousy? Was she now trying to make me stop? I tried to change the subject, get us back to feeling excited and prepped for the party. "So you never told me what you tried to change the other night! That was part of our deal!"

It didn't seem to work. "I'll tell you later," she muttered, as we pulled up behind one of the dozens of cars scattered around the street. "We're here."

Somewhat miffed at my best friend for the second time in a week, I decided not to talk to her until we were leaving the party, and strode up to the front door of the Toad pad. The name came from a painting of a fat frog on the front porch, and it was where most of the unnecessary parties throughout the school week took place. The celebration was already hopping, with people holding party cups crowding out onto the porch, and I almost quailed at the site of them. Flashes of my previous experiences at parties, as well as my attempt at flirting the day before, kept popping into my mind.

But I clenched my fist, gritted my teeth, and gave a wide smile at the cute boy guarding the door. "Hey, I'm Sam!" I said. "I think we're in Advanced Lit together?"

He flashed an equally-wide grin back. "Hey, I'm Jesse! Don't think we've met." He held his hand out, and I saw his eyes dart down from my face to my chest as we shook hands, then back up again. Success! Now if only I had eyes on the back of my head so I could find out if he was checking my ass when I walked away. Sighing, I waggled my hips anyway while I made my way to the keg room, then turned around to maybe catch him in the act. True to my guess, he quickly looked back to Alice, who rolled her eyes at me and have a half-hearted thumbs up. I grinned to myself. It was going to be an awesome night.

It was kind of funny, honestly. I was the same height I had always been, since I was wearing my heels, and about the same width and breadth (although maybe a few extra inches here or there). But instead of being jostled and bounced around by other party-goers, they seemed to almost make way for me. I no longer had to weave and dodge through the crowds, but found that they moved with me, the flow forming around my whim. Boys went out of their way to introduce themselves, girls acted as if I was higher on the social hierarchy than them. More drinks were offered to me than I had been offered in my entire life. And it was too hard to turn them down! I had only been there for forty-five minutes when I was on my fourth or fifth drink.

"What did you say this was?" I nearly shouted at the guy who was mixing drinks. Andrew, he had said his name was. He was one of the guys who lived there. He was as tall as me in my heels, with a tight band t-shirt on and a neatly-trimmed chinstrap.

He smiled at me, a dazzling smile, with a million white teeth. "That's a dirty Mexican. Pretty much a white Russian, but with horchata and tequila instead of milk and vodka."

"Mmm," I said, sucking down more of the creamy drink. Honestly, I could hardly taste it at that point. The world was spinning, and I wasn't used to wearing heels at all. "Do you know where I can take my shoes off?" I said, inspiration striking.

"I think I know of a place," he replied, that smile beaming at me.

Taking me by the hand, Andrew led me through the crowd like a boat downstream, me tottering along in my skirt and heels, him strong and with a purpose. Up the stairs, down a hall, all of it seeming to list first to one side and then the other. I had been pretty drunk before, but this seemed like a new level. Vaguely I wondered if I would remember this later. Do you think things like that to yourself when you're blackout drunk?

Inside a bedroom, with the door closed, the pounding music from downstairs was muted. "Perfect," I slurred, stepping out of my sandals and plopping down on the double sized bed. My boobs bounced with the movement and I giggled.

"What's so funny?" Andrew asked. I swear you could see his teeth gleaming white in the dark.

"Nothing," I said, chortles escaping my slightly plumper lips. "They just didn't used to do that."

"They didn't?"

"No, no, no they didn't. But now my boobs look awesome, don't they?"

He laughed and sat down next to me. "I guess they do."

"They look amaaaaaziiiing."

"I think all of you looks amazing," he said, then leaned over, took my chin in his hand, and kissed me. It was a long kiss. "Hmm," he said softly, "you taste amazing, too."

"Thanks," I nearly whispered. "So do you."

"Well thank you," he said slyly. Then we were kissing again. I can only assume that he took my extreme inexperience in the kissing area as part of my drunkenness, but who knows? Our tongues were intertwining, our lips meeting constantly, and, before I knew it, my head was back against the bed and he was on top of me. The position felt strangely familiar, like I had been there before, and recently, but I couldn't say why.

His tongue was down my throat, his hand was up my skirt, a finger tracing along trimmed pussy lips through my panties. And I so, so wanted it to feel good. But it didn't. It just felt like he was tracing me along my knee, or my fingers. It felt good because he was doing it, not because it was a particularly erogenous zone. Even in my drunken state I knew that it shouldn't have been that way.

So I pictured in my mind a Sam who didn't feel that way. Who had a sensitive vagina and labia, who was actually able to act on her horniness and maybe even get off once in a while. What a thought, right? I held that hazy, wobbly picture in my head, and ran through the small list of changes I wanted: increased sensitivity, easier orgasms, labia that could get a little swollen with excitement, would lubricate themselves to ease their duty.

A warmth built up in my groin and crotch, pinpricks and hot waves of easiness and pleasure. Soon it faded.

"Two," I whispered around Andrew's mouth. Some distant section of my mind filed that away: that Alice was most likely right, that I couldn't do anything to stop myself from counting down, that it was leading up to something. But drunk me didn't care. Drunk me just wanted the changes to start. And they did.

With a growing feeling, Andrew's fingers went from simple sources of pressure to a teasing, tender stroke that made my hips start to shiver and shake with desire. I felt a dampness start to stick my panties to my pussy and knew that, for the first time ever, I was actually wet with horniness.

"Oh god, I want you inside me," I moaned.

"I think I can do that," he said with another quick smile. "Give me just a second." He leaned back to unbuckle and remove his jeans, carefully removing a condom from his wallet. At that point I probably could not have cared less about protection, but in retrospect it was probably a good idea. I was more interested in easy access for him: my skirt and panties were down around my ankles in about two seconds, my right hand pulling my top over my head while my left hand reached down into my aching, tender nethers and felt my swollen pussy lips. More electric shocks ran through me, just from a few quick caresses.

Then Andrew was over me again, one hand gently massaging my new, delicious breast, and the other guiding himself into me.

I won't say that it didn't hurt. Stupid me hadn't made that part of me change, and I was too into the moment by that point to even consider mentally popping my own cherry. It was, after all, my first time, and I'm sure that a few spots of blood stained the sheets that night. It did hurt.

But mostly it felt good. Goooooooooood. Good in a way I had never imagined. Good in a way I couldn't have dreamed of. I had experienced sex dreams before, but none of them actually ended in the big O. None of them felt like this.

Andrew, to his credit, was an old pro at banging random party chicks and held out much longer than I did. With each measured, controlled thrust, I became deeper and deeper enraptured in the new experiences I was having. It seemed like my entire body was slowly coming awake in a way it hadn't been before. Goosebumps were all over my arms and legs, my hair was probably standing on end, my mouth was permanently open.

And finally I fell over that cliff and plunged into my first real orgasm.

I didn't regret having to say another number at all that night.

***

"Get up get up get up," Alice said, smacking at me. "You're going to be late and you're going to blame me, somehow."

"Wha?" I asked stupidly. I opened my eyes and saw an unfamiliar ceiling, with an unfamiliar comforter over me, and a very familiar face glaring down at me.

"Come on, party girl. Your dumb sculpture class starts in fifteen minutes and you need to get to campus."

In about two seconds the entire previous night flashed back to me. The party. The drinks. Andrew. Andrew! I sat up, looking around frantically, and heard Alice scoff.

"Your boytoy already dropped you and ran. Apparently this isn't even his place, and he got chewed out for stealing his bud's bedroom to bag some ho." She put a small finger to the corner of her mouth. "Do you know who that might be?"

"Are you serious?" I asked. "I was a one night stand?"

"Don't think of it that way," Alice said wryly. "Think of it as he was your one night stand." She slapped me on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll give you a ride to school."

I gaped, then realized that I was still naked. I self-consciously pulled the comforter up over my tits, even though Alice had seem them all just two days before. "But what will I wear?"

My best friend was already heading out the door. "Whatever you dumped on the floor, I guess. Jesus."

Less than five minutes later we were in Alice's car. She was glowering out of the window as we wove through the morning traffic. "You could be a little nicer, you know," I said.

She just shot me a look. "Could I, Sam? After you acted like a total slut last night? Racing around, flashing everyone your new butt and chest?"

My face grew hot. "Well maybe I like my new butt and chest and want to show them off while they still feel new!" We sat in silence for a moment, and then it seemed to click. "Wait a second. You're actually jealous of me, aren't you?"

The car slammed to a stop in a parking space and Alice very, very slowly turned to me. "What."

"That's right!" I said triumphantly. "You wish you could do what I do! You wish you could just change anything about you! Well, the shoe's on the other foot now, isn't it? I used to be so jealous of my beautiful best friend, but now I can make myself as beautiful as I want. I'm going to leave you behind! Tell me, Alice, what was it you were trying to wish for yourself the other day? Huh?"

A muscle in her cheek was twitching, her eyes were red hot with fury. Alice was angrier than I had ever imagined, and the sight of it only filled me with joy. I was on top!

Then she answered. "I wanted bigger boobs," she said, very low and quiet.

"WHAT?" I nearly screamed. "You wanted them bigger? You who have always had amazing, awesome boobs? You wanted to have even bigger ones? You just wanted to leave me in the dust, didn't you?"

Her fingers worked the steering wheel. "You told me to try to change whatever I wanted to try, didn't you?" Her voice was still that low, steady tone. "That's what I've always wanted. I've always wanted them even bigger. So that's what I wished for."

A cruel idea popped into my head. Probably the cruelest thing that I had ever thought of. A perfect image of how to get back at her for being so rude this morning, for not being sympathetic to my wishes to try out my new body. "Well, guess what, Alice?" I asked. "Maybe I'll give you something else to be jealous of!"

Her eyes opened wide, and she turned to say something to stop me. The problem is, you can't stop someone else from thinking, from forming statements in their heads. In the amount of time it took her mouth to form the first syllable of the word "don't," I had already cemented the picture of what I wanted and thought out the perfect way of describing it. By the time she was done with the first letter in the word "do," the hot, filling warmth was already spreading throughout my entire chest. And by the time she had finished with the word "it," a word of my own was forcing its way up my throat and through my teeth, like a burp or a vomit or a cry of ecstasy.

"One," I said triumphantly. And my breasts overflowed with pleasure as they also overflowed my bra.

I instinctively arched my back and grabbed at my tits when the pressure began to hit them, massaging the hot flesh as it spread outward. Hot lines were being pulled into the flesh by the lacy edge of my expensive bra, and as I continued to swell the straps on my shoulder and back dug in even more.

And god I was loving it. My panties were already starting to dampen, my throat drying out, a soft moan building up in my lungs.

"How big are you going to get?" Alice boggled, her anger temporarily gone in concern and wonder.

"Bigger than you," I panted. "Much bigger." I started to fumble at my hooks from behind, my enjoyment of the tightening bra quickly turning to discomfort, but soon Alice's hands pushed mine away and she reached up through my shirt for me.

"Jesus, before you choke to death," she said, releasing the hooks. I whimpered thanks, in both pain and happiness, and brought both of my hands up under my top to feel my growing boobs. God, they were getting so big. No longer little mounds on my chest, they were proper breasts now, filling my hands. My fat nipples were poking through my fingers, the areolae spotted with hard nubs, and I looked down to see at least a few inches of cleavage across my increasingly-small shirt. My fingers were just being spread apart when at last, to my sexual frustration, they stopped growing.

I panted, the huge things wobbling and bouncing against my ribcage. "E-cup," I said. "Maybe bigger. It's not an exact science."

Her eyes were absolutely huge. "Oh my god, Sam. You can't do that. You don't have anything to wear. Look at that top, it's stretching completely out. You're going to get thrown out of class!"

Rubbing at the shirt, enjoying how easily you could see my nipples through it, I gave Alice a mocking look. "Oh no, people will see my amazing tits. How horrible! You're still jealous, aren't you?"

She slapped her forehead. "Goddamnit, Sam," she insisted, "I'm not jealous, I'm worried about you! You have no idea how this works! Put them back!"

"Put them back?" I repeated. "You're seriously going for that?"

"I am dead serious! Look, you can keep them this way when the day is done, but just prove to me that you can put them back."

As much as I loved winning an argument, I couldn't say that she wasn't right. It would be much more convenient to keep them like this after I actually had clothes that fit. "Fine," I said, and put the old picture of myself in my head. The one with perfect, firm, small, B-cup breasts. Me from before. I held that picture there and mentally said the words to change myself. I concentrated. I willed it to happen. I had done it ten times before.

Nothing happened.

Fear struck me in the heart as I met Alice's eyes. "Oh my god, you were right," I said.

"You can already tell?"

"Normally there's this heat, a build-up. Then it fades, and I guess I say the number. Now... nothing."

"Zero," she said, and I decided to laugh instead of cry. Like that, things were made up between us.

"Come on," Alice said, turning the car around. "Let's go get you an emergency top and bra. You can miss one class."

***

At the end of the day, I had to admit that I was ultimately happy with my decision to plump up my boobs for my last change. Hopefully they wouldn't cause me any back pain later in life, but for now I loved the way that they looked, the way that they bounced, and especially the way that they felt. My nipples had grown a little with them, now like tiny little pinky tips on the top of my thickened areolae, and they would crinkle hard at the slightest breeze or touch. Naked they were a perfect teardrop shape, just the right size so that I could grab my elbows and have them rest on my arms, and in a bra they absolutely popped in front of me. I could look down into what seemed like miles of dark crevasse, especially after my lifetime of flat ribs.

With a bra and a nice blouse in hand, we stopped by the apartment so I could change into jeans, and I was in time for my next class where I was promptly chided for not having my landscape finished.

I had other things on my mind, to say the least.

Yes, there were definitely going to be some adjustments to be made to my life. Although I probably wasn't going to go out and lay the first guy who offered a place to put my shoes again, there was definitely something to be said for being sexually active. Plus the extra four or five pounds I had wished onto my body on a whim the previous night meant that, once more, my tight jeans were a little too tight. But other than that everything was turning out quite nicely. I got so many looks as I bounced and strutted around campus, jealous ones from girls, interested ones from guys. The glances down my cleavage were even more obvious than before. I was drinking it all up.

As it was a Friday, I opted to go swimming. Best to get back into a routine, I thought, breasts being smothered in a too-small top or not.

In fact, I was rather thankful that I had opted for the one-piece as opposed to a bikini; a B-cup bikini definitely would not work for an E-cup, no matter the emergency. On a one-piece, though, while it might have been pretty uncomfortable, at least served somewhat. I made the necessary laps, enjoying the way that the water ran through my ponytailed hair, how it felt on my thinly fat-layered body, how my boobs displaced the water.

I got out of the pool an hour later than normal and hit the showers.

There were a few freshman girls in there, the likes of which I had previously avoided seeing by swimming at such odd hours, but my late swim had led me on an intercept course. They were giggling and playing around and I was safely ignoring them until I reached my locker and pulled on my panties. The giggles and laughter peaked once when I let the waistline snap around my hips, then died down again until I was pulling my jeans on. Despite all logic, there was a lot of trouble getting them up and over my thighs. With each tug and pull, the laughter reached a new high.

"Doesn't she know how fat she's getting?" one asked.

"You'd think those huge tits in front of her would clue her in."

"Maybe she should come here and swim more often."

Did they think I couldn't hear them? And besides, I was kind of the opposite of fat. The previous night I had heard the word "supermodel" more than once thrown around the party, and even beer goggles couldn't account for that. What were they—

I saw myself in the mirror. No way had my butt been that big when I had put those jeans on that morning. In my shock I must have relaxed my leg muscles because the jeans, at last, pulled up over my hips. But then the button wouldn't button, and the tight fabric against my crotch was sending the strangest signals down my body. Despite everything, including the embarrassment at whatever malfunction was happening with my pants, I was getting horny. The zipper at last came up, the button buttoned, but there was a very tight pressure on my stomach and I could see a clear indentation on the soft flesh. Panicking now, I pulled my bra on and felt an eerily familiar feeling, one I had experienced just that morning.

The cups were too tight.

Now moving like a freight train, I pulled the bra as tight as possible and hooked it, ignoring the small lines of pain being drawn across my chest. I shoved my feet into my socks and shoes, trying not to notice that there was an inch of loose denim around my ankles when previously the jeans had been the perfect length, and licked my lips, pretending that they didn't feel the tiniest bit swollen.

I grabbed my pack and virtually sprinted out of the gym, pulling my hair out of its tail as I ran. It was impossible to deny that the tips of my long hair were brushing against my shoulders.

The bike ride home was long for multiple reasons. First of all was the unnerving fact that I had to lower my bike seat once again. Less than half of an inch, but when you've ridden your bike as much as I have, you notice these things. Then, when I sat down on the bike and started pedaling, the pressure of the seat pushed into my groin and sent the most undeniable signals to me that it did, indeed, feel good. It felt good in a way that biking had never felt good before. I had to fight my hardest to keep my eyes uncrossed and my feet steady as I pedaled through the darkening town.

The door slammed behind me. "Alice?" I called.

"What's up, Sammy?" she asked emerging from her bedroom to see me panting in the entry. My weird reaction to her question must have distracted her from the changes that I knew had hit me, must have still been hitting me.

"Alice, I'm shorter!"

She gave me one of her sideways looks. "Well, yes. We went over this on—"

"No, you don't understand," I said, grabbing her shoulders and frightening myself by how little I had to reach down. "I'm shorter again." At her confused look I pushed Alice away and went and stood by her poster of The Shining. "See?"

"Oh my god," she gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. "You are! And your hair!"

"It's longer, right?"

"And darker!"

I twisted one of the strands in front of my eyes and saw that it was. No longer a honey brown, it was more of a rich brunette. I tossed it aside.

"And that's not all! My pants hardly fit, either around my hips or my waist! My new bra doesn't fit at all, in case you can't tell! And my lips..."

"Oh, god, you're right! They look plumper!"

I blushed. "Not those lips..."

Her brow furrowed. "Wait a second. You never did tell me what 'two' was." Then it dawned on her. "You didn't use it to fix your 'O' problem, did you?"

I sheepishly nodded. "Last night."

"Oh, Sam." She came up and put her arm around my shoulders, which I was alarmed to find took her almost no effort. No tip-toes, no stretch. "Do you want us to call the hospital? Your parents? The cops?"

I had no idea. None of those ideas seemed like they would help anything. In fact, they would only make it worse, if I knew my parents. What would a doctor do? It's not like this had anything medical to cause it, as far as I understood... well, anything. In the Twilight Zone, things just happened to people, with no explanation, and the protagonists can't do anything about it until the whole episode had run its course.

"Maybe we should just wait it out?" she asked, seeing the look on my face. I nodded. "Well, at least it's the weekend," she said. "How about you change into the loosest clothes you have, and I'll order pizza? I'm sure this will all stop soon enough."

How could she know that? Even then I knew it was one of those white lies you tell people, like "this too shall pass" and such. But I still got comfort in it, and I padded meekly into my room to change, grabbing the tape measure along the way.

I tried to regard myself in the mirror as coolly as possible. This was going to all end eventually. I just had to ride it out, maybe enjoy it. After all, all of the things happening appeared to be just extensions of what I had already wanted. So why not find happiness in them, right?

The girl looking at me in the mirror was definitely on the curvy side, that was true. Her hips were pulling her from the side of "healthy" to the side of "bubble-butt", her ass cheeks still rounded from the side views, but sticking out even further. The extra few pounds on her torso had turned the very slight convexity into an actual tummy, a gently softness that, to the girl's admittance, was very nice to stroke. Her body hair was already completely gone, while the trimmed and neat pubic hair was getting even thinner and softer, now lasting maybe an inch above her vagina before fading into soft and smooth belly. A vagina whose labia, by the way, were definitely plumper than the day before. In her panties she had a camel toe, but here, naked, they just looked fat and a little inviting, although if anything more serious than a thin pair of panties touched them they were liable to start leaking. Moving up we could see what was quickly becoming the main attraction: two very fat, increasingly heavy breasts. According to the measurements, they were G-cups, and they readily overflowed the girl's hand when she hefted one heavy sack of fat and flesh. Still, they had a very nice shape, a wide and thick teardrop with perfect, perky nipples. They were just approaching the size of the girl's head. A head that was, to the girl's thoughts, actually cuter than the day before. The steady changes going through her body were doing things she had only paid the slightest attention to. But now her chin was growing narrower, her face rounder, her lips a little poutier. Her nose was even smaller and a little more pointed, and her eyebrows looked more plucked, standing out from the skin that was most likely more pale and slightly more radiant than that morning. Top that off with hair that was now on the slightly longer side of medium length, with maybe half of an inch balancing on her shoulders, in a shade that was definitely now light brown, and round it off with a few more pounds spread around her body, and she was quite a different girl then she was that morning.

I held up the tape measure to the top of my head and slowly reeled it down my back. When the metal tip hit the carpet, I looked at where my thumb was. "Five foot eight and a half," I read out loud. An inch and a half in—well, when had this started? This afternoon? Before lunch? Immediately after I made my boobs grow the second time? Who could say?

I sighed in thought and frustration and walked over to my dresser, casting through it for a shirt that could contain me. Funny how just a few days before I was so excited that my shirts were a little too big, and now even those bigger shirts probably weren't going to be big enough to stuff my tits into.

Every change that had been happening to my body that day, up to and including the one I had manually activated that morning, was a change that continued a wish I had already made. Hair darker, longer, stronger? Yup, it was definitely off by a few shades, had a few more inches, and, judging by the glossiness, even stronger than before. Face a little bit more elfin, lips a little plumper? Well, at least they were still normal-looking. Boobs bigger, more noticeable? By the end of this, if there was an end of this, they would probably be the only thing people noticed about me at all.

And that raised another question. Assuming that it did eventually end, and that each continued growth was based on a previous wish I had made (of my apparently ten-wish limit), I had made my boobs bigger twice. What did that mean for me?

I found an oversized LA Lakers shirt and slipped it over my head, pulling my hair out of the collar in what was already an automatic motion. To my relief, it still managed to be too big for me: it fell neatly to my thighs.

Actually, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror again, I wasn't absolutely huge, by any means. It was just such a wild change from the narrow, stretched out Samantha that I was used to. Maybe, total, I had put on ten pounds since the night before. It's not like it was out of control.

In fact, I thought to myself as I did my best to put my hair in a ponytail, I kind of liked how I looked. Maybe, had my ability to change myself not inexplicably disappeared, I would have eventually put myself in this state. I did another look over:

My hair was gorgeous, for one. Long and wavy. My eyes looked like they were bigger, more soulful. My face was definitely cuter and more attractive than before, approaching a pixie look that I wouldn't have dreamed I could have pulled off even two days ago. My hips were sexy, especially now, teasing out from beneath the shirt. And my chest, well. I gently hefted both tits in my hands, playing my fingers across the nipples through my shirt and loving how they perked right up, the thrill that went through me as I felt the weight, and the way they swung and jiggled against my chest when I let them drop. That I could live with.

I pulled my panties back on, thankful that they were more cotton than spandex, and couldn't help but pull them a little tighter than necessary at the top, loving the feel of their whisper across my smooth legs, the tug at my sensitive pussy. Plus, as I pulled the t-shirt up and turned around to regard my posterior, my ass looked amazing. It was only just verging on big, and as I ran my hands over the taut, smooth surface, I shivered.

But no more! I thought to myself. This was it. No way could I grow (or shrink, considering my height) more. I could turn into a freak.

Alice and I ate dinner in silence, instead watching one of her dumb reality shows. About halfway through she realized the implications of watching an extreme makeover special and switched it to some kind of sci-fi movie instead. I tried my best to pay as much attention as possible, curling up in my comfy t-shirt on the couch while Alice sprawled on the other side. We said nothing and I tried to follow the plot as best I could, just so I could get lost in something. I focused on the special effects, the characters, the dialogue. I focused so much that, by the end of the movie, I couldn't even remember what it was about.

But I could remember exactly how it felt to have my nipples slowly, ever-so-slowly, push more and more out against my t-shirt. I felt with stark, harsh memory how my butt, at first gently pressed against the arm of the couch, gradually pushed tighter and tighter against the thin cushion. I could recall with perfect imagery how it felt to push my hair out of my eyes and realized that the tie I had put into it was no longer tight against the back of my head but now had a few inches of slack, at least.

Changes were still happening.

When the movie was over I mumbled nothing more than "'m goin' t' bed" and stood up, but even that motion, with my even tighter panties, put amazing pressure on my swollen labia and, with a shiver, my entire body woke up into erotic excitement.

"Woah," Alice said, flicking a light on. I can only imagine the surprise for her: in two more hours I must have lost another half-inch in height, gained another cup size. My face must have morphed even more, my shirt must have looked longer but tighter. I must have been a subtly different person.

And god, I was. Because I just wanted to fuck myself silly.

Holding my soft and hot tits to my body with my hands, my rock-hard nipples spearing at my palms, I shuddered a "goodnight" out and speed-walked to my bedroom. In a flash the t-shirt was on the floor, accidentally pulling my hair out of its tie with it, and I was on my bed, one hand tightly gripping my nipples, the other mashing under my panties, two fingers pushing past my larger pussy lips and doing things that the guy the night before might never have dreamed of. What was his name? Aaron? Andy? Alice? Did it matter? It had felt nowhere near this good, I thought as I slipped a third finger in, my thumb and pinky pleasing me more than enough by stroking my thick labia folds and occasionally brushing my clit. Jesus, my clit; I had never even thought of modifying that.

My panties and hand were getting more than their share of slick lubricant when the first wave of orgasm hit, and I came over and over again, the fear of what was happening to me completely lost in the electricity running through my body, the heat and excitement my new, fatter nipples gave, the feeling of my hands on my lovely curvy thighs, my hair sweaty on the bed...

I fell asleep with my hand still inside me after more than an hour of masturbation.

Six hours later I was woken by intense, tight pain around me.

The world I woke up in was completely unlike the one I had fallen asleep in. I was tangled in some kind of thick ivy that had fallen across me like a net, getting in my mouth and around my neck. Some kind of horribly soft weight was slung across my chest, a sandbag, maybe. And, worst of all, some burning line, like a rope or even fishing wire, was wrapped around my hips and was probably what woke me up. Whatever alien situation I was trapped in, I had to get out.

First things first: getting up. I braced my elbows against the soft mattress beneath me and pushed myself up. Miraculously, the hair fell away and the weight on my chest transferred to a weight on my back as my huge tits flopped against my stomach. The only remaining problem were my panties, whose elastic were absolutely going to cut me in half. Blindly I groped for them, wedging my fingers between the hard elastic and my hot, soft flesh, and pulled outward.

There was a snap, then instant relief.

Breathing hard in exhaustion as the panic drained away, I swung my legs off of my bed and grabbed for my lamp. I couldn't find it in the dark, until I leaned a little bit more than I was used to and found the switch at the base.

What I saw in my reflection, glaring at me across the room, was not what I had expected.

My hair, which I had been sure was trying to strangle me, reached halfway down my back by now, shiny with sweat and now a darkening brown. The healthy glow it had did not fool me for one moment that it was trying to make me prettier, because I knew its real game: to trap me. "I'm cutting that as soon as it's light," I growled. But there were bigger problems. Notably, the weight that I was unconsciously trying to cradle in my arms: my boobs. They were definitely bigger than my head, now, although in their fatty, soft state it was harder to tell. They were so... amorphous. For some reason I had never figured real, huge boobs would be like that, that they would just retain their firmness and shape. But no, even my magically created breasts were shaking and quivering like liquid Jell-O, reshaping and moving with every single breath I took. With them tucked above my arms like that, they overflowed my thickened arms to the dimpled elbows and pushed out at least a few inches. How big were they now? I-cups? Did such things exist? Maybe, if I ever found a bra that would fit, in which case they would create cleavage up to my chin. For now, they would just try to hide the thick, gelatinous belly I was growing. My belly button was quickly disappearing into a stomach that was poking an inch or two over my now ruined panties. Panties which were still succeeding in containing almost all of my enormous ass. It was wider than my shoulders, my thighs so well-padded that my fingers sunk an inch or two into them, and they tightly pressed against each other all the way down to my knees. I wondered if my skeleton was still making adjustments, tiny, microscopic ones, to make my hips even wider-set than before. It had seemed like a good idea a few days prior, but now I was getting ridiculous.

The reflection in the mirror was on the far side of sexy and getting toward cartoony, and there was no stopping in sight. I turned out the light so I wouldn't see it anymore.

I flopped back into bed, nearly growling in frustration, but the wind was quickly knocked out of me by the huge weight of my tits. Lying on my back was going to be an impossibility in the future, I knew. But, as I turned onto my side, I found that my butt and hips also were working against me as my widest features: my back had to arc painfully just so I could lie flat. And if I pressed my legs together too much, or, hell, even rubbed them the wrong way, delicious seeping excitement dripped from my swollen pussy. I tried not to wonder how much my sensitivity had increased, how large my outer labia were now. I was too frustrated, and way, way too scared to be horny. But my body insisted otherwise.

I eventually found a comfortable spot to relax in, some twisted form of laying that I knew would leave my back aching in the morning. Then again, with my new tits, I could guarantee that my back would be aching almost nonstop, forever.

The clock said it was 4 AM.

I lay there, my tits mostly resting against the bed, my ass mostly spreading out below me, my hair everywhere, for at least two hours. In those two hours I had a lot of thinking time. Time to wonder if I would ever stop growing. Time to imagine that I became a horrible freak that nobody ever wanted to even look at. Time to resist sticking my fingers back into my crotch and playing with myself until I fell asleep again.

Most of that time was spent noticing tiny changes going through my body.

How the cotton in my panties was slowly stretching out, further and further.

How my belly and sides were becoming more and more exposed to the air as they pushed themselves over my panty line.

How my lip felt even softer every time I bit nervously down on it.

And especially how my enormous, soft tits were getting even softer and enormouser. I couldn't see them, but they were attached to me, for Christ's sake. Pulling each other down into my mattress and over my side.

At 6:00 I pulled myself out of bed, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. I found my discarded t-shirt, yanked it over my head, spent several minutes navigating the sea of hair that I had displaced, and finally emerged from my bedroom.

Every step I took sent waves of messages through my body. "You're braless!" my chest screamed. "I'm fucking huge!" my butt yelled. "Put your fingers inside me!" my vagina practically ordered. With my thighs now constantly pressing and rubbing against my pussy, that was a nearly undeniable urge. But instead I found my target, picking it up in one hand and slipping my fingers into the holes. I duck-walked myself to the bathroom, again ignoring all of the ululations my various body parts were sending me, and flicked on the light. Trying my best to avert my eyes, refusing to acknowledge what I looked like, I instead focused on my hair.

It was a dark mahogany, already so changed in just a few hours. It virtually poured out of my head in thick, wavy sheets, cascading over my shoulders, tangling in my arms, and ending, as far as I could tell, just above my shelf-like butt—

shelf-like

—No, no, no, we were focusing on my hair.

It could keep growing, I obviously couldn't stop that. But goddamnit, this was one thing that was easy to stem the tide against, or else I would soon be tripping on it. I raised the scissors up, grabbed a handful of hair at about six inches from its roots, and snipped. And snapped. And when that handful was empty, I grabbed a new one, and cut it away.

Absolutely piles of hair fell around my feet, covering them like a glossy, tangley blanket. A few stray strands dropped onto the counter, long enough to stick to some water and still fall almost to the floor. I hadn't thought about it until then, but my hair probably wasn't as long as it seemed: I was used to being over six feet tall, so hair that reached my waist from that height would be much longer than hair that reached my waist at... well, however tall I now was. Must have been under five and a half.

But it was still really long, and there was still a lot of it.

After twenty minutes of grueling snips, I at last was free of the prison that had formed around my head. It was unbelievable how much lighter I felt. I peered at my handiwork: a shitty pixie-cut, to be sure. But something I could live with. It especially matched the new look of my face, with my sharp chin, small nose, thick lips, rounded cheeks. I hadn't given my face a proper look in a while, and I definitely wasn't looking below the neck, but I had to say that this part, at least, I liked. My eyebrows were definitely getting even thinner, now just a couple thick, arcing lines above my eyes, but other than that the changes seemed to be slowing. Well, apart from my protruding lips, the lower one even bigger than before. Yet they still managed to look soft, so natural. Not like girls who had huge Botox injections, just like ones with, well, with big lips.

I looked at the bigger picture of myself again.

Yes. Yeah, I looked fine. If I didn't look anywhere below my chin, I could tell that it was okay.

And then my scalp lit on fire.

Not literally, of course. Heck, not even truly metaphorically; in no way did it actually hurt, or was I in any pain. It was just a sudden, intense rush of heat, all across my head, in every follicle that wasn't my eyebrows.

Tears forming in my eyes, I watched as the sloppy, messy haircut I had given myself lengthened, literally pouring itself out of my head, off my shoulders, and down my arms. Down, down, down my hair grew, the thick waves and shiny darkness taking on an increasingly sinister look, until, finally, it flipped itself against my rounded backside.

A door shut behind me and I looked in the mirror to see Alice frozen just outside of her bedroom.

"Oh my god," she said.

I was stunned, too. Stunned by the fact that I had definitely trapped myself in some sort of hell, where you get everything you want, in increasing amounts, forever.

I sank down into the calf-deep sea of hair cuttings, getting it all mixed up with my actual hair, and bawled my eyes out.

***

"You can't just wear that forever, you know," Alice said. It was almost 10, at least three hours later. I had still refused to even look at myself in that time, instead busying myself with eating breakfast, confessing my fears to my best friend, and sitting silently.

"What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "I mean that your shirt is getting way too tight, Sam. And those panties definitely don't even fit."

I tried to cross my arms, realized my boobs got in the way, decided just to hold them at my sides, realized that my hips got in the way of that. I settled with clasping them behind my head, underneath at least five pounds of hair. I was not going to acknowledge—

my boobs my hips

—anything else wrong with me, even if this position made my shirt stretch even tighter.

"Nothing's going to fit me for long, Alice," I said, feeling the whine enter my voice again. She gave me a deep stare, a stare that was even more unnerving than it might have been because we were actually at eye-level with each other.

"You can be a whiny bitch," she said, a note of steel in her voice. "But I want you to at least be comfortable for when this finally stops." She grabbed her keys, then seemed to think better of it and grabbed the tape measure, too. Before I could protest she had pulled me to my feet, where I found I was just barely taller than her, and wrapped it around my hips. I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the ceiling, not even acknowledging there was a measurement to be read.

This just got me another disappointed sigh. "Someone has to take care of you, Sam," she said softly. As she straightened up, her head managed to just barely brush against my left boob, and both of us instantly froze. I knew that this simple act had made my now undeniably huge nipple shoot to cutting hardness, protruding from my shirt and drawing it even tighter. It must have been—

undeniably huge

—right in her face.

"So take care of me," I whispered back. In that instant, I desired so much. To be touched. To touch myself. To explore every new curve of my body, whether I hated it or not.

But she must have mistaken my impulsive meaning, as she stood up, dusted herself off, and said. "Fine. Back in a bit."

The front door shut. I fell back onto the couch, my hair pooling around me.

My panties were soaking, nearly dripping with my excitement. No way had Alice not seen that. Hell, there was a stream running down my leg, nearly reaching one chubby ankle. I could feel it.

But I couldn't see it.

No, I was blocked by my huge—

huge

—huge tits.

They were resting softly against my small shelf of a belly, a belly that was now making an appearance out from under my shirt, my shirt that had before hung almost to my thighs, but was now entirely taken up by my chest. Well, only some of them were resting on my belly. The rest of them were on the tops of my legs when I sat down, or in my arms. Soft and huge and still. Fucking. Growing.

How big were they? I couldn't reach my arms all the way around them. I couldn't see past them at all. If any part of me shifted in the tiniest amount, they would move and bounce and shimmy with it. If I tried to grab around them, I could find my nipples, hard and jutting, as thick as golf balls.

God. But I couldn't do that. No way.

A shower. That would wake me up. I was getting disgusting with sweat and... juices. That would do it.

I stripped in the bathroom, relieved to see that my piles of hair had disappeared. Alice must have cleaned them up without me noticing. Then again, I had kind of been meditating.

Sure. Meditating. That's what it was.

Pretending that my huge, naked breasts didn't exist, that my hips and butt weren't bumping against everything around them, that my hair wasn't flowing over my hips and to my ass, I climbed into the shower, turned on the water, and nearly orgasmed at the sensation of the heat hitting my crotch.

It wasn't just the heat, I suppose. Helping was the water that made its way down from my head, over my mountainous bosom, around my swollen belly, and down to my hyper-sensitive pussy lips. And probably my fingers that somehow found their way down there, spreading the hairless, bulging labia wide. It was probably a mix of all of these. All I know is that, as soon as the water hit me, I was gone.

Within a period of 48 hours I had turned from a girl who hardly even suspected the female orgasm existed to one who was sent into a chain of orgasms just from a hot shower.

I came out of my reverie to a knock at the door. Somehow I had ended up splayed out in the bathtub, the water splashing over my padded body, my tits rubbing against the sides. "You dead in there?" Alice's voice asked through the static of the water. I pulled my hand out of myself with an audible squelch, blocking the concept of how much of my appendage I had managed to cram into my vagina out of my thoughts.

"Uh, no, just a minute," I said, stumbling to my knees as my heavy funbags swung around wildly.

It turned out to be more than a minute. All of that hair was nearly impossible to dry manually, so I ended up piling it over and around my shoulders and head and wrapping it all in a couple of towels, trusting that they would soak up the excess moisture that I wasn't able to squeegee out. The weight was nearly unbearable and distracted me enough from looking at my reflection or from going into another masturbation frenzy merely from drying myself off.

I pulled the straining, complaining, horribly stretched-out panties over my damp thighs, my arms holding themselves out further than I'd suspected they'd have to in order to stretch the broken elastic over my hips. But no. No way were they that wide. Once in place, my fingers automatically traced around the leg holes, snapping them into a comfortable location. But no way was there that much flesh back there. No way did my ass stick out that far. Yet the pain caused by the tight underwear couldn't be lying: I was still bigger. At least my bulging pussy lips were contained once more. How contained I couldn't tell, because that would require either a look in the mirror or a groping exploration, both which I was tempted to do, neither which I was willing.

Then the t-shirt. With horror I realized that it would be extremely difficult to get it over my head with my extra-large-sized turban on. Quietly I called at the door. "Alice? Did you get me more clothes?"

The response back was nearly instant, and so close that I jumped a little, sending undulations through my plush body. "Yup! Got some new underwear, some way bigger sweatpants, and a couple tops. Want me to pass 'em in?"

I sighed. "Just pick a couple and hand them over." I cracked the door, careful to hide behind it as much as possible, but my breasts covered too much volume in front of me and pressed up against the perspiring wood horribly. Some fairly large cloth items were pushed into my waiting hand and I closed the door quickly, then separated them out. Panties that actually had the elastic in them and were as big as a tent, sweatpants that looked made for a 300-pound woman, and an enormous tank top. It would have been a dress on me before, even with my extra foot, or at least darn near foot, of height. But now, as I carefully navigated my towel-wrapped head through it, then gingerly pulled it over my chest, it only just managed to make it to the tops of my hips. I yanked the sweatpants up, trying to ignore how even these huge things were hugging my thighs and were so tight over my ass that I could still feel my shirt brushing against the tops of my butt cheeks. I knew that even this extra-extra large tank-top was so form-fitting that if I looked down I would probably get a better idea of how big my boobs were than ever before.

I sighed. It would have to happen, one way or another.

I looked down, realized that this was only giving me a foot of dark, soft cleavage, and instead turned to the mirror.

The first thing that hit me was just how freaking short I was getting. The countertop was blocking out most of my view below the waist when I stood too close to the sink, so I backed up to get a better angle. My body felt like some sort of alien, and now I could see why: I was completely unrecognizable from the Sam I had been not even a day before. I looked like some sort of extremely exaggerated fertility idol, with the most ridiculous hourglass shape I had ever seen.

My breasts dominated my figure, even in the stretchy tank top managing to fall past my waist. My flabby belly was clearly outlined, as well, mostly as the catalyst that was pushing them apart. If there was a bra on earth that would fit me, the damn things would probably stick two feet in front of me, but as it were they were fat, jiggly, and puckering to fat points that were mostly aimed toward the floor. Below that were the sweatpants, which I would normally be pleased at how well they fit around my legs but instead just afforded me a better idea of how much things had changed below the waist. Fat bulged out, starting at my obscured rib cage, and poured around my thighs and hips. I was at least twice as wide as I had been before all of this started, one meaty thigh as thick around as the freaking toilet seat. My heaving ass was pulling the soft fabric tight at my groin, letting me see what my drunken wish had afforded me there: a soft handful of sensual, very visible labia.

The turban around my head was preventing my hair from falling over my face, but it didn't matter, because I couldn't recognize myself. My skin was practically radiant, my eyebrows neat and very thin, my eyes huge and inviting. My lips were thick and overly swollen, with my bottom lip at least as big as my finger, if not bigger. Despite their size, they didn't look like fake lips, like they were puffed up with plastic surgery. Just like naturally large, pouty lips. If I hadn't been in freak-out mode I probably would have thought they complimented my newly-pixyish facial shape pretty well.

Instead the bathroom door suddenly bumped into the soft flesh of my ass, and Alice's head poked through. "Holy shit," she said. I nearly echoed it, not just at the image of myself in the mirror, but at the realization that she was a good two inches taller than me, now.

When would it all stop? When I was an inch tall with breasts bigger than a house? Eight thousand times wider than my height? By then I would probably be drowning in my hair, unable to move my arms or legs due to how fat they were, unable to talk because my lips were so heavy, and unable to stop orgasming due to my extremely sensitive vagina.

The image scared me more than anything in the world.

"So you didn't like the panties?" Alice asked me once we had returned to our normal positions on the couch. I couldn't even pull my knees to my chest, anymore. Too much got in the way: my tits, my belly, my own thighs. All I could do was clasp my hands over my shirt, resting my chubby wrists on the able platform.

"No, they were fine" I said, burying my head into my soft shoulder in embarrassment. "I had already put the other ones on."

"Ah," she said, as if that made any sense. Then she beckoned at my enormous head turban. "And is your hair really all tucked away in that?"

I reached a hand up and felt at the towel-shaped platform I was balancing up there. "Yeah. Somehow. Probably should take it out, now." In a flash the taller girl was over next to me, helping me to my staggered feet. I pushed all of the jiggling and heaving and tingling feelings from my head as I focused on helping her unwind the labyrinthine tangle I had made for myself.

Imagine that someone has invented a kind of electric shocker that makes you feel good. Not just satisfied-good, or pleased-good, but the kind of good when you are just about to orgasm and your entire body lights up and your toes start to curl. Now imagine being shocked by that virtually every time you take a step and your thighs rub against your bulging, overly-swollen pussy lips, or whenever your best friend happens to brush against your full, heavy belly. So every few seconds. Over and over and over again. You'd probably want to grab the shocker and just stick it onto your skin and let it fly, right? Well, that's what I was dealing with, in addition to an aching back, a sore neck, and an entirely new body.

When the towels came away, my hair fell down in what felt like slow motion. It was dryer than it should have been, like each hair follicle had somehow sucked up all of the water to give itself even more body and bounce. It cascaded off of my shoulders, rolling down my back and over my tits and arms, jumped from my huge hips, and tumbled to my knees. It was wavy and inky black and glossy and somehow perfect, despite just coming out of a tangle of towels and being over four feet long.

I brushed a huge hank if it out of my eyes, not failing to notice that it was layered; my bangs only came to my shoulders. How had this all been pulled off?

I looked at the clock. Almost noon, and my new body was hungry. I let Alice know.

Not quite taking her eyes off of me, she went about making us lunch.

As she cooked, I swear I could feel my body changing. My tank top getting tighter, the elastic of my pants stretching, the tears in the seams of my dying panties pulling apart. I dared not move so as not to disturb the orgasming pussy lips from hell, but that didn't prevent them from pushing closer and closer together as they continued to swell, from being pushed together as my thighs continued to plumpen.

Eventually Alice set the table and I waddled there, every single step sending new messages through my body. "In a few more hours you won't fit through a doorway," said my hips as my butt screamed out "bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce!" "Touch me, caress me, satiate me!" exclaimed my groin, and just from this short motion I could feel myself getting wet, soaking my new sweatpants. "Jiggle left, jiggle right, jiggle all around, just fill me," begged my stomach as it bounced up and down. And then, loudest of all, "we're unsupported and soon are going to stop you from being able to walk!" said my tits. Well, maybe that was a bit verbose for them. Mostly they were laughing and growing.

Ever growing.

I reached the chair and sank into it, hearing the cheap wood complain as my hips drooped over the sides and my ass squeezed through the slots in the back. Alice had thoughtfully set the plate to the side so that my enormous chest could rest against the table, providing the best support I had received in hours. Taking the fork, I speared some of my mac and cheese and brought it over the expanse of flesh in front of me, pushing down my jutting lip, and biting the first thing I had eaten in a long time.

I realized Alice was watching me.

"Uh," I said, choking on the food. "What's up?"

"Not much," she said, this weird wistfulness in her voice. "You're just—"

Then my entire body shivered as a strange feeling went over me. A heat, covering my entire body, almost making me come in ecstasy. My eyes rolled into my head and my hands immediately clutched at my swollen chest.

"What is it?" Alice asked, her huge eyes even bigger.

"I don't— AH!" I cried as the first wave of orgasm took me, my body writhing on the chair. "OOoooh FUCK ME, NNNNGAHD!" The wood creaked and moaned, and I realized why in about half of a second: I was changing with rapid pace. My pants were tightening, my top finding new ways to pull my tits to my chin. My panties, with a final snap, finally gave it up. I must have fallen out of the chair, because I felt a soft shaking across my entire body as I curled up on the floor. Alice was at my side, screaming something at me, trying to help me to my feet, but all she managed was my knees.

I was pretty lost at that moment as pleasure wracked my body, but I could feel everything happening:

How my hair was flowing down around me, huge waves of it gently resting on the floor.

How my height was losing a centimeter or so every few seconds, my skeleton shrinking.

How my lips, both the ones on my face and the ones in my panties, were getting thicker, fuller by the moment, milliliter by milliliter.

How my face was re-aligning, my nose thinning, my eyebrows self-plucking.

How my butt was gaining pounds and inches, pulling the waist of my pants away from me.

How the last of the fuzz disappeared from just above my pussy.

How, all over my body, fat was spreading on, a tiny layer at a time, rounding out my arms and my belly and my face.

And, most of all, how my tits were spreading out further, pushing my elbows apart, heaving into the ground. They undulated with each thrust my body made on its own, pulling against my back and pressing against my lower body, slowly but surely pulling my tank top apart.

I screamed in joy and fear as juices sprayed out between my legs—

And it was over.

Gasping and panting, I fell back into Alice's arms. "Is it done? Did it finish?" she asked me.

"I think so," I said.

I was still lost, trying to get some air into my heaving lungs, as Alice got her hands through my jungle of hair and grabbed under my armpits. "Up you go," she said, trying to pull me to my chubby feet. I was nothing more than a round ball of Jell-O by that point, at least it seemed to me, but I tried my best to get my leg out from under my heavy, weighty tit and positioned correctly on the floor. With Alice's help I pushed against the ground, encountered far more pounds of resistance than expected when my gallons of titflesh at last left the carpet, and this time could hear my back virtually screaming in pain. My hands were under the impossibly hot breasts, trying to give me some support, but there was only so much I could do without massaging and mashing them.

"We're going to get you to the couch, okay?" Alice said. "Then you can eat lunch there."

She didn't seem to realize exactly what kind of a hurricane of feelings I was caught up in. Although the intense volcano of heat that had been erupting inside me was gone, I was still completely overcome by the soft breeze blowing against my shot glass nipples, lost in the electricity that spread through my massive, parasitic tits, controlled by the mind-numbing yells from my hyper-sensitive labia.

We took a step.

The friction caused by the overly tight crotch of my sweatpants made my pussy spew juices, and I could feel them running down my soft, curvaceous leg. God, it must look like I'm smuggling a football down there, I thought. Another step, and I almost tripped over my endless waves of hair while Alice frantically blew strands away from her mouth. Another step, and my tits almost jiggled out of my hands, their soft, giving flesh impossible to hold onto in any meaningful manner. I wanted to drop them. I wanted to fall on the floor and just pleasure myself endlessly.

We made it to the couch. Alice slipped out from behind me and I plopped down, my back pulling as my enormous, swallowing breasts heaved down with me, pushing off of my wide lap and onto the couch, sitting in a nice bed of hair, soaked pants, and panting Sam. I tried not to think about how huge they were, about how much of a freak they made me, but it was almost impossible. I was sitting with my back fully supported by the back cushion, and yet there they were, huge, floppy, and plump, with my nipples far enough away from me to definitely be edged out over the seat cushion. Definitely past my knees with me sitting on the couch. Shit, I was probably tiny enough to be mistaken for a child, since my legs were so short my feet weren't even touching the floor, my knees not making it over the edge of the seat.

The lovely, firm seat cushion. Gently parting my warm, puffy pussy lips.

Alice had gone to get my plate, probably, so I could surreptitiously get a hand down to my privates without her knowing. Pushing my right hand past all of the lovely, inviting breast flesh that my right tit was made of, I felt my way over my soft, curvy belly, under my restricting waistband, and down to the warm crevice where my fat, luscious legs met. And there, like on my chest, I didn't find a just measly handful, but an overflowing set of velvety, fat folds and crevices that, with every touch, sent my body into tiny, erotic convulsions.

My eyes flickered with my third orgasm and I realized that Alice was standing in front of me, stock-still, the plate of macaroni in her hand. "Do you, um, need help?" she asked.

"Oh, Alice," I moaned. "I can't help myself. You have no idea how it feels."

"Do they feel... good?"

"Everything feels good," I said, rolling my head back as my hand automatically continued its business. Some distant part of me screamed in embarrassment, but the rest of me didn't care at all. I opened one eye and realized something I had been missing: Alice wasn't just standing as straight as a rod. Her face was a little flushed, her lips wet as she licked them again, her nipples pointing straight through her t-shirt. "Do you want to see how good they feel?" I asked, giving a small smile that I knew my foxy face and enormous, bee-stung lips would turn into a fuck-me look.

Alice carefully set my plate aside and then, very slowly, reached down to my breast and gently pushed against it. "It's so warm," she said. "Just like I always imagined."

"What do you mean?" I asked. She moved to sit next to me, or to snuggle next to me to be more precise, and I did my best to squeeze my enormous legs together to make room but only succeeded in sending more pressure up through my abdomen, drenching the seat cushion even more.

Now both of Alice's hands were playing over my left breast, pushing against the soft, giving skin, flicking the enormous nipple. "You have no idea what it's like, Sam. To have the biggest boobs in middle school, to have them keep growing and growing and then just stop." Her voice was growing deeper and thicker as she talked, salivation moistening her mouth, and slowly, laboriously, she licked up the long side of my boob.

"You still want them—oh—bigger?" I gasped out, falling to the side in orgasmic joy. Alice took the opportunity to heave my chubby legs up onto the couch, then grabbed her shirt and pulled it completely off in one go, bra and all.

"They're tiny," she said, pouting and lifting one admittedly small-seeming breast in her small hand. Then her eyes hit my own chest, all two yards of it. "At least compared to what they could be." The tit dropped to her chest and she hand-walked her way over my body, at one point her palms sinking right into the soft flesh of my hips as she raked her tiny, diamond-hard nipples over the expanse of my breasts. At last she straddled me, the giving skin of my tits pressing into the harsh fabric of her jeans, into her tight yet soft stomach, and into the undersides of her full but, well, small breasts. We locked eyes.

Up until that moment, I probably wouldn't have said that I liked girls in any sexual manner. But Jesus, considering what has happened to me, I don't know if I can't consider anyone a possible sexual partner any more.

Alice has been surprisingly silent on the subject.

We locked lips, my enormous and soft ones playing over Alice's firm yet fleshy ones like a warm cushion while she slowly started grinding against my torso. I had lost track of how many times I had come that day, and I was immediately lost in another avalanche. I was a being that existed purely on feelings. The feelings of Alice's hands combing through my miles of hair, of her squeezing our breasts between us, of our pants slipping off of us as we mixed our juices there on that poor couch. The soft guiding touch of her fingers as they entered me, as they found my swollen clit in the labyrinth that was now my labia. Of her reaching her own orgasm after a surprisingly light teasing, the realization that she was mostly getting off on how big I was making me come for the hundredth, the thousandth time.

In every scene, instead of her being the hot, attractive star, and me being the awkward sidekick, we costarred in this sexual adventure. Me, the girl who could barely move because she was so voluptuous, her the sexy and lithe best friend-turned lover, the partner in devious, sexual crime.

Hours later we fell asleep in each other's arms, and I didn't care what the next day, or even the rest of my life would bring. But not before I finally ate my dinner; all of that loving and growing was hard work.

***

"So what are we going to do?" Alice asked the next morning. Turns out my lack of worry wasn't something she was just willing to throw away. Blame it on the abundance of new lower-body sensitivities.

"Who cares?" I asked, to my now embarrassment. "It doesn't matter. We have each other, right? Let's just fuck again."

She gave me that sardonic smile, kissed me, gave my swollen lower lip a nibble, and then turned serious again. "I'm not kidding. Can we get you a bra? Do they make them that big?"

I looked down. "I'm not sure a bra would help. It would still strain my back horribly, right? Besides," I gave my naked pussy a soft massage, just enough to squirt a tiny bit on our stained and damp couch, "walking is going to be pretty hard."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, boo hoo." To Alice's credit, she was once more dressed. She had also showered and made us breakfast, a full Sunday affair, eggs and sausage and toast and everything. To my surprise I ate a lot more than I think I had ever eaten in a single meal, but Alice pointed out I was now quite a bit heavier than I had been, even when I was a foot and a half taller. "Besides," she had said, reaching between my tits to poke my tummy, "you have a bit of a larger stomach than before."

"Maybe," I had blushed. To be honest, I had hardly been able to see it. Maybe with a mirror. To my hands, though, it felt like a lovely and soft belly, gently divided horizontally into two fat lobes.

But breakfast and teasing was over, to my eternal sigh, and real life lay on the horizon. "You have to go to class tomorrow!" she said.

"You can't be serious, I have a condition!"

"How are you going to claim that you're the same girl, Sam?" Alice asked, hands on her sexy, swishing hips. "You don't match your driver's license, unless the person inspecting really knows you. You don't match your height and weight descriptions!"

"There has to be a better way to prove who I am..."

She threw up her hands. "There probably is, but it will probably take time. In the meantime, while we contact your mom and the doctors and whatever, you need to at least be functional, or there will be missing person reports." She turned back to me. "You're not still growing, are you?"

I shrugged, a wonderful sensation that nonetheless twinged my back. "I look the same to you, don't I?"

That smile was back and I was rewarded with another caress and another kiss. "Luckily, yes. Now let's get you dressed."

"Aw, man."

The panties she had bought me the day before, which I had neglected to even try on, fortuitously fit over my enormous hips and butt. I put them on from the couch, with a lot of help from Alice. "Jesus," she said, giving a glance at my groin, "it looks like you're smuggling a ham or something."

"I know, oh, isn't it great?" She glared at me, instantly telling that I was breathing a bit heavily, loving the feeling of the soft, silky panties playing against my ultra-sensitive pussy.

"You're going to have to stop that. You can't just be distracted by orgasms every twenty seconds. Learn to control it."

Oh, how I didn't want to control it. But she seemed to be taking it very seriously, so I agreed to, as well. "But how?"

"Something to distract you." She looked around the room and saw my painting assignment. "Why not paint?" she asked. "Or watch a movie? Anything?"

"I'm not sure my arms could reach the canvas... Besides, these are kind of extra-distracting." I heaved at the extra-large problems that lay in my huge lap.

"Don't remind me," she said, but it was much more playful than chiding. She left the room for a moment and came back with a button-down shirt. "Here, this should fit you."

"If it's yours, I doubt my arms will fit in there," I said, but leaned forward anyway, holding out my hands so that Alice could help me in. To my surprise, it slipped right on, but I soon realized that my arms, now much shorter than they had been a week before, had no chance of reaching the cuffs. "It's not. An ex-boyfriend left it over in high school and never got it back."

I stuck out my tongue. "You mean I'm shorter than a high schooler?" Alice just laughed.

"I bet you're shorter than most middle schoolers," she said.

At last the shirt was on, and I gratefully leaned back against the soft couch. "Am I at least presentable?"

She laughed again. "Hardly! Your huge tits aren't covered at all, you're just wearing panties, and I can still see that you're soaking the couch cushions."

"Sorry," I said, pawing at my engorged pussy and releasing a tiny whimper as a miniscule orgasm washed over my body.

"You are not!" Alice said, almost exasperated. "You're smiling!"

I couldn't help grinning, though. My life was going to be full of obstacles from now on, that was for sure, but it was also going to be awesome. I had a new, sexy body—exaggerated, yes, but amazing. My best friend had become the most perfect lover. And, nff, god, if I could just, aah, live off of pure, ohh, pure orgasms—

A vein-filled pinkness covered my vision, and I swear to god that I entered heaven. My eyes must have rolled back into my head as I sank both of my hands in between my legs while an electrifying, intoxicating heat spread over me. My thick, tumescent nipples felt like they were on fire, that they needed someone to grab them, pull on them, suck on them. My acres of tit flesh, wrapped in its velvety, ivory skin, burned with a passion and a need to be stroked, felt, loved. My pussy lips were squelching in need, in desire, as my hands worked on their own to please me, to ride out this intense orgasm from nowhere. And, as I felt my tits bump against the coffee table—

—wait. The coffee table? Was I fucking growing?

But I didn't care, because it just felt so goddamn good. My back was screaming as I leaned forward and yet I could feel a different scream building up. I had become somewhat used to the constant, driving pleasure that coursed through my new, maximally-curvy body, but this was something else. This was falling off of a cliff of rapture, of wanting to just keep growing as long as I could keep feeling like this. And all through my head a word bounced and rebounded, as if it had been waiting to pop out. I could feel it on my tongue ready for me to shriek it:

"Zero," I was chanting, before giving back in to my bestial panting.

Dimly, past my own moans and cries of joy, past the rushing of blood in my ears, I could hear Alice banging around the apartment. She must have realized what was happening, right? She must have been working to somehow help me. Oh, Alice. She always had a plan for me, to help me out.

All I wanted, at that moment, was her, elbow-deep inside me, lips wrapped around mine. The thought entered my mind and I rode another wave of orgasms, my eyes flicking back up into my head.

I was moving. Wobbling on my feet, one hand still working away inside my stretched, dripping panties.

Pressure on my tits. Pressure so goooood. Pressure that was now gone, despite my pleas, Alice hurrying me, pulling at the blankets my tits were resting on.

Now cold metal on my body, square yards of my tits spreading out over it, my diamond-hard nipples crinkling that much tougher. I was kneeling, humping my hand and my cleavage while Alice yelled more things at me.

Then the wind...

It felt like the wind was gradually picking up, or at least that's how my fevered, intensely cumming brain interpreted it. Now, looking back, it was probably just that there was more of me to catch the wind. More resistance.

Bumping onto the ground. How did I get off of the metal? Didn't matter, because now one of my elongated tits was sometimes dragging on something rough and it felt so good even as it hurt. So much information raging through my brain, an overload. I was sitting?

Then a smell. A smell that was so familiar that it actually made it through the haze. I relaxed my eyes enough to  come down out of my lids and saw fluorescent lights, and I felt comforted. I felt like I was home.

Then my tits scraped against both sides of the hallway and I fell back into rapture.

The last real thing that I remember before losing myself to a universe of sensations was the heat of my body being matched by a cool, enveloping splash as I flopped into the university pool, my tits going first like clumsy killer whales. I followed them, my screams now ripping through my throat and echoing throughout the huge room.

Now... now I had room to grow.

Then small, hot hands touched my face and a small, gorgeous body slipped between my tits and I was lost.

***

Don't worry (if you were the kind to worry); I didn't outgrow the Olympic-sized pool. Nowhere close, really. According to Alice's calculations, I grew something like fifteen times as large as I had been the night before on her couch, when we had both thought that my "small" changes were finished. We have no idea why it struck when it did. Was it some kind of odd reflection of the fact that my boobs were the only things that I changed twice? Was it because they were the last wish that I made? Was it some deep desire, some final ability that I regained, and I made it in an entirely unreasonable direction? I have no idea. Alice has no idea. Nobody else ever does.

I have to credit Alice with the swimming pool idea, though. It was risky, carting me across town in the back of her truck, but it was the one place that she knew I'd be able to grow without risk of hurting myself, either with a broken back or some kind of tree branch or god-knows-what.

Instead I ended up happily floating as my tits spread out in front of me, growing and displacing water and making me cum and cum and cum...

If there is a world record for most orgasms in a day, I set it that morning, because as long as I was growing my mutated, pulsing, spewing snatch sent orgasm after orgasm up and down my body, and I grew for a long time. Several inches a minute for at first a few feet, then a few yards.

And I grew for almost two hours.

For two hours I experienced the best feeling I'll bet almost anyone on the planet has felt.

My skin stretching as my breasts sank deeper into the water, their buoyancy fighting with their mass in a constant battle.

My nipples growing and crying out in ecstasy as the water washed over them again and again in the undulating waves.

Alice's hot breath on my neck as she nibbled on my collarbone, her hand pressing into me with a force that is nearly impossible to describe, my ocean of hair enveloping us, drenching us, even as my mountainous breasts boxed her into me and me into the edge of the pool.

I was blabbering, drooling, screaming and laughing and crying out all at once, unable to breath or to open my eyes or even think about anything other than my next orgasm, which was com-com-co-co-OH GOD YES.

"So yeah," I say to Alice. "Some stupid part of me does want to keep growing."

We're spooning just outside of my pool, lounging back in a water-resistant chair, our wet bodies nesting together as if I were made to fit in her arms. It turns out that my hair allowed itself to be cut and pulled back into a short ponytail once my body was finished changing, and so I actually CAN sit on Alice's lap now without suffocating her. If she doesn't mind my fat, delicious ass smothering her thighs. For now I don't think she minds, although her longer legs are probably going to go to sleep soon.

She kisses my neck and I moan a little in acknowledgement, wriggling back against her, feeling her arm draw tight against my cuddly, velvety belly. "You're adorable, you know."

"Sure," I say, "but I'm utterly useless!" For some reason this sends me into giggles, and waves travel from my chest down my tits, into the pool, where I can feel waves starting to rebound against my nipples. They tend to ride just along the surface, now that the water level is kept barely low enough for my underboob to gently brush against the bottom of the pool.

"Not so useless," Alice counters. "Or else the university wouldn't finally be getting you out of here."

I shrug, giggling again. It's weird to think about how I used to never giggle. I wasn't a giggler. Then again, I wasn't much of anything: a painter, sure. A moper. A complainer. Now... now life is full of possibilities. The only difference is that most of them boob-filled.

"Do we have to get ready?" I ask.

In answer Alice reaches up and traces one trailing finger along my pristine, perfect breast. I shiver. "Maybe not for a while." She draws one knee up between my legs and I feel the pressure on my engorged labia even through the extra-large bikini bottom I'm wearing. "We can have some fun."

Her nipples are tight against my back and I lick my lips in anticipation of tasting them on my tongue. Her breasts, squashing behind my back, used to seem so large, but now, with my breath hitching in my tiny rib cage, almost all of her seems so small. "Do—oh, keep doing that—do you still wish you could grow like me?" 30 feet away my huge nipples are erect and pulsing, splashing with water from the echoes of my body's movements. Alice licks at my neck and I give a tiny cry.

"Every day," she whispers as my first orgasm hits me. I have another eight lined up, at the least. "At least one cup size," she says, the tone in her voice changing to one more reflective. "Or, you know..." She sighs all at once, her body feeling like it is deflating a little. "...ten."

It is something in the way that she said it, but I expect what happens next. The heat suddenly emanating from her body. The soft pressure on my shoulder blades. Her thickening nipples digging into me.

"Oh god, Sam," Alice says. "Oh god, it feels so good." I know exactly what she means.

And she has at least nine more chances to experience it, assuming this first one ever ends.