It began oddly, as most things do. Nothing strange is cut and dried, nothing's one way or the other, it isn't black or white. Life is odd, people are odd, and it's only when something is really outlandish and absolutely eldritch occurs that we call it strange. But there are more strange things in life than we ever see.
I'd been having a peculiar sensation in my breasts for sometime, a tingle, an itch, something that was new. Almost as though my nipples have been plucked, maybe even suckled, (this last part is pure supposition as I have never had a child.) Being something of a hypochondriac I went to the doctor, who told me that there was nothing the matter with me, that if my breasts were a little tender that was due to swelling before my 'monthly cycle'. But being a man he wouldn't know would he? He obviously was of the type that considered women to be a prisoner of their reproductive organs. I was hysterical. I was a woman.
Perhaps a little detail of my antecedents may be necessary here, to fill in the picture, to enable you to perceive me as a human being, and not a keystrokes, or squiggles on the page. My name is Wendy Smith, I'm twenty-three years old, and have been living in one of the middle brow London districts for sometime. I've been working in advertizing as a secretary for the past two and a half years and have been going out with my boyfriend, Tom, for ten months. I drink, I get drunk, so I don't have a drink problem, I used to go out to a nightclub once in a while, so I've danced around a handbag or two. I had an active sex life with Tom, not spectacularly athletic, but not non-existent either.
As for appearance you would have described me as usual, blonde hair one length brushing my collar, green eyes, formerly my most well known and well loved feature, 36C breasts 24 waist 37 hips (if you care, and I think that you do!).
I am, no, that's not absolutely correct, I was, a normal girl. In fact if anything I was totally unremarkable.
"What the hell are you doing now?" Tom asked as I rubbed my nipples for the millionth time in the restaurant. "You been jogging?"
"No," I snapped, "just an itch. Okay!"
"Well, don't do it. You're causing a scene. That old guy to my right's been watching you for ages."
"P'rhaps I think that it's sexy to be watched."
Tom blushed and twirled his napkin around his wrist. I love the way that I can cause him to go red at any mention of anything that even approaches sex. He's not a prude, but he draws the line at oral sex, no talking about it. In fact he's never performed cunnilingus on me, and so consequentially I can't bear to receive his semen in my mouth. Not all the time, anyway.
However the itch was still there, and so between courses I went to the ladies to examine myself to keep me from considering VD, HRT,BSE, CJD, HIV, and other assorted letters which have plagued my thoughts and fears from time to time. Carefully removing the blouse, and the bra in the cubicle and moving my compact mirror around I scruntized the area around the irritation. Just nipples and areolae, slightly puckered after being exposed to the air, and the stimulation of my own fingers. And then, I saw it, each of my nipples had increased in size, not by a significantly huge amount, but by enough for me to notice.
I put my mirror away and trying to dismiss any weird and troublesome thoughts from my mind, I replaced my blouse and returned to the table ready for dessert.
"You all right?" He asked.
I nodded and we got on with the remainder of the meal. I imagined, or so I thought, that the itch was becoming a conflagration on my chest, like really bad indigestion, but blaming the food and my own nerves, I did my best to ignore it. Occasionally the burning would migrate around my chestwall, I poured more wine down my throat to endeavour to douse whatever fire there was down there.
In the taxi on the way home I found that my nipples were bursting through my bra, blouse, and jacket, and that I was becoming incredibly aroused. Just the touch or feel of Tom and his gravity on the seat made my feel all gooey and Mills and Boonsey. I stroked his hand, then his leg and finally, through the trouser leg, his penis perched in his linen boxer shorts. His face told a story of embarrassment but his member gave out signals that I couldn't misinterpret.
"Not here," he hissed, "not with the bloody taxi driver watching."
I imagined that he had taken my voyeuristic comment as possibly true.
In my flat we got down to it virtually immediately, there was none of the usual traditions of coffee and a canoodling on my sofa. I didn't even bother to put on any soft lyrical music. It was as though my desire far outweighed my brain's elements. And for the first time in our relationship I actually came before he did. An orgasm to forsaken all others, as I imagine an epileptic fit to be, the orgasm you read about in Cosmo, the veritable Ultimate Prize Of The Sexual Holy Grail. And another. And then another. Christ, I thought, Christ Almighty.
When he fell asleep next to me, I looked over at him and felt completely sated, I gave his forearm gentle butterfly kisses and slowly drifted off into my dreams.
I woke twice in the night, but am unsure as to the times. The first time I was having a particularly bad dream and woke with a start. There had been a pressure like an elephant on my rib cage, pummelling my visceral organs and gouging out my lungs. But sitting up on the mattress I could feel nothing now. I put in down to cramp combined with indigestion, paced to the kitchen for a glass of water and some Rennie. Tom hadn't been disturbed by my nocturnal motion, as usual, so I slide back in and snuggled up to him.
The second time the agony was unbearable and sustained. A pressure, like a nuclear explosion felt as though it had shoved my heart, lungs, and stomach through my ribcage and out over the bed clothes. Wondering if the quilt had been ruined I forced myself, with a supreme effort, to sit up in bed and see what on earth was going on.
My breasts had expanded to the point where they were hanging over my sides, each as big as a television set. I could trace the veins across their bulk, like a blue motorway across a map. My nipples were larger as well, poking out the size of my little finger. I ran my hand over them, it was my skin, I was touching myself, smooth, milky white. A sensation so pleasant, a sensation so soothing.
It was at that moment I think that I whelped a scream.
Tom roused himself, and moved towards me but was halted in his tracks by my new vast bulk of bosom. Opening his eyes he saw me anew.
"Oh my God! What the hell's..." He gulped a number of times just peering at me and what I had become. His hands were drawn towards me, or rather, towards them. A finger poked one of them, and finding resistance was joined by the remainder of his hand, sinking too far into my breasts.
"Do you mind, that hurts."
"What the hell's happened?"
"I don't know." The burning pressure grew again and seemed to have become stronger than even. "Tom, I think I need a doctor."
"A plastic surgeon more likely. What have you done?"
"I haven't done anything. I woke up and..." My ribs felt as though they were buckling inwards, my head began to swim. "Tom..."
I lost consciousness.
For about three days it seems that I was in the hospital under close observation, most of the time sedated as whatever was happening to me took place. During this time samples of my blood and tissue have been taken, in an effort to discover precisely what was going on, and whether it was reversible. When I was first allowed to wake the first face I saw was a friendly white suited doctor - Dr Kafka. He smiled at me and asked me how I was. I tried to move but found it virtually impossible, as though I'd been strapped down.
"I'd been all right if I was allowed to move." I tried to move my head, but couldn't. "What's going on? Where am I? Who are you?"
"This is St Martha's Hospital. I'm Dr Kafka. And you've had a... It's difficult to describe, because we're not absolutely certain ourselves. There may have been a hormone imbalance which has had an effect on your body."
"My breasts!"
"Please stay calm. Try not to move. This is all very new and different for you. It's all under control now."
"They were growing..."
"Yes, but it's under control. Just try and rest."
Under control! That made me laugh after I discovered precisely what had happened to me. As you can guess during that night, under the influence of a currently unknown influx of some chemical or other, my breasts had started to expand at an unnaturally accelerated rate. Tom told me that after I'd collapsed that he'd called the hospital immediately using the phone in the hallway. When he'd returned he witnessed the growth, slowly at first but increasing in rate as time went on, swelling up like some strange meaty balloons. Forcing their way out and down. He was scared, he was worried in case I was dying.
Now I have the largest breasts that I could ever imagine, inches or centimetres or feet or metres would be pointless but I'm certain that you would like to know. One hundred and eighty inches, is that large enough for you? Apparently there has been a relocation of certain parts of me. Skin, muscle, fatty tissue, bone, in fact all of me has gone into my mammaries. Somehow and for some unknown and unknowable reason, whatever material that makes us all up, has been transmuted into breast flesh. I find it impossible to walk, my legs, my arms, my torso, even my arse, have been atrophied to bulk out the rest of me. Namely my tits.
Fortunately the doctors have been able to arrest the development, so that I have not been altered completely into all boobs. I still have all the right limbs, and everything else, but it has 'wasted' away.
They have managed, by putting me on a series of drips and a special concoction of pills thrills and bellyaches, to prevent the rest of me from being altered into the mammogenic material, but it seems that whatever food I ingest is broken down into building blocks for my breasts. So in order to help me I have to exist on supplements, screened strictly so as not to increase the burgeoning of my two biggest features. However they are still growing, not at a fast rate, but in noticeable increments each day.
I can only see them by being propped up. I asked for a mirror which was denied me, for some reason. As though if I did see myself and became depressed and suicidal I could stand up and walk into the pharmacy and take whatever pills came my way. Or maybe I could wheel myself on the bed, or ask for a wheel chair. Not on the NHS! But eventually after much complaining Dr Kafka relented. They are very large, almost like beached pink bottle nosed dolphins attached to me. The skin is incredibly smooth and youthful. My nipples are in perfect proportion to them, but not to me. Which could be classed as funny, because my father has always told me that I've got no sense of proportion. Talking about television soaps as though they were real. Worrying about which blouse went best with which skirt.
When the nurses bath me they pour on water and sud me up, pushing around in circles, a delightfully soothing action that is also alluring. My nipples push themselves out like two penises growing erect, and as they clean them, and stroke them. It took me some considerable time, but I can allow myself to relish the attention and the sensuous feeling.
Tom seemed so withdrawn and quiet when he came to see me for the first time after I had regained consciousness. He sat by the bed holding my hand and looking out of the window. I considered things to say, but found it very difficult, I wondered if he still loved me, I wondered if he felt obliged to visit me and he'd rather be somewhere else, somewhere away from Wendy Smith the freak.
"Beats implants." I said.
"Sure."
"At least I won't have to worry about buying bras. I should think one of the big firms'll want to pay me to advertize them. Be a big selling point. The only draw back's having to go around with my chest in two wheel barrows. Good place to put stuff I've shoplifted though. Two sets of mountaineers want to try the North Face over the summer. Never have to worry about being short of milk."
Tom put his head on to my left breast and began to weep, I could feel tears trickle down my skin, and his rhythmic sobs caused me to undulate.
"Don't worry," I said, "everything's going to be all right. They've got it under control. Why are you crying? Don't you like big tits?"
"O, I love you."
This was incredibly unusual, Tom was not the kind of person who allowed his feelings to show. Whenever I'd used the 'L' word, like "don't you love me", he'd responded with the litany men always use: "Of course I do." Like all men he can't actually say 'Love', he can make it, he can take it, he can give it, but he can't say it. This was a revelation all by itself.
"What's wrong?"
"You don't know!" He sounded exasperated. "I'm sorry to mention it but you've got... bigger. I was so scared. I thought..." he shook his head. "And all you can do is make stupid jokes."
"O come on, Tom. Isn't this one of the most stupid jokes you've ever heard. Women do not grow two dirigibles over night, do they? This is not something real. This is a phantasy. It's something you'd see on the top shelf of a newsagents. This isn't happening." My voice increased in volume. "This isn't happening! This isn't happening!"
Once I'd come round, they had sedated me again, I found that Tom had left. I started to cry thinking that he'd left for good, that it was too much to have a freak and a cry baby all combined in one person. I removed one of my arms from under the gargantuan titflesh that I was slowly coming to detest, and stared at it. Stick thin, not an ounce of extraneous meat on it. Like something you'd find on a supermodel, a supermodel with a severe case of malnutrition. I flopped it down on my chest. A chest that covered me down to mid thigh, and went over the side, covering everything in its path like something you'd see on a late at night Science Fiction film.
"And how are you coming along Miss Smith? Have you recovered from your..." Kafka's voice trailed off, unsure what he should say.
"Hi, Doc. I didn't hear you come in. Yeah, I'm fine. Just lost myself a bit, that's all. Feeling a bit sorry for myself. You know how it is. God puts you through hell and you start to take things personally. Why me Doc? Why out of all the people in the world, people who deserve this... this affliction, does it have to be me?"
"Don't take it personally."
"Don't take it personally. How the hell should I take it! This has happened to me remember. You've got it easy. You've not been turned into a walking giant prick have you? I've been changed into a fucking freak. My boyfriend's left me now. And you tell me that I should take it personally. Call yourself a doctor. Fucking quack."
Dr Kafka didn't say anything whilst I had assailed him, he stood impassively with his hands behind his back, taking everything I hurled at him.
"If you'd look to your left, Miss Smith."
There on a table was the largest bunch of flowers I'd ever seen, with a huge box that must have contained at least twenty pounds of chocolates.
Dr Kafka put his hand in front of me which contained an envelope.
"Shall I open it?" I nodded. He smiled. "It's from Tom." He handed it to me.
It was a lovely card.
"To my lovely Booby Baby," it said, "together we'll get through this. Lots of love, Tom"
"He told me to tell you that he'll be back later this evening. That's after visiting hours I'm afraid. But we can always make exceptions. I'll leave you now." He paced away. "O, and you can't have any of those chocolates. Your food intake has to be regulated precisely so you don't bloom too fast. Once we've found a way to reverse it then we might let you. But till then: No Chocolates."
"This is worse than being a diabetic."
I've tried to work out why it's happened to me. I've lay in my bed, I've even, with four people helping me struggle with my extra mass, managed to sit at a window and looked out over the city. I've thought it through, I've tried to rationalize it, but without success. It doesn't make sense. But life and its vicissitudes don't I suppose.
I've never wanted bigger boobs, I haven't wanted smaller ones admittedly, and Tom has said that he was a 'leg man', but recently he's said he's had a change of mind. It's not wish fulfilment, it's just happened. I know that my mum said that dad liked to look at girls with big breasts, but why should that influence me? Did I want to become what my dad wanted, was I suffering from the Electra Complex as well? I don't know.
Before my parents arrived I asked the nurses to cover me up with a number of blankets to protect their sensibilities, I didn't want them to feel uncomfortable or awkward. But when they walked through the door they treated me as though there was nothing wrong, they didn't mention my affliction but told me about my sister, spoke about how they missed coming round to my flat on Sundays. You would have thought that I was just in to have my tonsils removed. Far from being off putting, it made a refreshing change. I wasn't being treated as an invalid or as an outlandish spectacle, but as a normal, ordinary girl.
Dad gave me some books to read and brought along a personal stereo and a selection of my favourite tapes. When Tom arrived they shook hands and had a general chit chat like we were all in attendance of a big garden party.
"Must be good not to have to go to work, my dear." Said mum.
"Too right. All of that tedious cra... stuff. Nice to be able to have a break from all of that."
There was a silence that seemed pregnant with meaning, but no one said anything.
"Do the doctors know what to do?" She said. "Have they said when... when you'll be back to normal."
"Not yet. They've got to do a lot of tests, they're still doing tests. It's worst than being back at school. I'm expecting them to come around with an exam paper."
"Do they know what..." my mum turned away and dad patted her arm.
"Something to do with hormones. You know," I looked at dad and winked, "woman's problems."
They smiled. I smiled. We had to. What else was there to do?
This might make me sound like a brave soldier, like a classic English Rose with a stiff upper lip and shares in equanimity. But don't let me fool you. I'm no heroine. I blubbed myself to sleep, I threw tantrums, plates, and swear words. I didn't like it. I didn't want it. I wanted to be able to press the reset button and start my life again. I wanted out from this awful shitty situation. I was fed up with turning into some teenage boy's wet dream.
"Well Dr Kafka, if you are a doctor, what have you managed to come with so far? What's causing it? What cure have you got? Or are you giving up?"
"We're not going to give up."
"Well you haven't fucking done anything about the situation I'm in have you? I'm still getting bigger. You say you can't do anything. Or is it you don't want to do anything. You're doing this to me aren't you? You're tit man aren't you. You want to see how big I'll get."
"Miss Smith, please stay calm."
My eyes began to sting. "Dr Kafka, I'm scared. This just can't be happening it's too weird, I mean look at me. How can this happen to me? I've not done anything wrong or bad. I'm just an ordinary girl. I've had a pretty ordinary life up to now. Why does this happen to me?"
He looked at me kindly. "There's no reason for this sort of thing. It doesn't happen because of a particular reason. You can't go back to a point in your history and say: If only such and such a thing hadn't occurred then everything would be all right. Life's not like that!"
"You would say that wouldn't you! You're in on it. You and Tom have been putting something into my food. You're conspiring together to do this to me."
"Calm down, Wendy. No one's trying to do anything to you. You're becoming hysterical."
"I've been calm for too long! The truth's coming out now isn't it! Everybody's been acting so normal, as though this is normal, you've been talking to me like this is an everyday occurrence. Well maybe it is. This is what you do as your normal routine. This isn't a normal hospital is it! This isn't the first time you've done this is it. How many other women have you put through this process. Where are you going to send me? As a freak somewhere? Is there a millionaire who buys over inflated women as exhibits in his personal collection? Are you creating us for an alien race? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!?"
He patted my arm. "Really, we've done nothing. We want to stop this as much as you do. Honestly. Just try and remain calm."
"Why have I become this monstrosity? What've I done that's so bad?" I started to hitting my breast, hurting myself, causes ripples that ran the whole length of my immense form. "This can't be real. This is ridiculous. How big am I going to get?"
"The rate of expansion is approximately an inch every three days. It was greater originally but the mass that you have to build is growing so your measurements will slow, until it virtually stops."
"Yes, but how many acres will I cover then, you stupid bastard."
"We're trying to..."
"You're trying my patience. Just sort it out. Make it stop please. I need a life. I'm not fit to go anywhere, I'll just end up on television in one of those late night freak talk shows. This is on television now isn't it? You've done this to me for a tv show!"
Calming myself down took a long time. Tom came every day and we chatted I got him to stroke my breasts, one at a time, because it was relaxing for me and it brought us closer together. It was at once sexual and friendly, and I could lose myself in the thrill of contact with him. When he played with one of my nipples I found a feeling so wonderful that I could feel the puckered skin under his fingers growing stronger and harder. I wondered if that is how it is for a man when he gains an erection. A nipple throb. A warmth that grows.
"Oh, that does feel nice." I said. "Do that some more."
"Your ni... you have grown in every department, haven't you. You want me to carry on?"
"I don't want you to ever stop, Tom."
"I'm not sure if I can carry on indefinitely."
I laughed. "Just carry on till you get tired, darling."
The feeling grew to a crescendo, a passion flower bursting through my mind and out into my mouth and stomach almost to my vagina. Fire washed over me.
"Is there anything else you'd like?" He asked.
"Some chocolates, I haven't had any for ages."
He brought over the box. "It's not been opened. Don't you like them?"
"I haven't been given the opportunity to try them."
He ripped the wrapper off, and placing the box on top of my breasts he fed first himself and then me. Once the box slipped into my cavernous cleavage, and some slipped down lodging themselves.
"Shall I..?" He asked.
"Be my guest. It's milk chocolate isn't it?"
Tom pushed his hand between them and then, with a glance at me proceeded to lick the chocolate off that had melted. It was satisfying and lovely to have his complete attention for such a long time. For that tongue to be probing and licking filled me with an intense desire for sex. I was sure it was possible, he could slip inside as long as he was careful, but this was a hospital. How could we even start to think about it. But I was. Maybe, I thought, maybe I could broach the subject of conjugal visits with Dr Kafka.
"Tom..." I said coyly, "is there anyone around?"
"I don't think so." Doubt and uncertainty flowed into his voice. "Why?"
"Do you know how long it is since I've had a shag?"
I watched with delight as he crimsoned. "No." He said into his chest.
"So-oo-oo long that I'm not sure what to do. Do you think we can try and find out how it's done...?"
I started touching his face, stroking it, petting him, and then drew him in to me, snaking an arm around his neck. He nuzzled up to my mounds of flesh, his hot breath sticking to the skin. I planted a kiss on his neck and ascended to the adam's apple and onwards to the mouth. His tongue flicked against mine, his hand and arm moved into my cleavage deeper and deeper as he tried desperately to locate my fanny. I was becoming more and more frustrated and annoyed.
"What's the matter!" I snarled.
"Your tits are in the way!" He shoved one of them too hard and it made me wince with pain.
"Do you mind, you stupid idiot."
"They're too big. They won't bloody move."
There was a cough from behind him. Standing in the doorway was Dr Kafka.
"Am I interrupting anything?"
"No doctor. I was just trying to make Wendy more comfortable."
Dr Kafka nodded, chewing his lips and suppressing a smile. His eyes glanced downwards and I followed them to my boyfriend's erection which was forcing its way through the material of his trouser leg.
"Well, it's time for Wendy's medicine, and I need to have a little chat with her. I'm afraid you'll have to leave."
Tom nodded and after a big kiss and a shrug of his shoulders, he was gone carefully removing the empty box of chocolates.
After giving me the supplements, Dr Kafka smiled at me.
"We think that we're found a chemical which may halt the growth in your bust completely."
"Will you be able to reduce it?"
"I don't think so. Reduction would only be performed as a surgical operation. And in your current state, with your atrophied limbs, and shrunken internal organs that would not be advisable."
"O."
"But with the drug, if it works, of course, then we should be able to see the rest of you regrow. Hopefully back to its normal size and proportions. Then, once we're happy with your visceral organs, an operation might be possible."
"When are you going to give it to me, baby!"
He ignored my juvenile joke. "There's just one more trial to be done, so we should be able to give it a go in the next couple of days."
That night was one of the worst nights of my life, almost as bad as that first night when I first started to expand. It was worse this time because the sensation woke me up! and I could witness the growth itself. To watch as the flesh, the skin, and the fatty tissue built up slowly at first and then gaining force and speed. It was like watching an hot air balloon fill up. The feeling grew more and more strong, like air was being forced into me, it was the most horrible and foul feeling I have ever had to withstand. But it wouldn't stop. I considered that perhaps I should have called a nurse, but there were two thoughts holding me back: one, that it was probably due to me devouring all of those chocolates; and two, maybe if they were just a bit bigger... maybe if they grew away from me... away from my fanny... maybe just maybe, myself and Tom might be able to go through with it.
The fact that we hadn't made love for a long time, the fact that I desperately wanted to feel that he loved me, that I... but who am I kidding! The truth is I was as desperate as hell for a fuck! I'm not happy to say it, especially that the likes of you are being allowed entrance to my thoughts and mind, but I've gone this far, just a little bit further won't make too much difference. <<I s'pose>>
I was awake until the small hours, roused but not aroused by the growth pains. Growing pains perhaps? But it was towards half past three when sleep finally over came me and I slipped into oblivion.
"Oh my god!"
They were the first words that I heard as I was removed from my slumber by a tray crashing on the floor and a woman's scream. My bleary eyes fluttered open and I saw the reason for the horrified yelp. My boobs, breasts, tits, mammaries, hooters, or whatever you want to call them had outgrown any inadequate word for them. Gargantuan, massive, humungous. I can't even begin to describe how big they had become. Imagine two whales that had magically become attached to me. Imagine your nose expanding to the size of the Eiffel Tower. Whatever it was within that was making me turn into the human blimp had been working overtime.
"What's happened to you?" Said the nurse. "I'll go and get Dr Kafka."
It was like looking down a flesh canyon staring into my cleavage, the breasts ran over the bed, over the majority of the floor, almost to the window. Anybody driving outside would have been astounded to see a puckered nipple gazing back at them. I wondered how many collisions there had been during the night and early morning.
I rammed my eyelids closed, but when I opened them again it was still reality, it was not a horrible dream. Worse luck. They heaved at the hyperventilation which I going through. Quivering like a jelly or a blancmange. I wanted to shout out no. I wanted it to go away. I didn't want to be in this position any more.
"Well," said Dr Kafka standing in front of me. "I think we've got a slight problem haven't we. Don't you think that you've got something to tell me?" The words he uttered weren't stern, but I could detect that he wasn't happy with me.
"What do you mean?"
He held out the empty box of chocolates and inverted it: nothing fell out. "I found this in one of the bins along the corridor."
"O." I said sheepishly.
"Yes," he agreed. "'O' indeed. I told you that we had to regulate your food intake along strict lines. You've been good up till now, but..." he shook his head. "You can see what the result is now, can't you Wendy."
"But I've been really good up till now. It was just an aberration, that's all."
They've told me that the drug seems to be working, that my hips and bum are growing back, my breasts aren't growing, but they're not shrinking either. And that once my body, other than the huge breasts, has regained the proportions that it was prior to my 'illness', they will be more happy. Dr Kafka tells me that the next stage will be down to me and what I would want to do after that point has been reached. I could just be discharged and go home. But is that what I want? I am an outlandish freak. Tom and my parents say that I'm still the person I was, that it's only one thing that's changed. "Two things, isn't it?" I quip. But I'm not so sure. I'm going to be looked at for one thing, as an object not as a person, unless I do something drastic with my bodyshape. How will I move with tits the size of VW camper vans?
I've been feeling better, the muscles and internal organs are growing back to normal size, and I feel much improved in myself. I've been doing a lot of reading, having boobs this big is great, you can use them as an extended shelf. Tom and my parents visit me everyday, and everybody carries on as normal, as though there's nothing wrong. That's supposed to be some support for me.
The problem is not going to just go away.
I heard the Gloria Gaynor song on the radio the other day, and it made me think, filling me with a growing confidence. I know it sounds really corny, but I Will Survive.
For translation purposes 'Fanny' means Vagina. That part of the female human anatomy that we spend our initial few seconds of life trying to get out, and the rest of our days attempting to get back in.
-- Kunikos
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