THINK BIG:
Bobbie's TV Exposure

by Joe Average

NOTE: If you're under 18, or live in an area where reading this kind of thing is illegal, or if you're at work... or at the school library, and someone might look over your shoulder, don't read this. Really, don't. OK? You'll thank me one day.

Todd smiled as he made his way out of the smoky bar into the parking light to get some fresh air. In most workplaces, it's just the opposite. You have to escape the enforced fresh air in order to have a smoke. But not in the strip joint industry. The sight of the jam-packed parking lot was just another reminder of how well Todd's club was doing these days. It wasn't always that way. Not long ago, Todd was thinking seriously about quitting and making an honest living. Advertising and Public Relations, maybe. Or ditch-digging. Then one day, his fortunes did a complete turnaround. Now the THINK BIG CABARET was the hottest ticket in town, even among folks who usually didn't patronize parlors of exotic dancing. Todd didn't book the traveling "feature acts" — generally silicone loaded models known from adult videos or men's mags. But it didn't matter. Everyone know that for the biggest tits, you went to THINK BIG. Todd didn't even have to do a lot of advertising. Real tit-hounds had a way of sniffing out places like Todd's without any help. It was less Word of Mouth as it was Sense of Smell.
    It all started one cloudy morning when a skinny girl named Bobbie walked through the door to audition. At the time, Todd thought she was unremarkable. But right before she began dancing, she pulled a four foot maltese statue of a giant-titted goddess on the table. Bobbie grabbed the nipples of the statue firmly with both hands and feverishly whispered some mumbo-jumbo that made Bobbie's own modest tits swell to a suddenly impressive size. At first, Todd thought he must be the victim of some kind of hypnosis. But when Bobbie trapped his face in her cleavage as she danced, and used the force and heft of both tits working together to pull his face rapidly from side to side, Todd knew Bobbie's bust was real. It didn't matter how she got it. Hell, he didn't even care.
    So — did one mega-busted entertainer pull Todd's club from the brink of economic extinction? Bobbie probably could have. But she didn't stop there. On her first night of work, the other dancers noticed Bobbie chanting softly while holding her unusual statue. When she explained that she was calling upon the ancient Goddess of Femininity, Mammalia, to be endowed with the power to be a woman — they pretty much thought she was a flake. But when they saw that her incantation actually resulted in instant killer casabas whose size was only limited by the power of her belief... they decided it was worth a try. Every last girl now had headliner class tits. Casey, whose 36C brassiere had, up to that point, made her Todd's bustiest dancer, was most interested in Mammalia's powers — since the sculptured goddess had pumped this new girl Bobbie up to the point where the customers would barely notice Casey. But when this Mammalia got through working her magic on Casey, she was almost as impressive as Big Bobbie. She decided her new stage name would invoke the image of two massive, lumbering objects most of the beer-drinking men in audience would be familiar with. She'd call herself Casey Kegs. One by one, each of the house girls became believers. The goddess Mammalia delivered abundant busts to the dancers that defied description and gravity... and made their new owners blink in disbelief. Bobbie explained that the state was reversible if desired... but who needed that? Down the line, these were the knockers these girls had been wanting their whole lives. Now that they had 'em — they were keeping 'em.
    Carrying the pleasant and arousing mental image of a dressing room filled with twelve topless girls whose bustlines were increasing before his very eyes, Todd wandered from the parking lot back into the showroom of the bar. Inneca was just finishing her act. She wandered the stage, cradling her enormous boobs in her hands, inviting the men to hold out their dollar bills so she could nab them with her tits. Todd had thought that Inneca would be the one dancer who would pass on invoking the name and power of Mammalia, the Goddess of What It Means to Be a Woman. For Inneca was a long and lean, elegant looking black woman whose sophisticated beauty already make men throw themselves in her path, helplessly waving their arms and legs. You'd think that king-sized mammary glands would look like an unwelcome afterthought on a body like that.
    You'd think that. But you'd be wrong.
    As popular as Inneca had been before the arrival of Bobbie and her personal Goddess, she was as popular and more so after. No man, it seemed, was immune to the power of big, big breasts.
    The voice of the M-C came over the sound system. "Guys, take your hands from wherever they are, and put 'em together for Inneca! Inneca — The Immense! And now, big bust afficianados — let's give a warm welcome... as warm as the depths of her cleavage, to Big Bobbie!"

Talk show host Mary Elizabeth Montague began her meeting with her producers without a lot of chit-chat. "So — what are we going to do for May? The biggest sweeps period of the year starts Thursday. What have you got up your sleeves?" She stared them down over her trademark big, round wire-rim glasses.
    The staff recognized that no-nonsense attitude. It meant that Mary Elizabeth was sick and tired of the Janey Johnson and Jimmy Simmons Shows outshining hers in the ratings every sweeps. Local stations set advertising rates based on how well the shows did during the sweeps. A good sweeps meant big money — for the TV stations and for the talk shows. And it meant continued employment for hosts and producers. One by one, the staff put in their two cents.
    "Well, you know what Janey and Jimmy are doing."
    "Same thing they do every May!"
    "Of course," responded Mary Elizabeth. "Big breasts. Certainly there will be slight differences. Janey will do something like... 'In Home Ec Class, They Were No Bigger Than Betty Crocker's ... But Look At Them Now, 'Cause I Got Big Knockers'!"
    The table erupted in laughter. "The Jimmy Simmons Show will do 'Big Tits, But No Teeth'!" said one of the producers. "And I bet a fight breaks out!" cracked another. Mary Alice's voice cut through the laughter. "Exactly. We know that's what's going to happen. Well — we can play that game, too. But — Mary Elizabeth Montague will play it better. Our show will have more class. More... thoughtfulness. More experts in leather armchairs. But most important — more big titted girls per show than any other. It's settled! Meeting adjourned." With that, the star bolted from the table.
    The producers looked at each other. Clearly, she'd made up her mind. "Anybody know any place to book some big knockers that we haven't had on the show before?" asked someone.
    "Well, there's a place in town I've heard about. They specialize in that kind of act. Name is something like LIVING LARGE..."
    "No. I know the place you mean. THINK BIG."
    "That's it. They say they have one dancer who's really something. Her boobies are big enough to have their own representation."
    "Ha! Separate dressing rooms!"
    "Almost. Seems to me she has one of those names that could be a boy or a girl. Was it Terry, or Billie...?"
    "Fred?"
    "Oh, c'mon!"
    "Well, it could be Winnifred."
    "Be serious!"
    "I know! Isn't it Bobbie?"
    "That's it. Bobbie. OK — so we're looking for Bobbie... a dancer at the THINK BIG club. Got it. I'll make the call."

The dressing room at the THINK BIG CABARET was getting full... and only two of the dancers were there. Casey and Inneca were trying out new outfits and trading advice on how to put their best breasts forward... and it was those breasts that gave the dressing room its crowded feel.
    "Casey, you always made a big deal of your boobies on stage, even before Bobbie's goddess blew them up like that," said Inneca. "How do you take advantage of them? I'm never sure. I didn't have these things before."
    "You seem to do fine," said the short blonde. Casey would be called petite if not for her now massive chest.
    "I guess so," Inneca replied, "but I feel like I'm still concentrating on my long legs. That was my claim to fame before I got these big ol' knockers. Now that I've got them, I think I should milk my tits a little more. Well — I don't mean milk.—"
    "I know what you mean," Casey smiled. "Here's one thing. Always unveil them last. I used to take off my shirt first thing. Tit men hate that. They want to anticipate. So, even though it seems bass-ackwards, take everything else off first. Skirt, pants, stockings... even panties. They love seeing a big titted woman strutting around in just heels and a tight T-shirt. Or even a bra."
    "A bra?"
    "Yeah. Tit men like the idea that those overgrown melons are so big that they need to be held up. It makes them think they could volunteer to hold them up themselves! And you — you should get some really, really white bras. They'd set off your dark brown skin so sexily."
    "Wow. Do they make bras for titties like ours?" asked the brown-skinned busty beauty.
    "Oh, sure. They're just expensive," Casey answered.
    "Make room, girls!" laughed a voice from the hall. "Big Bobbie's coming!"
    Casey and Inneca turned to the doorway. Sure enough, there were Big Bobbie's always-hard nipples threatening to burst through her T-shirt entering the room. Bobbie's voice still seemed a ways off.
    "I've got a new money-making idea you two could try, too!" she was saying. By now, the biggest breasts on the biggest dancer at the biggest titty bar around filled the dressing room — and, at long last, Bobbie's face popped through the archway. "Look at the T-shirt, girls!"
    Bobbie turned in profile. Both Casey and Inneca considered themselves enthusiastic heterosexuals, but you'd have to be made of stone not to be thrilled by the sight of a girl of Bobbie's size and build turning in profile.
    On the T-shirt, on the side of one prodigious breast was printed the legend...

"Wait," Bobbie giggled. "There's more." She turned to show off the side of her other barn-sized boob.
    It read...

Casey's eyes widened. "They're paying you for that?"
    Bobbie nodded. Even that small movement sent her jugs jumping as if they were being dribbled up the basketball court. "Tons! And other advertisers are lining up for the privilege. I don't even have to wear the shirt on stage. They know they'll get plenty of exposure if I just wear the shirt walking down the street!"
    "Or even in your apartment. 'Specially if you wear it with nothing else while you do aerobics. With the window shades up," Inneca teased.
    Bobbie smiled back. "Those boys with the telescopes and cameras with zoom lenses will get plenty of opportunities to read the sponsor's messages!"
    "And to think," Casey shook her head in disbelief. "With the tits you walked in here with, a couple of months ago? You'd have barely had room to write 'Lite' and 'Ford'."
    "Well, we owe it all to Mammalia — the Goddess of Femininity," Bobbie reminded them as she fingered the nipples of the polished statue. "Let us give thanks."
    Acting in odd synchronization, all three girls bowed their heads, grasped their protruding nipples and twirled them like they were tuning a radio. When they were through, and each nipple had at least doubled in size and prominence... they licked their lips. A ritual of their unusual faith.
    "OK. Let's get these tits ready for the tit-men!" all three busty ladies exclaimed.
    Just then Todd entered, breathless. He carried a phone message. "Bobbie! They want them! I mean, they want you! The Mary Elizabeth Montague talk show wants you to appear on a show about huge knockers!"
    "What?" said Bobbie. "Me... and them?" she asked, pointing to her protruding pontoons.
    "Yes!... and Casey and Inneca, too! They want the studio loaded with boobs! They heard that our girls are not silicone, and that's why they want you guys to come on TV and show everyone!" exclaimed Todd.
    "Show everyone?" asked Inneca. "They can do that on TV nowadays?"
    "Well, not literally. You'll have to stay covered up... mostly. Although they did say 'dress to thrill'!" Todd was getting awfully excited about this TV opportunity.
    "Is she the one with the round glasses?" asked Casey.
    "Yes," said Todd. "Her ratings aren't as good as Janey Johnson or Jimmy Simmons, but they're not bad!"
    "Well, we'd love to, Todd!" beamed Bobbie. "It'll give us a chance to spread the word! As soon as every woman in America knows she has the potential to have titties this tremendous..."
    "Wait a sec, Bobbie—" Todd tried to interrupt.
    "That all they need to do is concentrate, believe, and call upon the power of the Goddess Mammalia..." Bobbie continued with enthusiasm.
    "No! Not that! That'll put me out of business!" pleaded Todd.
    "And the Goddess can help them get in touch with the Power Of What It Means To Be A Woman, and bam! They can have whatever size knockers they want! Won't that make a great TV show?" she asked, in all innocence.
    Todd put his arm around her shoulder, not making any attempt to fight the urge to cop a feel. "Bobbie, sweetie. No. First of all, I doubt that anyone would believe it. Secondly, and most important — if every woman can have killer cans anytime she wants... why would guys want to come into our club? You can't tell all the folks out in TV land about the Goddess Mammalia."
    "But they're sure to ask about how we got so busty," Bobbie pointed out, reasonably.
    "Yeah, especially if they're already talking about whether we have implants or not," added Inneca.
    "Dance around the topic. Change the subject. If all else fails, act like you're going to take off your shirt," suggested Todd as he reached into the overloaded neckline of Bobbie's tight T-shirt. "The crowd will go wild, and the director will cut to another camera."
    "Wait a minute," said Bobbie. "You don't want us to tell women everywhere how we got our big bombers. Or that they could get them, too."
    "That's right," said Todd, relieved that she finally understood. His hand wandered around the circumference of that tremendous titty, pulling and poking at her hardening nipple.
    "But... that would be lying. That's not in my nature," replied Bobbie.
    "But there's a difference between lying and tap dancing around the truth," said Todd, increasing the rate of his surreptitious tit-massage.
    "Tap dancing!" Inneca cried suddenly, startling everyone. "I hadn't thought of that. That'd make a great number for my act! I'll bet these boobs would jump up and give me a black eye if I tried tap dancing!"
    "Inneca, try to stick to the subject," counseled Casey. "We have to keep Bobbie from spilling the beans about Mammalia, the Goddess of Femininity, on the Mary Elizabeth Montague show."
    Inneca and Casey walked to either side of Bobbie, creating a solid wall of swelling flesh, six tits across.
    "Oh. OK," said Inneca. "I guess we can do that."
    Bobbie looked to the right and to the left at her two friends. Then she looked down with some pride at the imposing phalanx all six of those big boobs created.
    "Well... if we must. But I think we're cheating all the women out there in TV land. And their men, too! Imagine how Joe Six-Pack would feel if he came home and found his formerly frumpy wife looking like a titty-mag centerfold!" said Bobbie with some regret. "But... if that's what you want, Todd! I'll try. But I don't like it. And I don't think Mammalia likes it, either." Bobbie looked at the goddess's imposing statue. She was certain Mammalia would be displeased.
    "Thank you, Bobbie," said Todd, standing up and finally extracting his hand from her colossal cleavage. "I appreciate it. And good luck! No — what do they say in the theatre? Break a leg?"
    "Right," smiled Inneca. "But in the strip biz — it's 'break a nipple'."
    "Break all your nipples, girls! We'll see you on the boob tube!" said Todd, taking his leave. Before he left the dressing room, he stopped. Todd walked over to first Casey and then Inneca, and grabbed at both girls' big beautiful boobs, helping himself to huge plump double handfuls of prime choice T-shirt meat. After all, he didn't want any of his girls to think he was playing favorites. Then he scampered back to his office to count the money — and think about how much more he'd be making once the girls appeared on national TV!

The studio audience was hushed as the floor director pointed to Mary Elizabeth Montague to signal her to begin her program. As was her custom, she stood among the audience and addressed the camera.
    "Big boobs! They're everywhere in our society. They're used to sell everything from slinky lingerie to auto parts. But how do the women attached to them feel about them? How do the men who desire the women attached to them feel about them? With their fingers, mostly! And always with great enthusiasm. Ask any busty girl — there are always plenty of volunteers to feel their breasts." Mary Elizabeth peered at the home viewer over her wire-rim glasses.
    "Whatever you call them — mammary glands, boobies, knockers, sweater meat, casaba melons, humungous hoochies, or, the most concise term and my personal favorite — tits — they're the focus of this edition of Mary Elizabeth Montague."
    The audience applauded as the musical theme played. After a few moments, the cameras focused back on the host.
    "Let's meet some of those big busts. And I mention them before the women they're attached to because you'll see their busts before you see them! Say hello to Busty Betsy, Chesty Zesty, Connie Colassal Cans, and Zelda Zeppelins!"
    Four nearly identical bottle blondes bounced through the hooting studio audience and made their way to the stage. Busty Betsy flounced about in tight shorts and a nearly-bursting-at-the-seams men's sleeveless white T-shirt. Chesty Zesty tried to balance her impressive but artificial front porch on six-inch heels, in a ridiculously small stretch minidress. Connie Colassal Cans thrust forward her overloaded sacks of saline in '70s era halter and hip huggers. And Zelda Zeppelins displayed the feat of engineering she expected to be mistaken for breasts in a teeny-tiny hot pink bikini. And, looking from left to right — as the costumes got smaller, the tits got bigger. Zelda,in particular, was enormous.
    As the crowd went wild, Mary Elizabeth spoke. "Settle down — this isn't the Jimmy Simmons show. We don't even have burly security guards. So you — behave yourself," she said, referring to the audience. She then turned to the guests. "Do any of you girls expect us to believe these busts are yours?"
    Chesty Zesty protested, "Sure it's mine! You wanna see the bill of sale?"
    Busty Betsy laughed and offered a raucous high-five.
    The biggest one of all, Zelda Zeppelins piped up. "Mine came from my mother."
    "Oh," said Mary Elizabeth, intrigued, "voluptuousness runs in your family? Would you say your build is hereditary?"
    "No," she answered. "I just meant my Mom sent me the check to pay the surgeon!"
    Zelda and Connie did a little shimmy to celebrate the huge audience reaction to that one. The sight of four incredible immense breasts dancing about only prolonged the ovation.
    "Don't you find that men prefer natural breasts?" the host wanted to know.
    "When they're this big," said Connie, "the guys don't care where they came from. Do you, guys?"
    "NOOOO!!" hollered the audience. Mary Elizabeth cut them off. "In a moment, meet some girls who are no slouches themselves in this department. But on the issue of whether it matters if they're natural? — they beg to differ! We'll be right back."
    Backstage, Bobbie, Casey, and Inneca were in a panic.
    Inneca said, "I've seen all these girls before. Was it on Janey Johnson's show?"
    "Yeah," said Bobbie. "She puts them on every rating period. No matter what the topic! But listen — we can't stand for this. Don't you see? These Saline-and-Silicone Sisters are nowhere near the women we are. But that audience just doesn't care! They're lapping up them up just because of sheer size!"
    "Can't they see they're phonies?" asked Casey.
    "No! They can't! Or they won't. Look at how those breasts don't even behave like real breasts," sneered Inneca. "They stand up like... I don't know —  granite gravestones!"
    "Yeah, the girls move but the boobies stay put!" added Casey.
    "Right! But the guys love 'em just the same! All they're seeing is that some of them... well, not SOME of them. Just that one! That Zelda Zeppelins. She's even bigger than we are! We can't let this happen!" cried Bobbie.
    "But what can we do about it?" Inneca wanted to know.
    Bobbie smiled. "You know I never go anywhere without my backpack. Guess what I'm carrying with me?"
    "Is it her? The Goddess of Femininity?" Casey asked, feverish with anticipation.
    "Yep!" laughed Bobbie, hauling the overstacked statue out of her canvas carrying case. "Everybody grab a handful of tit."
    As the three biggies gathered around the image of the Goddess, they formed a tight circle as each reached for Mammalia. As each girl got a grip on the Goddess's most feminine features, Casey, Inneca, and Bobbie's beautiful breasts bumped one another to such an extent that they were slowly pushed upward until each dancer's face was surrounded by buoyant breast flesh. Below their chins, it looked like the surface of an extra-special, sexually charged trampoline.
    Casey beamed. "Let's see those Miss Fake Tits One, Two, Three, and Four do this!"
    Bobbie closed her eyes. "We must all concentrate..." she advised her friends. "Oh, great Goddess of Feminity...our superiority to these women, laden with gallons of artificial ingredients as they are, is as obvious to you as it is to us. Make it obvious to everyone!"
    The next thing the titanic trio knew, they were lying on the floor. The sudden growth spurt pushed them to the ground, from the boobs inward.
    "Look!" said Inneca excitedly.
    A minute ago, these three would make any tit-man weep. Now, they'd make the most orb obsessed boob fan whisper thanks for his very existence as he involuntarily reached for his crotch.
    "Let's go!" exhorted Big Bobbie.
    "Cue the THINK BIG girls," called a stage manager.
    Mary Elizabeth was speaking again. "On the outskirts of town, there's an establishment that caters to the desires of men who love their women with considerable frontal real estate. It's called the THINK BIG CABARET. They claim something more than what these entertainers offer — they claim their dancers are naturally the way they are. Let's welcome Casey Kegs, Inneca the Immense, and Biiiig Bobbie!"
    Generic house dance mix music filled the studio. Casey began mincing down the aisle, her huge bosoms flapping against the shoulders of every audience member with an aisle seat. They made a sound not unlike that of a playing card inserted into the spokes of a bicycle. Long tall Inneca's dark brown boobs hit the ears of men sitting on either side of the aisle the dancers entered through — as long as she stepped down the very middle, a breast reached both edges. And this wasn't a narrow aisle, either. And Big Bobbie worked her entire torso up and down so that spectators were pummeled atop their heads by her humongous hoochachas.
    When they reached the stage, the sexual tension permeating the audience was so great, the girls felt like they were performing before a single, collective hard-on.
    Mary Elizabeth did her best to cut through and maintain her program. "Ladies — it's a little difficult for me to believe these... these... well, these things are as natural as you claim. It looks like they're bigger than they were when you arrived at the studio!"
    "Well, maybe they are," Bobbie egged her on cheerfully.
    "To what would you attribute that to?" queried the host.
    "Pride," offered Bobbie.
    "Competitiveness," suggested Casey.
    "Horniness!" laughed Inneca, prompting another roar from the crowd.
    "Come on girls," chided Mary Elizabeth. "Did you stuff your T-shirts offstage?"
    "No!" said Bobbie. "Wanna see?" She reached for the bottom hem of her T-shirt, to predictable pandemonium.
    "I'm serious, girls. How can this be?" demanded Mary Elizabeth, staring them down over her glasses.
    "Well..." said Casey, her lip quivering. "We're kinda not supposed to tell."
    "Casey!" snapped Bobbie.
    "Aha. Now we're getting somewhere. What made you bigger during the break?" the host wanted to know.
    "It's... the same thing that made us bigger in the first place," said Inneca.
    "Oh, so you're not natural?"
    "Oh, we're natural, all right," said Bobbie. "We didn't get these from a surgeon."
    "Then who did you get them from?" demanded Mary Elizabeth.
    "You wouldn't believe it, Mary Elizabeth," sighed Casey.
    "Our boss told us not to tell how we got 'em, or how easy it is," Inneca let slip. "He's worried that every woman will try it!"
    A wicked grin spread over Mary Elizabeth's face. "Fuck every woman," she whispered. "What about me?"
    The crowd began hollering its approval.
    Bobbie mulled the thought over. Maybe. Why not? She nodded, but added "Not on the air. During the break."
    Mary Elizabeth quickly agreed. She turned to the camera. "We'll be back with more. Much more," she purred, absent-mindedly stroking the edge of her bustline with her hand.
    The three super titters scampered offstage, followed by the bespectacled talk-show host.
    "OK, what's this all about?" said Mary Elizabeth.
    "It sounds crazy, but we got our big chests from this. From her," said Bobbie, pulling the statue of the Goddess out from her backpack once again. "She's the ancient Goddess of Femininity, and if you believe, she'll endow you with the power of What It Means To Be A Woman."
    "In English, big tits," offered Inneca.
    "I've hosted a talk show for fourteen years; I'm willing to believe anything," said Mary Elizabeth. "You're serious, aren't you?"
    "Hey, could big tits from a surgeon do this?" asked Bobbie, lifting them to her lips and then throwing them over her shoulders with the flexibility of a contortionist participating in a gang bang. "They move. They live. They breathe. Not like that surgical bullshit up there on that stage."
    "Wow. What do I need to do?" asked Mary.
    "Grab her nipples," whispered Bobbie. "And concentrate. I"ll do the rest."
    "Wait! Let's do it on camera. It'll make great television."
    "No," Bobbie insisted. "That'd be giving away our trade secret. Like that magician show, but even worse. Tell you what. I'll say the stuff just before you go back on the air. My secret stays secret, and your audience gets to see you grow — live!"
    "Deal!" shouted Mary. "Let's go!"
    Bobbie rushed the words in order to make it in time. "Oh-great-Goddess-Mammalia-your-servant-Mary-Elizabeth-asks-you-to-endow-her-with-the-power-of-a-woman!"

"You're on the air in five — four — three — two — !" The stage manager pointed to Mary Elizabeth.
    She strode down the aisle toward the stage as her theme music played. Before the eyes of the audience and the nation, the talk show host's boobs swelled... and swelled... and swelled. She helpfully took off her tailored jacket to make room for them. She unbuttoned as many buttons of her crisp white blouse as she could and still maintain decency, if not modesty, as their size increased. Finally, she reached under her now-massive right breast and plucked out the now much too small bra that had been burst into uselessness. The roar of the crowd was like a mass ejaculation.
    Mary Elizabeth threw the puny bra to the side. She hoisted her boobs up to camera number one. "Get a load of these rating POINTS, Janey Johnson!" Another lusty cheer from the studio.
    The host strode with some difficulty over to camera number two. She stared into its lens. "Hey, Jimmy Simmons! You know those big security guys on your show you call bouncers? Well, I got your bouncers right here!" She leaned over and swayed her hangers from right to left while the place went wild.
    She placed her long-handled microphone into her cleavage to keep her hands free. With one hand defiantly on her hip, and the other fluffing up her hair in a sexy pose, she addressed the home audience. "Tune in tomorrow for a definitely different Mary Elizabeth Monague Show. There's gonna be big changes around here!" The men of the audience lifted her onto their shoulders and carried her off, changing "MA-REE! MA-REE! MA-REE!"
    When the studio was empty, Inneca looked over at Bobbie.
    "Went pretty well... don't you think?"

Weeks went by. One morning... Bobbie woke up and began her daily routine. She poured herself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch and ate it dry without a spoon. She took her treasured statue of the Goddess Mammalia from its pedestal and rubbed its generous boobies, whispering verses designed to keep Bobbie endowed with the Power of What It Means To Be a Woman all day long. And together — the two of them turned on the Mary Elizabeth Montague Show.
    Now the show began with an extreme closeup of Mary Elizabeth's newly voluptuous cleavage, viewed from above. The show's title animated itself out from between the two bloated breasts as the camera tilted to show the host's now-breathtaking silouette. As the show's theme music rose and swelled, Mary Elizabeth turned to the camera, smiled, winked, and suggestively licked her lips. Then the screen dissolved to the host taking the stage, accompanied by the hoots and whistles of the mostly male studio audience. She never even spoke to introduce the day's topic, since every movement caused her massive boobs to shake and jiggle every which way, and every jiggle made the crowd hoot and whistle even more. Mary Elizabeth seemed to eat this up. After all, she'd gone from a professorial, even schoolmarmish talk show host to an international sex symbol. As the mayhem died down slightly, she said "We'll be right back." Then she leaned back and did an earthquaking shimmy. Just before the program took its first commercial break, a promotional announcement for a new series of Mary Elizabeth posters, available by mail order, appeared. Viewers were offered a choice of three bra-bursting poses: Mary Elizabeth standing in profile, while two brawny bodybuilders in loincloths hoisted her prodigious breasts aloft on a silver tray; Mary Elizabeth thrusting a very phallic microphone up and down between her boulder-like boobies; and Mary Elizabeth with each of her breasts mounted in its own miniature chair, holding her microphone up to them both — as if she were interviewing two big and friendly talk-show guests.
    "I'll be damned," said Bobbie out loud. She turned to the statue of Mammalia. "Look at that. Can you believe it? Looks like the power and beauty of big, big breasts is now one step closer to becoming mainstream. What do you think of that?"
    Bobbie wasn't sure... but she could swear that the face of the statue was breaking into a warm smile.
    Bobbie smiled back. "This is what you had in mind, isn't it?" Then she glanced at the statue's enormous naked breasts. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.
    You've heard the expression "swelling with pride"?
    Well — let's just say that it's not just an expression.

The End