TRUDY (A 50's Romance) By Road Dog A much earlier story including one of the St Cats girls "H-h-h-hullo, T-t-t-rudy", stammered Mark as he sat down at the soda fountain. Trudy carefully wiped the counter in front of him, and set a vanilla Coke, his favorite, down in front of him. "Hiya, Mark", she replied. "How're things goin' today?" She smiled at him brightly. "P-p-p-pretty g-g-good", Mark stammered. "I g-g-gotta f-f-fix a b-b-bad t-t-transformer out on D-d-dakes R-r-road this afternoon." Mark's stammer was very bad, and Trudy felt kind of sorry for him. Mark was a handsome guy, she thought, tall, with sandy blonde hair. His outdoor work as a lineman kept him lean and tanned. Any girl would have looked at him, and any girl would have wanted him, until he opened his mouth. Trudy pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, and arranged her apron. Mark watched her from the counter, nursing his vanilla Coke. "You know, Mark, Mrs. Hammond finally got that package from Chicago she'd been waiting on for so long." Mark looked up. This was the kind of talk he liked from women, obvious, to-the-point, and requiring no response from him. Trudy continued. "She came in here this morning looking for it, and there it was, on Mr. Sherman's desk! Imagine!" Mark finished his vanilla Coke and put a nickle on the counter. He watched Trudy's slender figure pass in front of him. Trudy smiled. She opened her mouth to continue her narrative about Mrs. Hammond and the mysterious package when Wendy Sherman came strutting in. Wendy's father owned the little pharmacy Trudy worked at, and she came striding in with an air of ownership. "Hiya, Trudy", she remarked. She saw Mark, twisting in his seat and getting ready to leave. "Why, hello there Mark Bryant, you good-lookin' thing you! How are you?" "F-f-f-f-f-ine", Mark stuttered, his speech impediment elongating with his discomfort. He shot off his stool and headed for the door. "Whadda shame", remarked Wendy. "Such a good-lookin fella like that, and he doesn't want to stick around and talk to us." Wendy was, in a word, stacked. She was not beautiful. Her nose was too long, her lips were too thin, her eyes somewhat large and watery. But guys didn't notice her face much. In the seventh grade, she had blossomed from a straight-as-stick little girl into a mature, busty young woman. Marilyn Monroe had just started appearing in starring roles about that time, and Wendy suffered, if that word could be used, the inevitable comparisons to the new screen-idol. It had been twelve years since the seventh grade, but Wendy's reputation, along with her bustline, had just grown. She was the reigning femme-fatale of Harringtown, the small Indiana town where her father's pharmacy was located, and she relished her role. Wendy chattered on and on about this man and that, about clothes, about her hair. She thrust out her chest each time a man walked by, even old Mr. Sanders, a gentle octagenarian who nearly swallowed his dentures at the sight of Wendy's generously-displayed assets. Trudy let Wendy ramble on and on. Wendy was under some impression that she and Trudy were close friends. Trudy came to Harringtown in her junior year of high school, and had kept pretty much to herself. Although she was very pretty, she was very, very thin, and had almost no figure. She didn't date, so she was probably the only girl in town from whom Wendy hadn't stolen a boyfriend. "You know, Trudy", Wendy whispered, "I kinda like that Mark Bryant. Whadda man. I always had kinduvva soft spot for the outdoor type." She thrust her ample bosom out for emphasis. Trudy couldn't hide a blush. Wendy caught it. "Oh, dear, You like him, too, don'tcha?" She seemed to take delight in the prospect of competition. She was beeming. "Ya know, these guys are easy to handle, if ya got the right bone structure. That's one thing I got goin' for me, is my bone structure." She got up from her stool and strutted out the door. She didn't even pay for her Green River. That night, as she closed up the pharmacy, she thought about Mark Bryant. She liked him. She liked him a lot. He was the first man she'd felt com- fortable around in a long time. She thought about Wendy Sherman. Bone structure indeed! Big boobs. That what guys liked, and that's what Wendy had. Well, let her keep her big boobs, and every other guy in town. Mark Bryant, she felt, was different. ************************************ She opened the door to her apartment. Max, her grey tomcat, greeted her hungrily. She opened a can of sardines for him, and sat down to prepare her supper. It didn't take long. She wasn't very hungry. Trudy had a secret. It was an old secret, and she had kept it a very long time. Her parents knew, but she didn't live with them now. They had moved to Florida when her father retired from the tractor plant. Her brother knew, but he lived in Minneapolis with his family. Trudy had started growing breasts when she was six years old. Her family lived out in the country, and nobody had noticed much until suddenly, there they were, two little egg-sized mounds jiggling around under her blouse. At first, Trudy's parents were a little alarmed, but after a while they all got used to the idea. Trudy's father got a little upset when she and her little brother tussled around on the floor together. "Trudy!", he would bellow, "you're gettin' to be a young lady now, and young ladies don't do that!" To Trudy's mother, Trudy's breasts were a sign that Trudy needed to dress a certain way, walk a certain way, and act a certain way. She dressed Trudy in dresses, scolded her for sitting with her legs open. Trudy, usually, couldn't wait to escape her mother's oversight into jeans and a t-shirt, and go running through the fields and woods with her brother, her tiny titties bouncing and jiggling with every stride. Nature had other plans, and Trudy didn't stay small long. By the time she was in the third grade, she was wearing a C-cup bra, and it was too tight. To Trudy, it felt like a harness for a horse, and she hated it. Sometimes, she would sneak a t-shirt with her to school, and dispose of the bra and blouse her mother had pinned her into, and run around braless, jiggling and bouncing like mad. Trouble was, her breasts were way too big for her to get away with it. Her areolae, now as large as two half-dollars, were clearly visible through the t-shirts, and she would often get sent home to change. Trudy at nine looked like a girl of seventeen. She had passed through an early puberty, and had grown to about five-one. Her breasts were the size of grape- fruit, and her classmates and her teachers made her life difficult by making snide remarks about the poor overgrown girl in the third grade. Trudy continued to grow. Her bustline topped forty-four inches the day she entered the fourth grade. By Christmas that same year, she measured forty-seven inches, and was still growing. Hating her swelling breasts, Trudy began to dress in shapeless shifts and muu- muus, but this just made her look pregnant, not a very flattering image for a girl of ten. It made matters worse that men were starting to notice. How could they not notice? Every time she went to town with her mother, to the store or to the drug store, men would start to gather and whistle. She grew frightened and resentful, and lived for those moments when she could escape into the woods or the fields with her brother Tim, two years younger than her in age, but a dozen years younger, at least, in body. By her eleventh birthday, Trudy's breasts had grown to an unimaginable fifty- six inches. They were now the size of small pumpkins, and covered most of Trudy's rib cage from her neck to her navel. She could no longer wear any bra you coluld buy at a store, but had to go to a special shop in Kokomo where an old lady clucked at her, and pinched her, and came back with a bra large enough to carry a week's groceries home in. Once an active girl, Trudy found it difficult even to walk upright. Her back hurt constantly from the weight of her ponderous breasts. Once she ran through the fields and woods. Now, she had slowed to a waddle, as the effort of carrying thirty extra pounds on her chest exhausted her. **************************** In desperation, her parents sent her to doctor in Indianapolis, who sent her to a clinic in Chicago. The findings were dismal. Trudy, they said, suffered from a rare hormonal disorder that stored all the fat from the food she ate in her breasts, causing them to balloon to their present enormous size. There was little or nothing they could do until Trudy reached the age of eighteen or nineteen, and stopped growing. At that time, they said, they could maybe do some surgery to reduce the size of her breasts. However, they continued, there was no assurance that, after the surgery, her breasts wouldn't start growing again. Eleven-year-old Trudy burst into tears, her huge breasts heaving with each sob. "Eighteen!", her mother shouted. "She'll need a wheelbarrow for 'em by then!" The doctors simply shrugged, and said they were sorry. Trudy and her parents took her back to Indiana. Trudy's parents did what they could. They pulled her out of school, and her mother taught her at home. She began to do a lot of farm work, which strength- ened her back and made it easier to carry her enormous breasts around. Without any other children to compare herself to, Trudy began to recover her spirits. But she kept growing. Two months before her twelfth birthday, Trudy stretched the tape measure to a phenomenal sixty-three inches. Her breasts were so large now that they covered her whole lap when she sat down, and made it difficult for her to eat at the table with her family. She often forgot how large she was, and knocked over glasses and upset plates with her huge knockers. At night, Trudy was beginning to discover something. Her enormous breasts were uncommonly sensitive. She found it hard to keep her hands from straying to her large nipples, which quite often got hard and stiff at the oddest times. Her nipples were larger than her thumbs, and when she stroked them, she got the oddest feelings of warmth down between her legs. One night, she got out of bed after stroking her nipples, and saw that there was an enormous wet spot in her crotch. Terrified that her mother would see her, she jumped back into the bed. She put her hand down to the wet spot, and found that underneath, in the thick hair of her bush, and into her pussy, it was all slick and wet. Trudy inserted a finger, then two. One of her fingers touched a little knob growing out of the front of her pussy, and a shock of delight coursed through her whole body. She began rubbing there, first gently, then roughly, as the sensations built. With her free hand, she grabbed her large right tit, and began massaging it. That was enough. Trudy came with a shudder, bucking and arching in the bed, her fingers rubbing furiously against her little joy-knob. After it was over, Trudy felt frightened and guilty. Her nightgown was soaked. Scared of her mother's reaction, she jammed the nightgown under her mattress and jumped into bed naked. In the following days and weeks, Trudy explored her budding sensuality nervously, always looking for an opportunity to pleasure herself, but afraid of her parents' discovery. She began wearing tight jeans, because they kept her feeling slightly aroused during the day. That this made her huge nipples stand out and press against the front of her blouse was not lost on her father and her mother, who forbid her to dress like 'a hillbilly slut'. It didn't help much, though. Trudy dressed the way she pleased, even opening the buttons of her blouses to reveal her deep, ample cleavage. Finally, she asked her father if she could go back to the sixth grade in town. Her father sighed, and gave his permission. The first day of school was for Trudy, like the return of royalty. In the year and a half she was gone, her classmates and teachers had forgotten how big she was. She was at least twice as now, and in her jeans and 'Daisy- Mae' blouses, she was a sensation. Fortunately for her, most of the men in town were away for the war, or her homecoming would have been all the more enthusiastic. As it was, the men who remained, boys or old men though they were, Trudy was the center of their attention, and she loved it. After school, she would finish her chores and her homework, and disappear to a secret spot not far from the house, near a creek, where her fingers would stray to her special spot. One day she was surprised. She heard a branch break, and saw Luke O'Hara stumble into the clearing. Trudy jumped to her feet, frightened beyond tears. She had been masturbating, and was terrified that she had been caught. Luke glanced over and saw her. "Hey, hey, who do we have here?", he laughed. "Trudy Morris! Well ha, ha ha!" Trudy began to feel a salt feeling of fear rise in her throat. Luke was a big man, tall and powerful, at least a foot taller than she was. She thought of screaming, but the scream died in her throat from fear. Luke grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him. "Looky here!", he gloated, "What big tits you got, little girl. Anyone ever seen those big titties of yours?" Trudy shook her head. She was paralyzed with fear, and couldn't speak. "Well, ol' Luke's gonna see 'em. Oh yeah, he's gonna see 'em good!" He pulled her even closer to him. She could smell whiskey on his breath. She began to pull away from him, but this just seemed to make him more excited. "Oh, little Trudy wants to get away from big ol' Luke, does she. Well, little Trudy's not such a little girl anymore, not with those big tits of hers. Hee, hee, hee!" "Please, don't!", she pleaded. "Let me go!" He grabbed her other arm, and pinned her against himself. He gave her a graet crude kiss, forcing his tongue deep into her mouth. Trudy almost retched from the smell of whiskey. Luke began opening her blouse, forcing his big, rough hand down the crevasse between her large breasts. "Oh yea-ss. Oh yea-ss. Hee, hee hee", he giggled. "Little Trudy's got big tits." With a sweep of his huge hand, he ripped the front of her shirt open. He pulled her bra staps down her arms, and her huge pink breasts lept into the fading daylight. "Please, please", sobbed Trudy. Luke buried his head between her great mounds, and began to unbutton her jeans with his free hand. He threw her to the ground, her great mounds quivering in terror. He pulled his own pants down, and his large, engorged cock sprung out of his underware. Trudy had never seen a man's cock before, and she had heard only rumour of its use. If she was scared before, she was terrified now. Luke jumped on top of her and covered her mouth with his left hand. With his right hand, he pulled her jeans down around her knees. Then, Trudy felt a sudden stab of pain as he entered her. His savage thrusting was nothing like her gentle rubbing. She stiffened, which made it hurt all the more. It seemed to infuriate Luke as well. He hit her about the head and breasts with his free hand. "Little slut!", he hissed, "Fuck back, you little slut!" Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Luke shot his load into her. He looked scared now, and he pulled his pants up, and ran up to Trudy. "If ya ever tell anyone about this, I'll kill ya!", he ranted. Then he dis- appeared. Trudy felt the cooling trickle of her blood and his seed run down her violated leg. She felt a cold sickness in the pit of her stomach, and she vomited for five minutes. Then she pulled her clothes back on and returned to the house. If her parents suspected what had happened to her, they never said anything. Trudy didn't eat for a week. She noticed that her bra and blouses were loose on her. She didn't care. When she finally ate, it was just a handful of rice and some black-eye peas. She lost weight rapidly. She stopped menstruating, and her breasts melted away like butter on a hot stove. By fall, she was a shadow of her former self, weighing eighty-three pounds, vomiting frequently, and talking little. Her family moved to Harringtown, and she started attending seventh grade at the junior high school there. Little by little, she came out of her shell, making friends, going places. But she never ate much. And she never, never gained an ounce. ******* To be continued TRUDY Part Two [A '50s Romance] The early morning Indiana sun was just beginning to peek out from over the top of the cornfields when Trudy opened the pharmacy. An hour later, the first customers began to trickle in for their morning coffee and gossip, and Trudy had everything waiting for them. Harrington was a small town, and everybody's business was quickly known and thoroughly discussed. Mrs. Fallon came in and told ev- eryone the story about Rev. Jennings and the Episcopal Aid Soci- ety, a tepid tale about some lost church monies, but it passed for scandal in Harrington. The other regulars listened politely, then fell to talking about crops, weather, politics, recycling themes from many past discussions. Bustling back and forth with the coffee pot and a bright smile, Trudy listened to each little snippet as she passed. She was dressed in a crisp white uniform with a pink smock, pulled tight over her flat chest and tied around her narrow hips. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a tight pony-tail which hung down to the middle of her back. However, today Trudy had made a concession to her womanliness which was unusual to those who knew her well. She had risen ear- ly, and put on a little blush and lipstick. Her unusually at- tractive and expressive face, with its large dark eyes, full mouth, and blunt upturned nose. "How pretty you look this morning, Trudy Morris", commented Mrs. Fallon. "Trudy certainly is a pretty girl when she takes care of herself, isn't she?", she added, turning to the others who mut- tered a chorus of approval. "Ya got a fella, Trudy?", asked Mr. Sanders, the eighty year old retired funeral director. Smiling, Trudy poured him another cup of steaming coffee. She pushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, and thought about Mark Bryant. Today, she thought, today Mark Bryant is going to ask me for a date. Today is the day!!! Trudy was as certain of this as of the sunrise. Never had she felt like this, never had she been so excited and so apprehensive all at the same time. Each time an- other customer entered the store, she craned her neck to see if it was Mark, and each time she saw that it wasn't, it served to increase her elation. At eleven o' clock, Mark Bryant walked through the door and sat down at the mostly unoccupied counter. Beaming with delight and anticipation, Trudy put a vanilla Coke down in front of him and smiled. "How ya doin' today, Mark?", Trudy bubbled, cantilevering her narrow hips across the counter. Mark looked up from his vanilla Coke and smiled back at her. "P-p-p-pretty good, T-t-trudy", he stammered back. Knowing that Mark was much more of a listener than a talker, Trudy launched into a resume of the morning's gossip, starting with the unfortu- nate Father Jennings, and continuing with Mrs. Hammond and her mysterious package. Mark listened with interest, but Trudy could tell he was gathering courage to say something. "T-t-t-t-rudy, p-p-p-lease", he stuttered. Mark's handsome face contorted with the effort of speech. "I w-w-w-anted to ask y-y- you t-to the d-d-d-d-d-ance at th-the Elk's c-c-c-lub this F-f-f- riday. W-w-w-would y-y-ou g-g-g-g-o with me, T-t-t-rudy?" "There, I said it!", he exclaimed, relieved. Exploding with joy, Trudy grabbed his arm. "Mark, I'd love to go. Thank you so much for asking me!!!" Mark was beaming now as well. "OK, T-trudy", he said, "I'll pick you up at s-seven on F-riday." He slurped the last of his vanil- la Coke, strapped on his lineman's toolbelt, and plunked a nickle down on the counter. Turning to wave good-bye, he disappeared out the door. **************************** Waiting for Friday was a true ordeal for Trudy. Mark didn't come back into the drugstore the rest of the week, so Trudy was pretty much alone with her thoughts. She felt like she was walking on a cloud. Mark had asked her out! Her! Trudy Morris! Tuesday night she was so excited she ate a whole chocolate pie. Horrified at what she had done, Trudy tried to induce vomiting. It was no use. The forbidden fruit had been consumed. Burning with shame, Trudy crawled off to the shower and off to bed. The next day, at six o' clock, Trudy struggled with the desire to stay in bed. She felt sick and bloated, and wanted to stay in from work. Finally, she made a supreme effort and put her feet on the floor, hoping to brush the metallic taste out of her mouth. Passing across the floor to the bathroom, Trudy felt something different, a strangely familiar bounce as she moved. Looking down at the front of her nightgown, she was terrified to see that she had sprouted small breasts during the night! Shaking with fear, Trudy cupped her hands over her recently- sprouted new chest. She could feel the offending protuberances under her nightgown, soft and pliant, about the size of two small cheese balls. Running back into her bedroom, she pulled off her nightgown and examined herself in the mirror. Her breasts had sprouted in the night, and now sat pertly on her rib cage like two little scoops of pink ice-cream. Beginning to cry, Trudy moved her hands over them again and again, as if she could rub them off her chest. When she saw that they were indeed permanently affixed, Trudy pulled a tight T- shirt out of her dresser drawer and pulled it over her head. Oh God, she thought, this is even worse. The T-shirt did not flatten her breasts as she thought it would. Instead, it stretched over them, highlighting them like two beacons piercing a dark foggy night. The material of the shirt irritated her nip- ples, making them stand out through the fabric of the shirt. In a panic, Trudy pulled off the T-shirt and threw it into a cor- ner. Rummaging around in her drawers, she found an old silk scarf that belonged to her mother. She pulled it across the fullest part of her impudently jutting breasts, flattening them against her rib cage. Fastening it behind with a safety pin, she found with relief that she could get back into her stiff white uniform showing as little curvature as formerly. Living on saltines and water, Trudy ate practically nothing for the rest of the week. By Friday morning, she was back to her old flat-chested self. ************************* The day of the big dance, Trudy was elated. She buzzed through her duties at the soda fountain, greeting all her customers with a cheerful smile. At five o' clock, she closed up an went home. She had bought a pink taffeta dress with a mass of ruffles across the front. It made a nice, comforting fshht, fshht sound as she moved. At seven o' clock, there was a ring at the door. It was Mark! Trudy opened the door and stepped out. Mark took her hand and led her out to his truck. How handsome he was, thought Trudy. His blonde crew-cut was neatly trimmed, and he was wearing a cool seer-sucker jacket with a black bowtie. The Elk's lodge was humming with activity when Trudy and Mark ap- peared. Couples were parking their cars, and heading for the lodge house. Waving to a lot of people she knew, Trudy felt on top of the world. She grabbed Mark's arm as he steered her across the parking lot into the lodge house. The band, for a change , was a combo from Kokomo instead of the local group, the Hi-Tones, and they were swinging! What a change! There was a trumpet, two trombones, a sax, a piano, and wonder of wonders, a girl drummer! Trudy watched the drummer as the band broke into a hot Dixieland number. She looked so free, so intense. Trudy wondered if she'd ever be as happy as that girl drummer looked. Without speaking, Mark put his arm around Trudy's waist and whirled her out onto the dance floor. For a shy guy, Mark was a masterfully accomplished dancer. "Mark, you're such a lovely dancer!", Trudy whispered in his ear. "I had no idea." Again, without speaking, Mark put his arms around Trudy's waist and pulled her t him. They circled the floor and the other dancers as the song died away. Afterwards, wanting to take a break from the dancing, Trudy steered Mark to the wet bar and or- dered a gin fizz. Mark bought a beer. Other couples greeted them; Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, Mike Fowler and Ginny Santini. Since Mark was uncommonly quiet, Trudy did most of the talking. The gin fizz, and the unfamiliar sensation of being half of a couple were turning her head. The band finished a final number and recessed. Mark took Trudy by the arm and walked her outside. It was about nine-thirty in the evening, and the stars were just beginning to come out. Mark sat down at a picnic table and Trudy sat down beside him. "T-trudy", he started, "I r-r-really l-l-like you". Trudy moved closer to him. "Y-you d-d-d-don't um, m-m-make fun of m-m-me when I t-t-talk", Mark continued. "Oh, Mark!", Trudy laughed. "You have a wonderful voice. I love listening to you." Mark responded, not by talking or laughing, but by pulling Trudy's face to his, taking it in his large, strong, lineman's hands, and kissing her. Surprised, Trudy tensed, then relaxed as she saw that dancing was only one of Mark Bryant's hidden tal- ents. Weaving her arms around his neck, Trudy returned his kiss. She kissed him long, hard and passionately, surprising both herself and Mark with the strength of her passion. "G-gosh, Trudy", said Mark, pulling himself away for air. "I d- d-didn't kn-kn-know y-y-y-ou c-c-c-ould g-g-g-kiss like that!" Running her hand down the front of his shirt, Trudy kissed him lightly again. "I, I didn't know I could either. I guess its the company." The band struck back up again with a brave small-combo version of "String Of Pearls". Mark took Trudy by the hand. "L-lets go b- back in and dance s-some more, Trudy", he said. When Mark and Trudy returned to the clubhouse, they found that the atmosphere had changed, subtly. The band was still playing, people were still milling about, couples dancing, but there was a new focal point, a new center of attention. Wendy had arrived. Standing in the center of the room in a breathtakingly tight red dress that accentuated every contour, Wendy was surrounded by men. Respectable married men offered to refresh her drink. Ag- gressive bachelors asked her to dance. Shy bachelors watched her every move from the stag lines. Wendy's impressive bosom, dis- played like fresh bread in a bakery window by a plunging neck- line, trembled with her every step. Grabbing Mark by the arm, Trudy steered him away from Wendy's magnetic field and out onto the dance floor. It didn't do any good. Wendy's flawless guidance system steered her like a missle straight towards Mark and Trudy. "Why, Mark Collins!", bubbled Wendy, "What a surprise! And with Trudy Morris, too. What a cute couple you two make!" Then she bent over to investigate a non-existent run in her nylon, giving Mark a eye-boggling view of the chasm of her cleavage. Trudy grabbed Mark by the arm again, but Wendy moved in close enough to brush the tips of her breasts against MArk's shirt. whether what happened next was intentional or accidental Trudy was never able to discover. Someone pushed Wendy from behind, and she collapsed into Mark's arms, toppling them both to the floor. Mark's nose ended up in the very center of that same cleavage Wendy had been displaying, his arms around her waist. As Mark struggled back to his feet, he definitely got more than a mouthful. Wendy put on a fine show as a modest young lady embarassed by this turn of events, but Trudy noticed that same calculating look in her eyes she had when she checked the cash registers at night. The damage was done, however. Even though Wendy never came around them again for the rest of the night, Mark started acting distant. He didn't put his arm around Trudy's waist quite as firmly while they danced. Neither did he make any move to touch her or pull her closer to himself. And each time, out of the corner of her eye, Trudy caught a flash of that red dress, she noticed Mark's head swivel in that direction. After the dance, Mark drove Trudy back to town. She snuggled in close to him, but he made no response. Stopping in front of her apartment, Mark got out to let Trudy out of his truck. As he helped her down, she squeezed his hand. Gazing deeply into his eyes, she wanted to crush his head to her chest, to kiss him, to massage his shoulders, his arms, his ... , "I had a wonderful time tonight, Mark", was all that came out. "Uh- yuh", came the reply. "Th-th-thanks." Mark kissed her chastely, on the cheek, then he was gone. Trudy sat up that and watched the stars go out through her tears. << to be continued >> Trudy - A 50's Romance Part Three "I can't believe I kept all this old stuff, Trudes", Tim replied. When Mom and Dad moved out off the farm, I just pulled a lot of it into an old chest and brought i up here. I didn't want to throw it away, and a lot of it I didn't want to keep. Anyway, here it is." Trudy pulled memory after memory out of the old cedar chest. There was a pair of old jeans she had worn as a girl. Here was her mom's gingham apron. Over there was a stack of Big Little Books you just couldn't get any more for any money. Tim held up a plastic ring. "Remember how I pestered Mom for this?", he asked, "Its my Jack Anderson All American Boy decoder ring!" "You clipped Wheaties boxes for months. I remember!", remarked Trudy. "I got so sick of Wheaties I was going to throw up!" Brother and sister laughed long and hard as they pulled out more bits and pieces of their childhood, but Trudy remained scandal- ized by the size of the clothes she used to wear. "I don't remember being that size, Tim", she observed, holding up a red and white striped blouse. "Look!, its narrow enough at the waist, but there's enough room up here by the boobs for both you and me to fit in comfortably!" She shook her head in dismay. "I must have been huge", she mused, "and, funny thing, I don't even remember." "You were big, Sis", Tim added, "I remember you and me running around in the woods after school. It took you fifteen minutes to stop bouncing around under your shirt after we stopped running. Then, bam!, when you were twelve years old, the age most girls start growing titties, yours disappear." Trudy slipped her arms under the straps and pulled the cavernous bra across her flat chest. Amazingly, the bottom band fit like it was custom-made. "Doesn't look I've grown much since then ,Timmy", she said quietly. "No", Tim repeated sadly. "You've shrunk. Well, lets go down for dinner." ****************** After the humiliating episode at the Elks Club dance, Trudy quit her job at the soda fountain, gathered her meagre savings out of the Granger State Bank, and fled for refuge to her brother's house in Minneapolis. Tim had married young, to a buxom lass named Martha, and had produced three tow-headed boys in as many years. In the comfort and security of Tim's noisy family circle, Trudy recovered a measure of calm. Martha was an excellent cook, con- tinually regaling her family with pies, breads, cakes, tortes, and other delicacies, and Tim had put on quite a few pounds since Trudy had last seen him. Her own eating habits caused Martha no end of concern. "Trudy, you're so thin", she admonished. "That can't possibly be healthy!" Tim, as well, tried to encourage his older sister to eat more than her customary handful of rice and a sparse salad, but had even less success than his wife. One night, though, Martha prepared a German Chocolate cake, from scratch. The smell of the chocolate and coconut drifted upstairs to the bedroom where Trudy was staying, and caused no end of rum- bling and aching in her stomach. Tempted beyond measure, Trudy inched her way downstairs and found the cake cooling on the kitchen table. She cut herself a slice. The chocolate dissolved in her mouth like a benediction. Some- thing deep inside Trudy awoke with a roar, and before she could stop herself, she had devoured more than three-quarters of the still-warm cake. Aghast at what she had done, she slunk guiltily back to her room. Later that night, she awoke with a start. She had been having a dream, a dream about Mark. He was holding her close, he had his hand around her. The warmth of his kisses lingered on Trudy's lips. Indeed, he had put his hand down her blouse, and he was playing with her... Trudy put her own hands under her nightshirt and choked back a scream. There they were again! Despite her most vigilant ef- forts, her breasts had re-emerged, two soft, pliant cones about a half a handful each. Trudy touched the tip of her right nipple, and it sprang instantly to attention. Terrified, she began to sob uncontrollably. She felt Tim's arms around her, and she nestled her head on his shoulder. He passed his hand through her hair. "Trudy! Trudy!", he murmurred. "Don't be afraid. Daddy shot him. A long time ago!" Trudy sat stock upright in the bed. "Who are you talking about, Tim?", she demanded. "Luke O'Hara", Tim responded. "That pervert that raped you when we lived on the farm." In an instant, the whole horror of that afternoon came rushing back to Trudy, Luke's strong arms, his whiskey-laden breath. It came rushing back, and passed on. "Daddy shot him?", she asked tremulously. "Yeah. We thought you knew", Tim replied. "You weren't the only little girl he did that to. In fact, you were kind of unique in that you already had a woman's body. Luke didn't often go for girls who were as, well, grown-up, as you were. When they found the bodies of Jenny Aldiss and Bea Garrison in the same woods where he raped you, Daddy got together with the other two girls' fathers, took Luke out by the river, shot him, and pitched his body in the water." Trudy nodded. She knew her father would never have sold the farm willingly. "The sheriff came out to the house a couple of days later. Said he knew what had happened. 'Luke O'Hara was a monster, like a dog born with five legs', he said. Everyone agreed that he was better off where he was. However, he said it would be best all around if Daddy and the other two men moved out of the county." "So, Daddy sold the farm and we all moved to Harringtown. Later, when it looked like the case was going to open again, he took Mom and moved to Florida. But by then, we were both grown." Sobbing profusely on her brother's shoulder, Trudy felt her sis- ter-in-law's comforting arm around her back. "It wasn't your fault, Trudy", Tim whispered. "You didn't make him do it." Martha thrust a plate under Trudy's nose. "Here, darling", she encouraged her sister-in-law, "have a chicken leg and some sweet potato pie!" Trudy grabbed the plate and the fork. "All right!", she exclaimed with triumph, wolfing the food down in great gulps like a starv- ing woman. If Trudy had worried her brother and his wife earlier with her lack of appetite, she now frightened them with her lack of re- straint. Trudy began to eat like three women. Her nephews were delighted at seeing their beloved Aunt Trudy polish off a whole chicken, six healthy scoops of mashed potatoes with butter, half a loaf of fresh brown bread with pear marmalade, asparagus and cheese sauce, cabbage-and-black-eyed-peas, and corn fritters, washing it all down with mug after mug of golden Minnesota beer. Before, she had been a bit listless, now, it seemed, she had en- ergy and to spare for her rambunctious nephews and their rough little games. Slowly, Trudy began to fill out. All the meatloaf, all the ham, all the pot-pies and cheese souflees that Martha could whip up, Trudy devoured with relish. By the end of the week, her breasts had swollen from two little nub-like cones to round, apple-sized spheres. No longer feeling self-conscious about them, Trudy took to displaying her re-emerging bounty in tight sweaters and fig- ure-hugging blouses. "I swear, Trudy", Martha told her, "I hain't never seen a gal take to a good feedin' like you. I thaynk that's what you've been missin' all long! And look at yer figger! If you hain't jest a sproutin' out all over!" Smiling, Trudy turned to the left and to the right to give Martha an all-over view. "I can't believe I ever was ashamed of looking like a woman, Martha", she crowed. "I don't know what was wrong with me." Trudy kept packing it in at the table. It was nothing for her to consume an eighteen-ounce barbecued steak, twelve baked potatoes, buttersquash and fried onions, then sit in front of the TV with her three adoring nephews and polish off a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream. Within a month she was stuffing herself into a 34DD and complain- ing about how tight it was. It was common for Trudy to wake up mornings and find she couldn't wrestle into a bra which had been a comfortable fit the night before. "I'd a never thought Trudy'd fill out so much, Timmy", Matha com- mented, astounded at her sister-in -law's rapid expansion. "She really has a cute figger." Tim gave his wife an affectionate squeeze. "Trudy was bigger than this in the fourth grade, Martha. She's got a ways to go still." Once Trudy discovered that her overeating didn't put any inches on her except in her bust, her appetite became uncontrollable at the dinner table. If she had been eating heavily before, she now ate like a consuming fire. Tim and Martha though, as if sensing that Trudy was about to make a complete recovery, begrudged her nothing, as she ate and ate. After two more weeks of corn-on-the-cob smothered in butter, breaded pork chops, sausage and biscuits, french-fried potatoes, pizza (two 14" pepperoni just for Trudy), cheese-steak sandwich- es, veal Parmesan, three-bean casserole, and countless other goodies, Trudy was overwhelming the largest bra they could find for her in Minneapolis, a cavernous 34FF. Needless to say, Trudy's renewed figure received a lot of atten- tion. She could have done better at hiding it, but somehow, hav- ing her big breasts back brought a teasing streak out in Trudy. She dyed her hair platinum blonde, decked herself out in leopard- skin stretch-pants, high heels, and a low-cut silk blouse, and caused a shopping cart crash in Joe Sander's store. Turned out she was in the produce aisle, and was leaning over a display of canteloupes, when she asked a stander-by what he thought of the melons. By the beginning of August, the 34FF was a distant memory, and Trudy had to wrap her considerable charms in a capacious custom- cut brassiere made especially for her by Madame Olga of Chicago. Tim and Martha didn't even have to pay. Trudy had smiled and waved at a passing gentleman who came into the store, wrote a check for the whole amount, kissed Trudy lightly on the cheek, then disappeared. The tale of the tape amazed Trudy. Fifty-six inches she measured across the fullest part of her huge breasts, now the size and girth of two large butternut squash. She cupped her hands under- neath them, marveling at their weight, girth, and smoothness, as she prepared to lower them into Madame Olga's creation. I'm huge, she thought. I'm much larger than Wendy Sherman ever dreamed of being. I should go back to Harringtown and take Mark Bryant away from her, came the sudden thought. Tim and Martha were sad to see Trudy go, but delighted to see that she had gotten over her failed romance, and had regained her spirits so completely. Trudy's nephews vied with one another for hugs and caresses from their aunt, leaping around like young an- telopes. Tim drove Trudy to the train station, and put her on the train to Chicago. He put his arm around her. "I'm glad I've got my big sister back", he whispered to her soft- ly. "I'm glad she's back, too, Tim", Trudy replied, kissing him on the cheek. Trudy's outfit was calculated to turn heads. She had poured her- self into a form-fitting navy blue dress with a bolero top and a pleated skirt. The tops of her generous breasts trembled as she walked, straining against the bolero top. The fabric treatened to give way at the least provocation and spill its contents out into the open air. Completing the look with dark blue stockings, black heels, and a white hat, Trudy knew that every man's eye was on her. She felt their desire pass over her in waves, like a physical force, and the envy of the women, as she moved down the row of seats towards the one indicated on her ticket. To her surprise and delight, there was a man seated beside her in the window. Not just a man, but quite a handsome one, she found. Tall, dark-haired with blue eyes, large hands nestled quietly in his lap. Trudy took his measure quickly. Well-dressed in a dark grey suit with a starched white cotton shirt and a conservative old-school-looking tie, he exuded an air of competence and world- liness that Trudy found quite attractive. She nestled into her seat next to him, arranging her skirt to give the gentleman a good view of her well-sculpted calves. Dig- ging a cigarette out of her purse, she turned to towards him, lowering her head and neck to give him an unparalleled glimpse of her spectacular cleavage. "May I bother you for a light?", she asked him in a voice she hoped was sultry and inviting. "Of course", the gentleman replied, whipping out a silver-plated Zippo and flicking it for Trudy. She steadied the flame by putting her hand on his. "Heading for Chicago?", the gentleman asked her. "Indiana", Trudy replied. The stranger had an odd accent. With her limited knowledge of the world, Trudy made a wild guess. "Are you from England?", she asked. "Actually, yes", the stranger replied. "Roger Pym, of Pym and Fothergill, Ltd, of Bournemouth." Leaning over slightly, Trudy grazed the merest tip of her large breasts against Roger's arm. "I'm Trudy Morris of Harrington, Indiana. Very pleased to meet you!" She thrust out her hand, which Roger took and shook. "Hey", she complained, "I thought you English fellows kissed ladies' hands!" "Sorry", replied Roger. "Would you like me to?" Trudy blushed from her cheeks down to the tops of her breasts. "Nah. Its OK", she said, recovering her composure. "What are you doing in Minnesota, Roger?" "I'm a corn merchant", Roger explained. "It looks like Mr. Eden's going to get us in a bit of a mess over this Suez thing, and..." "I thought Winston Churchill was your President", Trudy blurted out. "Prime Minister", Roger corrected. "And Sir Winston got the boot back in April. Sir Anthony's in now." Roger felt Trudy's dark brown eyes fixed on his, drinking him in. He looked over at her. She had her hands folded over her knee, her lips slightly parted, and her impressive chest thrust aggres- sively forward. If she moved it any closer, he'd have to stick his head down between those inviting white mounds. He couldn't calculate how big she was, but she was much more generously built than any other girl he had ever met. He also realized she wasn't about to be drawn into a conversation about British politics. So, adeptly, he switched the topic of conversation to her. She had been in Minneapolis visiting her brother and his wife. He heard a blow-by-blow account of all the doings of her three small nephews, the minutae of life in a small Midwestern city in the United States. Before long, the talk worked its way around to affairs of the heart. Roger disclosed that he was a bachelor, without any ties on either side of the Atlantic. Trudy was delighted. She snuggled as closely as she deemed po- lite. "I was seeing a fella in Indiana", she blurted out, "but he dropped me for another girl." "Was he mad?", Roger asked incredulously. "Nah. He's really a pretty even-tempered guy", Trudy responded. "No", replied Roger, laughing. "I believe you Americans would say he must have been crazy!" "Why do you say that, Roger?" Even Trudy knew what was coming next. She just wanted to hear it. "Because you're beautiful, Trudy", Roger told her, taking her face in one of his big hands, strong yet smooth. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot." Seiz- ing the moment, he encircled Trudy's waist with his other arm and drew her to him. Trudy relaxed and put her head against Roger's white shirt. Roger lifted her chin and kissed her, full on the lips. Trudy's mouth opened to give entry to Roger's tongue, and she pulled him to herself insistently. Exploring the depths of Trudy's hot, moist little mouth with his tongue was only an appetizer for Roger, who snuck his hand around to touch the vast swell of her left breast. God! she's enormous, he thought, as Trudy leaned in closer, crushing both hand and breast against Roger's side. So they spent the morning and early afternoon, as the train rolled sleepily through southern Minnesota and on into Wisconsin. Trudy was delighted to find out that Roger was going on into Cin- cinatti, and that she would have him to herself for the whole trip. Sundown brought Madison and supper, and the train stopped for a forty-five minute layover. "I have a sleeper booked", Roger mentioned. "If we're discreet, we may just..." Trudy grabbed his arm and pulled it into the crevasse between her large breasts. "I'd like that very much, Roger darling", she agreed. So this is what she had been missing, she thought. This is what Luke O'Hara tried to steal from me. She rubbed her big tits generously against Roger's arm, reveling in their power to attract and bind a man to her. I can have a man, any man. This man, Mark Bryant, whatever man I want. Right now, though, she thought, I want this man. Badly. The sleeper turned out to be too small for what they had planned, so Trudy and Roger snuck down to the porters' quarters. One look at Trudy, and the head porter had no trouble figuring out what Roger had in mind. Ten dollars changed hands, and Trudy and Roger had the run of the compartment for the night. The chief porter's compartment turned out to be quite roomy. Trudy sat on the seat while Roger pulled the double-sized mat- tress down. He had already taken off the suit jacket, suspenders and tie, and he looked much younger and more virile without it. Trudy felt kind of weak and watery waiting for Roger to finish securing the bunk, and she inserted a hand under her panties. Omigod, she was sopping wet. Would Roger think she was a slut? What was the word they used, a tart? Roger sat down on the bunk and loosened his tie. "You're sure you want to go through with this, love?", he asked. In response, Trudy attacked him fiercely. Sixteen years of pent-up man-hunger exploded inside of her as she devoured his mouth with kisses, leaning hard against him, flattening her large breasts against him and grinding her pelvis hard against the growing bulge in his suit trousers. As soon as Trudy's great, soft, pillow-like breasts made contact with his chest, Roger knew he was ruined forever for other women and their insignificant boobs. He pulled Trudy on top of him as he fell backward onto the cot. Her platinum blonde hair fell on- to his face as she continued to kiss him ardently, and he felt the pressure of his manhood rising as he drank in the perfume of her body and relished the weight and pressure of her large breasts. Trudy pulled away from him momentarily, pulling at his shirt but- tons with her nimble little hands. Her explorations discovered a broad, well-muscled chest and abdomen, thickly thatched with curly dark hair the same color as that on his head. Sighing, she ran her fingers lightly through it. Roger was busy, too. By this time, he had managed to reach be- hind and begin unzipping Trudy's dress. Pulling the zipper down to the small of her back, he undid the clasp at the neck, and the front of Trudy's dress fell away. Straddling him, Trudy wriggled out of the bottom half and kicked it away, sitting now above him in her bra, girdle and nylons. Gasping at the sight of Trudy's huge bra looming over him like a thundercloud, Roger reached around behind Trudy's back and at- tempted to undo it. Alas, the number and complexity of the lit- tle hooks in the back frustrated his best efforts. "Do you want to see my big tits, Roger darling?", Trudy teased, pulling one bra strap down off her shoulder. The amount of cleavage she was already exposing increased slightly as she drew in a big breath and let it out slowly. Roger almost fainted when she reached around behind her back to unhook the body band of her brassiere, thrusting her great breasts out to their maximum ex- tension. Unhooked, Trudy's bra fluttered to the floor of the cabin, as her huge breasts flopped free. She dangled them inches from Roger's face, the thimble-sized nipples growing stiff and erect in the cool night air. "Look Roger", she purred. "Aren't they big? Aren't they soft? I made them like this for you!" She brushed them against his cheek. Grateful to be the beneficiary of such bounty, Roger craned his neck slightly and kissed each giant, swelling mound lightly on the tip of the nipple. He attempted to unzip his trousers, which by now had become a genuine nuisance, but Trudy had him effec- tively pinned to the bed. "Let me get that, lover", she pined, pulling at the band of his trousers. She peeled them away, and the boxers beneath them, and Roger's erection shot arrow-straight up from its little hairy nest. Trudy stared at it in amazement. "That's for me?", she asked. "Uh, I thought you'd done this a lot, love", Roger responded. "You certainly didn't come on like a virgin." Trudy blushed slightly, and moved off the top of Roger, reclining beside him on the cot. "I guess I am, Roger dear", she said. "In every way that counts." Roger divested Trudy of her girdle, panties and stockings. "Well", he laughed, "at least we know now you're not a blonde, Trudy!" Then he fell to, kissing Trudy and touching her in places she never knew could be so exciting. For his part, Roger was in no hurry. Trudy was a remarkable girl, innocent yet ardent. He wondered how she had maintained her virginity as long as she had, when her figure was as lush as it was and her nature was as hot-blooded as it appeared to be. He explored her carefully, with hand and mouth and eye; her mas- sive, glowering breasts, her trim waist, flaring hips, the planes and surfaces of her face, the humid regions of her womanhood. Moving on top of Trudy, Roger slowly eased himself into her. Penetration was easy. Not many girls in Roger's experience were as ready as Trudy. As he began to rock gently back and forth, he found to his delight that she matched him move for move in an in- stinctive dance of desire. Good, he thought, she's not just going to lie there and take it like a queen. As his passion built, Roger's thrusts became more insistent, and Trudy moaned, cupping her giant breasts with her hands and massaging them fiercely. "I forgot! I forgot!", she cried, remembering her childhood explorations. "This is where it feels good when you touch me. In my big breasts!" Needing no additional encouragement, Roger tore into Trudy's mam- mary display, rubbing and caressing and pinching and twisting, eliciting moans and shrieks from the delighted Trudy. Its a good thing she's so responsive, thought Roger, because I'm not going to be able to last much... ******************************* "Is that all there is?", Trudy asked as Roger lit a cigarette and puffed furiously. Roger put his arm around her naked waist. "No, love", he said softly. "At least when I do it, and do it right, there's a lot more." He took another puff on the cigarette. "Trudy, I'll be honest with you. I'm a bit of a scoundrel. I've had a lot of women in a lot of different places, but I've never had one as much of a woman as you. Come to England with me!" Trudy was astonished and delighted. "You make love to me once, and now you want to marry me? You can't be much of a scoundrel!" "If that's what it takes, Trudy", Roger replied. "Anyway, you'd be surprised at the number of women who've been waiting for an invation like that from Mr. Roger Pym of Bournemouth, England", he boasted. "No. I wouldn't", Trudy said, kissing him lightly on the lips. "Anyway, what would your mother say, you marrying a Yank?" "Actually, you'd get on well with Mum, I believe. Dad married a girl a lot like you, Trudy", Roger confessed. "I guess its true that that's all we men are ever looking for." Trudy thrust out her impressive chest. "Is she big like me?", she asked impudently. "Bigger, if you can believe that, love", he answered. "Of course, she's got a few years on you, but I imagine when she was your age, old Dad stood about as much of a chance with her as I stand with you." "Oh Roger!", she sighed, snuggling tightly against him. "If that's true, wouldn't we have some fine strapping girls? " She sat up in the cot, her magnificent breasts silhouetted against the window as the moonlit Illinois fields slipped quietly by. "I have a little unfinished business in Indiana, darling. When its over, yes, I'll go with you." "Splendid!", shouted Roger. "I'll be in Cincinatti for a week. After that, I'll be in New York until my ship leaves in October. I'll phone my agent and have him book passage for..." "For Mrs. Roger Pym", Trudy finished. [to be continued]