Two seventeen year old boys were sitting on a park bench. Eugene McCormick and Arthur Frasier. They were trying to carry on a pleasant conversation but the conversation kept being interrupted. Girls. Beautiful, well-endowed girls kept trying to talk to them. Okay, the girls kept trying to talk to one of them.
Arthur Frasier.
Eugene looked admiringly at his friend, wondering if Arthur Frasier was secretly Arthur Fonzarelli, the incredibly cool Fonz from TV's Happy Days. He just couldn't believe his friend's way with women. It was almost magical. Arthur had merely to be in the near vicinity of a beautiful, well- endowed woman or girl and they approached him. He didn't have to ask for a number; the females just announced the digits. And though Arthur claimed to be a gentleman who didn't kiss and tell, Eugene had discovered that nearly every female Arthur had asked out, he had also had sex with. Incredible.
Eugene, needing all the sexual pointers he could get, had once asked his friend what his favorite line was. "Does 'Hi' count as a line?" Arthur had asked, completely serious.
"No," Eugene replied, "'hi' is not a line."
"Well," Arthur began, "it's usually all I say before me and my date are off to the bedroom."
Eugene had thought his friend was bullshitting. A date with the Thompson Twins, Mary and Geri, changed his mind.
The date had started off on a high note. Looking at the two highschool juniors stretching their matching sweater tops to maximum effect; how else could it start? But it soon went downhill from there.
Arthur had to open his mouth.
The two friends had arrived at the Thompson's at the agreed upon time. Eugene and Arthur didn't usually do the double date thing, but the Thompson Twins wouldn't have it any other way. Where one sister was; the other was sure to follow. They had said, "hello" to the boys in one voice, oozing with the promise of future sexual delights.
Eugene tried to respond but couldn't. His voice had disappeared and all he was able to muster was a nervous croak. He kept on trying to say the word, "hi", when suddenly he heard Arthur.
"Hi," his best friend said. Nothing special. No fake attempt to sound like Barry White by lowering his voice two or three octaves. No, Arthur had just said the word "hi" and suddenly he had both twins panting for his affections.
Eugene was kind of slow in realizing the change. He sensed the movie- dinner plans were forgotten. Good. He noticed the twins taking off their clothes. Even better. He realized the girls were taking his best friend upstairs without him. Wait a minute; this isn't looking good. By the time he heard the sounds of bedsprings squeaking, voluptuous twins moaning and the occasional "Oh, Arthur", Eugene knew with a certainty that he wasn't getting any that night. Damn.
Because he had rode over to the Thompson's in Arthur's car, Eugene decided he couldn't just leave. He probably could have, but he didn't feel like answering a bunch of questions from his mom and sister about his date or lack thereof. So, Eugene sat in the Thompson's living room, watching TV. They were rerunning "It's A Wonderful Life" for the umpteenth time and Eugene decided to watch. To be honest, he hated the movie; but in a masochistic sort of way, since he wasn't getting any, Eugene thought what's a little more suffering?
Arthur, on the other hand, was doing anything but suffering. Sex with the twins was incredible. They moved as if joined by a telepathic link. Every inch of his body was stimulated as one twin would work Arthur's lower region while the other would work his top. The topmost twin, using her D- cup sized breasts was more than enough for any man, but combining her with her sister's hand and mouth techniques was unreal. And draining.
Arthur had tried dressing after the marathon sex, but discovered he didn't have the strength or energy. The twins had to help him back into his clothes. And then down the stairs. Neither Arthur nor the twins were complaining.
Eugene, hearing the trio, turned towards the stairs. He couldn't believe his eyes. Arthur was being supported by the Thompson Twins in all their naked splendor. The four, firm breasts drew his attention. They were so big, supporting Arthur like floatation devices. That lucky son of bitch, thought Eugene seeing the smile on Arthur's face, he's in tit heaven.
The twins, realizing their nakedness, decided that they couldn't walk Arthur to his car although the thought was considered. Instead they turned Arthur over to Eugene, who supported his friend, while the twins gave Arthur a final goodnight kiss. Eugene, seeing the naked titflesh before him and feeling the tightness in his pants, knew his hand would be getting a workout tonight. Double damn, he thought.
The friends, afterwards, drove away from the Thompson's in silence. Eugene was mad and Arthur was embarrassed. Eugene wanted to be mad at his friend but knew that he couldn't. He had no one to blame but himself. He had known about Arthur's way with women. Arthur had, in fact, warned him about his way with women. But seeing it first hand was like a slap to the face. Combined with the fact that he didn't get any and Eugene believed he had every right to be angry.
Arthur was soon in front of Eugene's home. He looked at his friend not knowing exactly what to say. Having sex with beautiful twins, while your best friend is downstairs watching TV, is the type of thing that can break up a friendship and Arthur wondered if he and Eugene were still friends.
Eugene put his friend's mind to rest. "Don't sweat it, man," he said. "Everything's cool. I just don't think we should be doing anymore double dating anytime soon."
Arthur nodded his head in agreement. He was glad that Eugene and he were still friends; something confirmed by the way the two slipped into their normal, playful banter. Over time their paths seemed to cross less and less, but Arthur and Eugene still thought of each other as best friends. Something this park get together was suppose to demonstrate.
Instead all it was doing was pissing Eugene off.
Arthur noticed Eugene's rising anger. "You know, I'm not doing anything to attract them," he said.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," began Eugene angrily. "All you do is stand near them and they feel an irresistible pull towards you. All you have to do is say "hi" and they drop their pants. I know, Arthur, I know."
"What's eating you?" Arthur asked, slightly annoyed by Eugene's tirade.
"Oh, fu--" began Eugene, arising from the park bench. "Just forget about it. Okay? Just forget about it."
Arthur saw his best friend storm off. He was going to follow him, but suddenly he had his hands full. A pair of E-cup sized breasts were suddenly overflowing his hands. A pair of D-cups were resting on his shoulders. In the short time it took for Eugene to depart, a silent rallying call had summoned every well-endowed female in Arthur's vicinity to his park bench.
Eugene was soon forgotten.
Arthur, on the other hand, lingered on his friend's mind. How does he do it, Eugene thought. It wasn't natural. Eugene thought about the old Arthur, the one who had trouble attracting women. He looked and acted the same as the new Arthur. But that didn't make sense, thought Eugene. Something had to be different.
Eugene, still preoccupied with his best friend, wasn't watching where he was going. The pain shooting through his body changed that. Eugene had walked into something solid. He had walked into the bricked base of a wishing well.
Rubbing his shin, Eugene thought to himself, I've never seen this here before. He studied the wishing well. It looked new in construction. Bright red bricks. Shining, silvery metal. And on the front, announcing to one and all that this was indeed a wishing well, was a golden sign embossed with the words: "Wishing Well--$.25".
Eugene laughed out loud. What kind of stupid stunt was the Parks Committee up to this time, he thought. Twenty-five cents for a wish; who would be dumb enough to fall for something like that?
Eugene McCormick was dumb enough to fall for something like that.
He tried to rationalize his behavior. But, truth be told, he believed in magic. One couldn't be best friends with Arthur Frasier and not believe in magic. He thought about his friend and all the big-titted females in said friend's life. And made his wish.
"I wish the females in my life had big tits," he said, chucking the quarter into the wishing well.
The quarter hit the water with a slight splash.
"Is that it?" asked Eugene feeling cheated. He felt like something more than a slight splash should have happened. Thunder. Lightning. A deep voice saying your wish has been granted. Something.
But, short of the slight splash, nothing else happened. And Eugene walked back to the park bench that he and Arthur were sitting on. With his back turned, Eugene didn't notice that the wishing well was glowing. Dull at first, the glow soon became a blinding flash. Just for a second. The flash receded into nothingness; taking the wishing well with it. It was like the wishing well had never existed.
Eugene arrived at the bench and noticed that Arthur wasn't present. Neither were any of the well-endowed females. Arthur wouldn't leave me? Eugene asked himself. Knowing the answer to the question before he even asked it. Of course, Arthur would leave him. "Some best friend," Eugene mumbled under his breath, starting his walk home.
When Eugene arrived home, his mother and sister were frenetically preparing for their respective nights out. Neither Eugene's mom, Helen, nor his sister, Jennie, went out much and their nervousness about how to prepare for a date was omnipresent.
Helen McCormick was a 38 year old divorcee who, after years of being absent from the dating scene, had agreed to go on a blind date. She was regretting that decision. Her clothes. Her makeup. Her body. They all bothered her; especially her body. Helen McCormick hated her body. She thought she was much too skinny and shapeless to attract a man. Her "ex" had told her that numerous times over the years and Helen had started to believe him. She was tempted to call the date off.
Her daughter, Jennie, wouldn't have canceled her date if her life depended on it. The 14 year old had snagged a date with Brad Garrett, one of the best looking guys on the highschool football team. She, a lowly freshman, had been tutoring the junior when he asked her out on a date. She couldn't believe it.
Neither could Eugene.
As a seasoned upper classman, Eugene felt he knew a lot more about highschool politics than his little sister. He knew that a popular junior, like Brad Garrett, would only date a lowly freshman, like Jennie McCormick, if said freshman made it worth the junior's while to be seen together. Translation: Lowly, freshman female had to have big tits and/or looks to match. Looking at his younger sister, Eugene knew Jennie didn't fit the bill. She wasn't ugly; she just wasn't babelicious. Her figure, or lack thereof, rivaled her mother's--skinny and shapeless. Add glasses and a reputation for having a brain and knowing how to use it and Jennie's highschool identity could be summed up in one word--Nerd. And everyone knew nerds and popular football players didn't get together in highschool.
Everyone that is but Jennie McCormick.
Eugene had tried to explain highschool politics to Jennie, but her mind refused to accept the illogicalness of teenagers. It was like Kirk and McCoy trying to explain the beauty of emotions to Spock--an effort in futility. Eugene had finally resigned himself to the fact that, until her heart was broken a few times, Jennie would be and remain clueless.
His mother was another matter.
Eugene had saw the deterioration of his parents' marriage. He had heard the verbal abuse dished out by his father and witnessed the psychological damage his mother suffered. He knew it had taken years for his mother to reach the point where she would even consider going out on a date. And he was determined to help the divorcee see this date through. Eugene felt her future happiness depended on it.
He saw his mother looking at her reflection in the mirror and could read the doubts going through her head.
"Looking good, Mom," he exclaimed with a wolf whistle.
Helen, stunned, looked at her son. She was engrossed in a pool of self- doubt and was startled by the whistle and the comment. She turned to Eugene checking to see if he was ridiculing her. He wasn't. Her son, the acting man of the house, was giving his mother his blessing and approval. And the gift was greatly appreciated.
Appreciated but still requiring periodic supplementation. Eugene held his mother's hand like she was a toddler visiting the dentist for the first time. He approved her makeup and clothes more times than he could count. He had to stop her both from using the phone and heading back to her bedroom. Eugene knew his mother would have canceled the date if she had gotten hold of the former, and would have tried to change her clothes if she had reached the latter.
Words couldn't express how happy he was when Derek, his mom's blind date, rang their doorbell. Eugene resisted the urge to shove his mom into Derek's arms and chain and bolt the front door. Instead, he let the two middleagers check each other out, made an intentionally embarrassing remark about them not staying out too late and then made a quick exit so Derek and his mom could get acquainted.
The sound of Derek and his mom driving off, moments later, was music to Eugene's ears.
He now had the house to himself.
Wait a minute, he thought, it's Saturday night. I'm a seventeen year old with his own car. I'm off tonight. What the hell am I doing staying home?
Eugene dug out his little black book. He opened it up and surveyed the mostly blank pages. Damn, when was the last time I updated this thing, he thought. Most of the girls in his book were no longer what Eugene would consider date material. Many were now hooked up with other guys. Many more were hooked up with his best friend, Arthur. Some had moved away from the neighborhood. A few had sworn they would kill Eugene if he ever came near them. Only one name offered Eugene hope. Wendy Sales. Ol' reliable.
Wendy was Eugene's and Arthur's oldest and dearest friend. She hung around them so much that they thought of her as just another guy. Her boyish figure and lack of fashion sense didn't help dissuade them of this opinion. The idea that Wendy might be on a date didn't even occur to Eugene as he dialed her home number.
"Hello," Wendy's mother answered the phone.
"Mrs. Sales, may I speak to Wendy?" Eugene asked .
"Gene," Mrs. Sales replied, recognizing Eugene's voice. "Wendy's not here."
"What?" a stunned Eugene replied. Wendy had always been home when he or Arthur called. What was going on, he thought.
"She's at the school gymnasium," continued Mrs. Sales unaware of Eugene's bewilderment. "with that environmental club of hers."
"Thanks, Mrs. Sales," Eugene said, hanging up his phone. He felt a wave of relief wash over him and he wasn't sure why. He knew he wasn't interested in Wendy romantically. Didn't he? He thought about the girl. Smart, great personality, fun to be around with but then her body intruded in on his thoughts. Wendy, like his mother and sister, was another flat chested stick. "I'm surrounding by stick women," Eugene announced out loud as he exited the house. "But better to hang out with a stick woman than be home alone on a Saturday night."
Eugene arrived at the environmental meeting just as the participants were exiting the gym. Couldn't have timed my arrival any better, he thought, remembering just how awful the last environmental club meeting had been. Eugene had later told Arthur that watching paint dry was more interesting than the club's meeting. An opinion Arthur confirmed a month later when Wendy conned him into attending a meeting.
Eugene approached Wendy, who was talking to three of her friends--Joyce, Karen and Amy. Like Wendy, the three environmentalists were stick women with no regard for fashion. Eugene had met them at the last meeting and thought they were O.K. girls. Great for fun, witty, intelligent conversation but undatable under the bylaws of highschool politics. A guy who dated Joyce, Karen or Amy was asking to be branded an outcast. Wendy, because of her friendship with Arthur "Babemagnet" Frasier, was something of an exception. She was cool by association and, so, Eugene didn't fear being seen hanging out with her. She was also Eugene's and Arthur's oldest and dearest friend. That was more important than popularity, thought Eugene. Wasn't it?
The girls saw Eugene and laughed. He had made what Wendy called his "caveman thinking" look. She had once told Eugene that whenever he was deep in thought his face would go blank, his eyebrows would rise and he would look like a Flintstones reject lost in thought. "Caveman thinking", she had dubbed the look now being witnessed by Joyce, Karen and Amy.
"What's so funny?" Eugene asked the girls.
"Oogabooga," Wendy replied, causing her and her friends to laugh even harder.
Eugene was slightly offended but then joined the girls in laughing. He had seen the "caveman thinking" and had to admit it was pretty funny. And he also remembered that it was him who asked Wendy to let him know when he was wearing the look. "Oogabooga" was just Wendy's way of complying with Eugene's wishes. What are friends for? he thought, looking at Wendy's smiling face.
Eugene talked with Joyce, Karen and Amy, trying to drop subtle hints that he wanted to be alone with Wendy. It took longer than he would have liked but the girls soon got the message and left.
"Alright, Eugene," Wendy said in a mock-seductress voice, sidling up to him. "We're all alone. And my body awaits your every wish and command."
Eugene knew this game very well. It was Wendy's self-aware way of commenting on both her lack of figure and her platonic relationship with two guys. He abruptly got down on one knee and took Wendy's hand as if he was about to propose and replied,"Oh, beauteous Wendy, I would love so much to ravage your body but, alas, a drive-in marathon awaits us. Ed Wood and his creations, Plan 9 from Outer Space and Bride of the Monster, are calling us. Come with me to the drive-in, beautiful one. Come with me."
Wendy looked at Eugene, masking her feelings with a smile. She knew that Eugene thought they were playing a game, an elaborate joke shared between friends. Wendy had to admit, when she had first offered her body to him, she was joking. But that was years ago. Her present feelings were anything but a joke and she only wished that Eugene felt the same way.
"Of course I'll go to the drive-in with you," she replied, concluding the game.
"Alright," said Eugene arising from his knee. And soon the friends were off to the movies.
On their way to the drive-in, Eugene and Wendy passed by Chuck's Diner, the local highschool hangout. He had remembered his sister, Jennie, saying that Brad Garrett was going to take her to Chuck's on their date. Eugene was tempted to check-in on his sister. But he knew that whatever did or did not happen to Jennie, would have to be handled by Jennie, herself. He just hoped his kid sister was O.K.
At the moment, Jennie was in heaven. She was sitting in front of Brad, losing herself in his blue eyes. They had dinner and was now indulging in Brad Garrett's favorite topic of conversation--Brad Garrett.
"So how did you do on your math test?" She asked. "Did my tutoring pay off?"
Brad thought about Jennie's question. Yeah, her tutoring had paid off. The kid knew her math. And now so did Brad. Jennie's knowledge of math combined with an innate talent for teaching had transformed Brad. And not necessarily in a good way.
Brad had initially sought Jennie's aid because he was ordered to by the football team's coach. The coach had told Brad he would be off the team if his math grades didn't improve soon. And so Brad, reluctantly, became a client of Jennie McCormick, math whiz and one of the best tutors in school.
Initially, Brad was charged for the tutoring sessions. But that was before he noticed that Jennie had a crush on him. A smile here. Some sweet talk there. And Brad's tutoring sessions were completely free. Hell, if I wanted her to, thought Brad, I could probably get her to pay me for these tutoring sessions.
And the seeds of disrespect were sown.
Brad began to resent Jennie. He hated having to spend so much time with the flat-chested freshman. He hated the way she had to explain every little thing in math to him, forgetting that was why he hired Jennie in the first place. As his knowledge of math increased, so did his hatred of Jennie. He forgot her part in teaching him math and began to think he did it all on his own. Passing the math test and ensuring his place on the football team merely confirmed the fact that he no longer needed Jennie. And he was about to cut her loose.
"I passed the test," Brad said matter-of-factly.
"Oh, good," said Jennie.
"For whom?" Brad asked with a sneer.
"Begging your pardon," Jennie said nervously.
"Who's it good for?"
"For us," Jennie said, her emotions in disarray. "We can be together as a couple. No more tutoring. We can go on real dates. We can--"
Laughter interrupted Jennie. Brad Garrett was laughing at her. And he wasn't alone. His friends, the popular kids, made up the bulk of the diner's clientele. Jennie didn't notice them at first since she only had eyes for Brad. But now she saw what was happening. He had planned it all. Brad had bought her to Chuck's so he could humiliate her. Publically.
Brad, looking into Jennie's eyes, saw that the freshman was becoming aware of her situation. He loved this moment more than anything. He loved when a loser like Jennie realized her fate but was powerless to do anything to stop it. He had raised his voice drawing the attention of all his friends. He could see their enjoyment of Jennie's situation rivaling his own. He was going for the jugular hoping to draw forth an ocean of Jennie's tears.
"Dates," he exclaimed to the audience of his peers. "Why would I go on a date with you? You're nothing but a walking skeleton. You have no hips. No ass. And as for that thing you call a chest, I know preschoolers with more on top."
And the diners roared with laughter.
"Go on, Brad," yelled Bobby Phillips, one of Brad's teammates. "Tell us how her bra is measured in negative letters."
And he did.
Brad not only made Bobby's comment but many more. And they all were about how flatchested Jennie was. He watched each comment like a dagger impaling itself into Jennie's heart. He was doing massive damage to the girl, but not enough for his taste. So he called over Clair Vanderbilt, a buxom cheerleading friend of his, who wore an E-cup sized bra. That did the trick.
Tears began running down Jennie's face.
Jennie had tried to fight back the tears, but she couldn't. The pain was too much. Her brother, Eugene, had warned her about the pain. He had said that Brad wasn't what he seemed. Why didn't she listen? And why couldn't she leave?
Jennie had tried to leave the diner when she first sensed the change in Brad's mood. But she couldn't. Embarrassment. Public embarrassment and ridicule immobilized her. She would rise up from the booth only to sink back down. She kept trying, finally, making it to her feet.
But she still had to walk out of the diner.
She felt like a death row inmate taking that final walk to the electric chair. Dead Jennie walking, she thought to herself. Her feet felt like iron weights making each step a Herculean effort. She saw the exit in front of her. So near, and yet, so far, she thought. But that was her goal. She had to get out of Chuck's Diner. She had to--
Faint.
Brad and his friends laughed like crazy. It had looked so funny. Jennie, the loser, had tried to run away and slipped; knocking herself out in the process. That was the way everyone in the diner had saw it. But that wasn't the way it actually happened.
Jennie didn't slip. She was zapped. And now she was coming to.
She woke up feeling different. Tingly. Energized. She jumped to her feet and a quiet descended on the diner. All eyes were suddenly on her and yet she didn't feel the least self-conscious. She felt good. Better than good. And the diners didn't like it.
What's going on? thought Brad. One moment, she's crying buckets; the next, she's looking like she won a lottery.
"What's wrong with you, Flatso?" he yelled at Jennie, voicing the question in all the diners' minds.
"Nothing's wrong with me," Jennie said, showing all 32 of her teeth. "In fact, I feel better than I've ever did before."
And she looked it too.
It started with her legs. What was once twin sticks of flesh transformed right before the diners' eyes. They became the legs of a supermodel-- longer, shapelier, sexier. They had an immediate effect on all the leg men in the diner--instant hard-ons.
Jennie's hips and ass were next. The former widened, while the latter expanded. Her skirt did little to hide the changes going on below her waist and more hard-ons followed.
Jennie had noticed the changes happening to her body. Shocked at first, she soon looked forward to the transformation. An attitude shared by the male population of the diner. Guys, who never would have looked in the direction of the old Jennie, suddenly couldn't take their eyes off the new one. Brad Garrett was one of those guys.
Jennie, noticing her body was transforming from the ground up, smiled. Her mind was replaying all the flat-chested jokes made by Brad. She heard the venom in his voice. She heard the laughter of him and his friends. But if her chest transformed like the rest of her did, she thought, she'd be the one laughing. Laughing last.
And then Jennie felt it.
Her chest and back tingled. She felt a warmth spread over her back and ribcage like someone was rubbing her down with a heating pad. It didn't last long. The heat left, leaving a tightness around her back and ribcage. Jennie felt the areas of tightness, discovering that she was suddenly too big for her top and 28-A training bra. She began removing her top and bra knowing the best was yet to come.
The diners' eyes were bulging out of their head. Was Jennie really disrobing in front of them? Yes, she was. And she looked bigger. She was still an A-cup, but her bra looked like it belonged on a smaller person. A fact confirmed by Jennie when she yelled out the words,"four inches."
"I'm a 32-A," she yelled proudly.
"Big deal," countered Clair "E-cup" Vanderbilt, as she did automatically when confronted with breasts smaller than hers. "An A-cup ain't nothing."
"I know," Jennie said with an evil grin, "but I don't think I'll be an A-cup for long."
And she wasn't.
The heat returned, concentrating on her nipples. They instantly became erect, jutting out about an inch in length. The heat then moved around her nipples, encircling them, as it started work on Jennie's aureolas. It darkened them, making circles the size of quarters grow into circles the size of compact discs. Jennie gasped thinking about how big her boobs would be if they grew in proportion with her now gigantic aureolas. It wasn't long before the thought became a reality.
The diners stood transfixed. Their eyes, totally focused on Jennie, couldn't believe the occurring changes. She had entered the diner with Brad Garrett as an object of ridicule, someone laughed at by the diners. That was the plan. To have a laugh at Jennie's expense. Only they weren't laughing; Jennie was.
The heat had left the aureolas and worked itself underneath. Jennie now felt pressure combined with the heat. She knew the growing--the swelling had begun, and she let out a whoop of joy. "Clair," Jennie yelled to the cheerleader, snapping her out of the hypnotic daze that seemed to affect all the diners, "do I still look like an A-cup?"
"Uh...no," Clair said, noticing the swelling taken place on the freshman's chest. Jennie had left an A-cup and was approaching Clair's cup size. Fast.
Jennie's breasts--yes, the freshman had breasts, now--looked like they were being inflated by a pneumatic pump, they were growing so fast. They were globular in shape, transforming from the largest of oranges into the largest of melons. And they didn't seem to be slowing down. They had caught up with Clair's E-cups and began overtaking them, growing bigger and bigger.
Time was frozen for the diners while Jennie's breasts grew and resumed once the growing stopped. Minutes? Hours? No one knew exactly the length of Jennie's blossoming. All the diners knew was that the formerly flatchested Jennie now possessed some of the biggest breasts on the planet. And that she wasn't shy about showing them off.
She stood in front of the awestruck diners making sure each and every one got a good look at her new endowments. A gesture appreciated by the males, who stared unblinkingly at the masses on Jennie's chests, and unappreciated by the females, who looked like prepubescent schoolgirls when compared to the new and improved Jennie.
Clair Vanderbilt was one of those females. Her E-cup sized breasts, some of the largest on her highschool's campus, were now dwarfed by Jennie's monstrous mams. And this fact made the highschool cheerleader very uncomfortable.
Jennie saw Clair's discomfort and smiled. She was thinking how Clair's E- cups and Brad's insensitivity had driven her to tears, filling her with pain. So much pain. Those two would never know the pain I felt, she thought, unless I give them a taste of their own medicine.
And that's exactly what she did.
She walked up to Brad and Clair and literally bumped them with her breasts--nearly knocking the two highschoolers to the floor. They and the diners couldn't believe the weight and size of Jennie's tits. What had once been nonexistent bumps on the freshman's chest were now like boulders. Dangerous boulders. And everyone feared what she might do with them.
Especially Brad and Clair.
The two were rubbing the stinging remnants of Jennie's "boob attack" thinking about the bruises they would have the next day. Did Jennie try to hurt them on purpose, they wondered. And if she did, what could they do about it? They were powerless against her tits.
Jennie, looking at the two upperclassmen, saw the fear on their faces. They feared the power she now possessed. The power of her breasts. So large, so heavy and yet so easily managed by Jennie that the freshman could end Brad's and Clair's lives in an instant. She could smother them or beat them senseless. And for a brief moment, Jennie allowed herself to indulge in the thought of killing these two people--who caused her so much pain--with nothing more than her breasts. Her magnificent, worthy of a goddess-sized breasts. But when the moment was over, so was Jennie's thoughts of killing. That was going too far, she thought watching the pained looks on Brad and Clair's faces, if it hadn't already.
"Are you, two, O.K.?" Jennie asked apologetically. "I didn't hurt you with these big tits of mine, did I?"
"Yeah, you did," Brad said, massaging where Jennie's breasts had struck him. "Why don't you look where the fuck you're going."
Brad suddenly covered his mouth in amazement. Did he just say what he thought he did? Jennie could kill him. A thought echoed by Clair and the rest of the diners. What was on Brad's mind?
"I--I'm sorry," Brad said to Jennie, his voice cracking with nervousness.
Jennie looked at Brad. Hard. She was starting to regret ever empathizing with the boy. He was the same arrogant, coldhearted, self-centered son- of-a-bitch who had ridiculed her and he would never change. She wouldn't kill him but neither would she show Brad and Clair mercy. They didn't deserve it.
"I'm sorry, I hurt you" Jennie said with a wicked grin, thrusting her chest out for maximum effect, "It's just that my tits are soooo big. Wouldn't you say so, Clair?"
Clair was speechless. She had been trying to keep a low profile in hopes of escaping Jennie's attention. But now she was not only noticed by Jennie, but by all the diners as well. She felt like a giant spotlight was on her; trapping her for all to see.
"What's the matter, Clair?" Jennie said, approaching. "Cat got your tongue? Or is it my breasts. They've grown you know?"
"I--I know," Clair said, as Jennie's breasts drew nearer and nearer.
"Why, I bet my breasts are more than three times bigger than yours," Jennie said, cupping her breasts as if measuring them. "Aren't you a 34-D, Clair?"
Clair, until this moment, had always been proud of her breasts. When she had first started developing she use to shout out the ever-increasing measurement of her bustline like it was news of the second coming. Everyone knew she was a 36-E not a 34-D and Clair couldn't help but correct Jennie's misquoted figure. "I'm a 36-E," she said, doing and saying exactly what Jennie wanted.
"Big deal," Jennie said, echoing what Clair said when Jennie announced she had went from a 28-A to a 32-A.
Clair--whose identity was so associated, so dependent on her having the biggest chest in the room--couldn't believe her ears. Big deal? Did someone really say 'big deal' to her E-cups? Blinded by rage, Clair had forgotten she was dealing with a new and improved Jennie. She foolishly tried a direct confrontation.
Clair threw out her E-cups proudly. "Yeah, I would say a 36-E is a big deal."
"If a 36-E is a big deal," Jennie said in a matter-of-fact manner, but loud enough for everyone in the diner to hear,"what would you call a 32-R?"
"A 32-R," Clair said in a low, hushed voice. The reality of just how small her chest was in comparison to Jennie's was dawning on the cheerleader. A feeling of uncomfortableness enveloped Clair who for the first time in her life faced a female with a chest that literally dwarfed hers. Jennie's R-cups were more than three times bigger than her E's. And Clair was having a hard time dealing with that fact.
She looked around the diner for some sort of support but none existed. Her friends, sensing Clair's sudden loss of power and status, were laughing at her. She looked at Jennie, standing before her with a smug look on her face, jiggling her chest. A sight too much for Clair--who suddenly ran out of the diner.
"Did I do that?" Jennie asked in a high, nasally sounding voice that quoted and echoed Steve Urkel, the clumsy nerd of a neighbor on the TV show, Family Matters.
Jennie's comment caused an outpouring of laughter to fill the diner. Especially from the cheerleaders, who feared being humiliated like Clair was. Most of them had suffered in comparison to Clair's E-cups and felt deep inside that comparison to Jennie's R-cups would land them in therapy for the rest of their lives dealing with issues of inferiority.
But fortunately for them, Jennie's attention was on someone else. Her attention was focused solely on Brad Garrett.
The highschool football player had watched Clair run out of the diner. He knew that Jennie would be after him next. Well, I'm not going to run out of here, no matter what she does, he thought. Give me your best, bitch.
And that's exactly what Jennie did.
She walked up to Brad, sandwiching his face into her monstrous cleavage. Each tit surrounding Brad was bigger than his head. He was literally surrounded by a wall of titflesh. And he was loving every minute of it.
When Jennie's tits first surrounded him, Brad didn't know what was happening. One minute he was in a lit diner; the next--total darkness. His face felt the warm softness of Jennie's tits touching his skin and the feeling was so good that Brad didn't ever want to leave. He felt like a newborn in his mother's womb--every need provided for; every want serviced. It was truly heaven on Earth.
Brad could feel himself getting an erection. All the blood in his body seemed to make a beeline to his lower regions leaving him lightheaded. He felt the discomfort of the bulge developing in the crotch of his pants--its growth being restricted. Brad's right hand quickly snaked its way to the zipper and yanked down. Reaching into the open space, the hand made its way to Brad's expanding rod of man-meat--grabbing it, caressing it, jacking it.
Jennie saw what Brad was doing. She listened as his self-ministered hand job caused the teenager to begin moaning. Jennie smiled wickedly as Brad's moaning got louder--and louder. Words were added to the moaning, as Brad begin yelling: "I'm coming, I'm coming!"
"Go for it," Jennie whispered in Brad's ear, encouraging him to shoot the load to end all loads.
But the highschooler didn't need her encouragement, he was perfectly willing and able to jack himself off. He was stroking himself like a madman--faster and faster. "I'm coming--I'M COMING!!!," he yelled. And then--
Nothing.
Jennie had suddenly separated herself from Brad. The feeling was like a baby being forced prematurely from his mother's womb--an unpleasant feeling of pain and shock. So powerful in its intensity that it knocked Brad to the ground, causing his erection to shrink--instantly. It was like being kicked in the balls. Only worse.
Jennie stood over Brad watching his dick shrink to the size of a two year old's--laughing. Her laugh was followed by those of the diners including some of Brad's teammates. Bobby Phillips, who had earlier reminded Brad to tell the diners how the formerly flatchested Jennie measured her bras in negative letters, said a similar thing about Brad's jock strap. This began a round of "little dick" jokes spearheaded by Jennie, who with her quick mind and dry wit kept the festivities going for a long time.
But eventually making fun of Brad got old to Jennie. She looked at the football player, his dick shrunken down to nothing. and decided to make her exit--with style.
She stood up regally, a tit-queen presiding over her more flatchested subjects, watching them avert their eyes whenever confronted with her R- cups. She thought about giving the female diners the same treatment she gave Clair Vanderbilt--an inferiority complex so powerful that it drove the recipient away in tears. A tit-to-tit contest that no female in Jennie's vicinity had a snowball's chance in hell of winning. The idea appealed to Jennie, but ultimately she decided against it. Why hurt them one time, she thought, when I can hurt them on a daily basis. The mental image of her female classmates having to view her enormous mams on a daily basis, knowing in their hearts that their paltry endowments would never equal hers, was probably more revenge than Jennie deserved, and yet the formerly flatchested freshman found herself eagerly looking forward to Monday morning. Go figure.
Instead of the female diners, Jennie focused on the guys. Making sure that every man in the diner saw her fabulous figure in all its wonder from every possible angle, Jennie gave a performance that would linger in the minds of the male diners for some time to come. She jumped, twisted, shook and caressed her breasts--causing every guy in the diner to experience an immediate tightness in their pants. Licking her lips, Jennie watched the hands of the male diners instantly go to their pants. It's almost Pavlovian, she thought, my boobs plus guys equals instant masturbation. Unbelievable.
Jennie and the other females in the diners watched as the guys began a synchronized group masturbation session. It was like a telepathic link was formed and shared by the guys, whose actions were as one. Stroking in the same rhythm--a slow up; a slow down--the guys were oblivious to all but Jennie, who felt they should be rewarded for their single-minded attention to her.
She was going to let them come--on her.
It suddenly felt like New Year's Eve to Jennie. The waiting. The excitement. The coming of something new and unknown. How much would these guys ejaculate, she wondered, thinking of a river of boy juice washing over her tits. The thought was so erotic to Jennie's mind that she found herself getting moist, secreting some juice of her own. The smell of which combined with an audible moan of sensuality causing the guys to accelerate their stroking. Ready or not, here they...
Come.
In all directions. In different amounts. The guys' semen rain down on Jennie. She had it primarily on her tits, which was undoubtedly the bull's- eye the guys were trying to hit, but also in her hair, on her arms and legs, and even on her face. Jennie felt the stickiness on her body. She inhaled the smell of sex, so powerful that she was temporarily lightheaded, that resulted from a roomful of guys shooting their loads on a single target. She saw the guys--temporarily drained of their semen and energy--looking at her for some sort of approval.
Jennie obliged them by taking her right index finger and running it across her face. She covered the finger in boy juice and stuck it in her mouth. She expected to gag, tasting male ejaculation for the first time, but she didn't. The taste, although different, was pleasing to Jennie, who wanted and had some more.
She did this until her face was semen-free. She thought of doing the rest of her body, but thought of a better idea. Working her hands over her body, feeling the stickiness of her skin, Jennie's face assumed a look of disapproval. "Look at my beautiful skin," she said in a whining tone of dismay and astonishment,"it's totally covered with sticky and smelly semen. If only I had some guys willing to lick my skin clean."
The guys couldn't believe their ears. Did Jennie just say what they thought she did. They looked at her, asking for some sort of confirmation.
"Well?" was all she said. And the guys responded instantly--attacking Jennie's R-cups with a fervor bordering on the religious. Their tongues covered every inch of her body--from her forehead to her toes--licking her clean. Slow licking. Fast licking. Jennie felt them all on her skin. She began shaking as every G-spot, erogenous zone, real or imagined, was stimulated. Nonstop was the sensations. Nonstop was Jennie's orgasms. Her juices, river-like, covered the diner's floor in an ever-increasing puddle that some of the guys were already licking up. These guys, unable to get to Jennie's fantastic body, figured any Jennie was better than none at all, and so they licked the diner's floor with the same relish and zeal that those licking Jennie's tits did--Loving every minute of it.
Jennie was loving every minute of it, as well. She couldn't tell how long her body was licked by the guys in the diner and, to tell the truth, she really didn't care. All Jennie knew was that she had an experience that would last her entire life. She rose from the diner's floor--where the ministrations of the males had driven her--looking at the shocked females present. They had witnessed the licking of Jennie with a mixture of disgust and fascination. Disgust at the guys'--dogs'--depravity, in which they would literally lick the flesh of someone in a public place, and fascination that mirrored a car wreck--holding the females' attention totally. Jennie saw Brad Garrett on the floor with a similar look on his face. The highschool football player hadn't made a single move since Jennie's humiliating treatment of him. His dick, still the size of a two year old's, was still outside his underwear in plain view of everyone. Apparently, Brad Garrett was the only male in the diner not to jerk off at the sight of Jennie's tits.
His loss, thought Jennie, who decided to finally take her leave of Chuck's Diner. She turned her back on those present, both literally and figuratively, as her mind started thinking about the future--her future. A fairy tale come true. That was the only way to describe Jennie's transformation from highschool nerd to beautiful tit queen, as a sort of modern day fairy tale.
She facetiously imagined mothers around the world reading their flatchested daughters her story at bedtime. The story of how flatchested Jennie, teased and mistreated by her classmates, magically grew herself a 50-inch bust and lived happily ever after. She thought about the name of such a fairy tale and whether or not Disney would do an animated adaptation of it. She saw a three year old version of herself begging her mother to read Boobarella instead of stupid, old Cinderella and she laughed out loud.
The laughter stopped quickly as Jennie thought of the surprise now awaiting her mother.
"Mom," Jennie said seriously, "I wonder what you're going to say when you find out your little girl needs a 32-R cup bra?"
Bras, however, were the last things on Helen McCormick's mind.
The 38 year old mother of Eugene and Jennie was thinking about her date, Derek, and what a wonderful man he was as he drove her to his house. She had thought about the night's events--so perfect; so right--wiping a tear of joy from her eyes. Derek was the one. He was the man her heart had been looking for--no, longing for. She was sure of it, as her mind replayed their date.
They had left her house hand in hand. Neither one having planned nor initiating the movement and yet somehow joining--in an instant. Helen's tiny hand enveloped in Derek's larger one. Neither one wanting to let go.
Derek had opened the passenger side door for her--like a perfect gentleman--and Helen, reluctantly removed her hand from his, so she could enter the car. But their hands rejoined as soon as Derek was in the driver's seat.
They went to a four-star restaurant serving French cuisine where Derek had made reservations. Helen was surprised that Derek would take a blind date to such an expensive place to eat, but what he did next, surprised her even more. Derek had waited for the waiter to arrive at their table and then, in perfect French, he placed their order.
Helen was impressed to say the least.
Her date--perfect man that he was--spoke fluent French, Spanish, and German. He was knowledgeable about wines, an expert on the best cuisines to order, and a great conversationalist. He was confident about these skills without being arrogant and Helen found herself truly enjoying the date. She, also, found herself falling in love.
Derek was falling in love as well. He couldn't understand it, but Helen seemed to be having a profound effect on him. He had been on many blind dates in the past, despite possessing a lot of attributes attractive to women, and knew that this date wasn't like past ones. Normally in the date, he would sense that the woman sitting in front of him wasn't the one. It was as simple as that. The date would progress, but Derek and his date knew they would never see each other again. But this date was different. The feelings he felt for Helen; he had felt only in his dreams. She was the one for him and he proceeded to tell her so.
For a brief moment, the words lingered in the air, and Derek felt that maybe he had said too much. You're the one for me. How corny. But Helen thought otherwise.
"Let's go back to your place," the divorcee said without pretext.
And they did.
The couple entered Derek's apartment as one--their bodies inseparable, clinging to each other. Lips kissed, fingers caressed, and passion mounted. Sweat--deep, heavy breathing--and discarded clothing filled the air as the couple prepared to give each other the greatest of gifts--themselves.
And then the tingling started.
Like the gentlest of touches was how the sensation first manifested. Helen, thinking it was all Derek's doing, complimented him on his technique. He accepted the compliment, thinking to himself that he really wasn't doing anything special in the area of foreplay, but rationalized Helen's pleasure as just another reason why they were so perfect for each other. But as the sensation increased in intensity, it became obvious to both Helen and Derek that something else was at work. Something neither one was able to explain.
"Are you alright?" Derek asked Helen, separating from her.
"I don't know," Helen replied, her voice cracking as the sensation continued running through her body. "My body--my body won't stop tingling. Oooh- -there goes another one!"
Derek stared at Helen not knowing what to do. He wanted to hold Helen-- to comfort her--but every time he approached her, she would experience another tingle--one greater than the one before. Derek didn't know what he could do for Helen. Her next outburst, yelled as a result of her body's ever-increasing tingling, told him.
"Derek, take off all my clothes!" she yelled.
And he did.
He had stripped Helen down to her undergarments and stopped. He noticed something strange happening to her body. Her skin--pale at first-- began glowing, darkening, as if Helen was under a high-powered tanning lamp. In an instant, all of Helen's skin--covered or uncovered--was tanned golden. "Beautiful," Derek said in awe, looking at Helen and anticipating the next changes that may affect her and her body.
Her hair was the next thing to change. Her mousy brown transformed into a lustrous blond--lengthening, growing fuller; growing stronger. It assumed back length and stopped, allowing Derek a moment to study Helen's changes. She had become a "Golden Girl", he thought. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, she seemed to glow golden--with both vibrant health and cover girl model looks. Derek stared at Helen, unable to take his eyes off her. The sun-like glow radiating from Helen's body changed that.
Derek, shielding his eyes, avoided the glow blinding him. But, even with his eyes closed and covered, he somehow knew--somehow saw--what the glow doing to Helen. The hair and skin was only the beginning.
Strengthening her bones and muscles, the glow established a foundation, on which Helen's future changes would be built. Her skin acquired an almost magical quality of malleability, allowing it to stretch and accommodate the growth and expansion planned by the glow, and yet not have a single stretch mark afterwards. Helen's body was undergoing an extreme process of renovation. And Derek witnessed every moment of it.
He was still seeing Helen, unexplainably, with his eyes closed and covered. He saw her arms and legs go from shapeless twigs to firm, lightly muscled appendages, so sexy in appearance that they begged to be touched. Her face seemed to absorb the makeup floating on its surface, transforming an illusion created by commercial cosmetics into a biological reality, granting Helen a permanent beauty. Her ass thickened and firmed. Her hips widened and curved. And in minutes, Helen was one of the most beautiful women on the planet.
And then the glow worked on her chest.
It seemed to Derek, as if the preceding changes to Helen was just a prelude to the glow's real objective--her chest. It was the only area of her body untouched by the glow's magic, and seemed to be drawing forth more of the glow's energy than the rest of her body combined. Derek, a witness to what the glow had already done to Helen's body, couldn't even imagine what it had planned for her chest. He only knew whatever the glow had planned would look spectacular on Helen.
The glow had assumed the form of a glowing sphere floating inches above Helen's chest. It spun on its imaginary axis--slowly increasing its speed-- drawing forth greater and greater amounts of its magical power. It increased in size and brightness, as it revolved faster and faster and faster. It filled Derek's home with its sun-like brilliance, going faster, getting larger, until finally--
It stopped.
The change in the glow's speed was so sudden, so unexplainable that Derek swore a sonic boom of sorts was created. The glowing sphere had seemingly collapsed in on itself with Helen's chest, like some kind of energy sponge, absorbing every single particle of energy. The process was so extreme that Helen's chest, as if a two ton weight had been dropped on it, flattened into her spine.
But then her chest rebounded.
With a quickness and power rivaling a nuclear explosion, Helen's breasts jutted skyward. Her brassiere, a 34-A, was instantly blown into confetti- like tatters. Her breasts, in their initial explosion, had literally hit the roof of Derek's home puncturing the roof with two beanbag sized holes. And then the breasts like twin boomerangs returned to their rightful owner.
Helen absorbed the impact of breasts bigger than her body with a mighty umph. The glow, in its final act, had enabled her to absorb the impact without experiencing any physical pain, but the impact still knocked the wind out of her. She tried to sit up, but couldn't. Her breasts were so massive that they had her literally pinned to the ground. Helen continued trying to right herself, but couldn't and started crying.
Derek, free of the glow's blinding effect and hearing Helen crying, turned his eyes in her direction. He had seen her through the unexplainable "sight" of the glow and knew her breasts had grown to unheard of proportions, but that knowledge was unable to prepare him for what his own eyes saw. Helen had zeppelins for breasts, aureoles the size of garbage can lids, and nipples that rivaled the teats of a cow--easily filling a man's hand. Her bust measurement, easily in the triple digits, was unquestionably the biggest on Earth. Why in God's name was she crying, he thought, later asking Helen that same question.
"My--my breasts," she said, sobbing. "They're so big."
"And?" Derek said, still not understanding what was distressing her so much.
"I look like some sort of freak," she exclaimed, her crying intensifying.
Derek thought about what she was saying. He knew that he could continue talking to her, trying to get her to see just how beautiful her breasts really were, but he realized that would likely be an effort in futility. A situation like this, he thought, requires action. Strong, quick, decisive action.
Derek's first action was stripping himself naked. He stood before Helen, her humongous breasts before him, and found himself instantly erect. His dick, like a divining rod, pointed the way that Derek was only too happy to follow.
Helen's breasts, rising from her chest, were almost as big as Derek was tall. The six foot tall man couldn't believe his eyes. Her breasts not only jutted upward with an impossible degree of firmness, but they also spread out to Helen's sides, totally covering the rest of her body and a good deal of Derek's floor as well. He looked at cleavage, so deep that it was a virtual canyon, and had his target. He was going to have the titfuck--to end all titfucks.
He ran towards the crying Helen and impaled his dick in her cavernous cleavage. Her crying, instantly, stopped. Apparently her breasts not only increased in size, but they also increased in sensitivity. As Derek pumped his dick deeper and deeper into Helen's cleavage, rubbing the inner sides of her breasts, pulsating waves of pleasure ran throughout Helen's body. Orgasm after orgasm quickly followed.
Helen's panties, the only piece of clothing she still had on, were becoming drenched with her juices. Helen, sexually frigid in the past, knew her breasts were responsible for her newfound ability to have multi-orgasms and she had an instant change of heart. She now loved her breasts and proceeded to scream the words to the heavens: "I love my breasts--I LOVE my breasts--I LOVE MY BREASTS!!!"
An attitude completely supported by Derek, who loved her breasts as well. He loved her cleavage--he loved her nipples--and he loved her aureoles. But most of all, he loved the fact that he would have the rest of the weekend to explore every square inch of Helen's wonderful tits.
And if that wasn't enough time--he thought to himself, while continuing to titfuck the biggest tits on the planet--he could always call in sick.
Elsewhere, Wendy and Eugene were at the drive-in watching the second movie in the Ed Wood double feature. Neither one was really interested in the movie. They both sat facing the movie screen appearing to watch the movie, but in essence, their minds were on other things.
Eugene's thoughts were on Wendy. He was having sexual thoughts, involving her for the first time in the history of their friendship, and it bothered him. But the natural horniness of a teenage male combined with being alone with a female in a make-out situation like going to a drive-in movie was really doing a number on him. If Wendy had big tits, he thought facetiously to himself, I'd be all over her and ruin our friendship. Good thing she's as flat as a board.
Wendy's thoughts were on Eugene. She wanted him so bad and couldn't figure out why he wasn't making his move. He was a teenage male, alone with a female, at a drive-in. If Wendy didn't know any better, she would have sworn Eugene was gay, but she knew that wasn't the problem. If I had big tits, he'd be all over me--she thought, glancing at her boyish figure--further perpetuating the stereotype of woman as submissive sex object. Well, it's the '90s damn it, if a woman wants to initiate a sexual relationship, she has the right.
Wendy, her decision made, turned to Eugene. She grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him straight in the eye and screamed,"Oww!"
"What's wrong, Wendy?" he asked, perplexed by his friend grabbing him and screaming in his face.
"I--I don't know," Wendy said. "I felt my brea--my breasts stinging."
"Maybe, it's your bra," Eugene said, saying the first thing to cross his mind. His limited experience with women had convinced him that any problem involving a woman's breasts was caused nine times out of ten by her bra. "I'm not wearing a bra," replied Wendy. "Owww!"
Eugene looked at his friend's flannel shirt and couldn't believe his eyes. There was movement where none should exist--Wendy's nipples were poking visibly through the front of her flannel shirt, the mounds underneath the nipples seemed to be expanding, and her breasts, without a doubt, were growing.
Eugene was so transfixed by the growth taking place on Wendy's chest that he didn't notice her "owws" of pain were becoming "oohs" of pleasure. The only thing he noticed was her breasts. Wendy Sales had breasts, he thought to himself. I don't believe it. His disbelief, however, didn't stop his continuous staring of his friend's breasts.
Wendy noticed Eugene's staring and decided to give him a show. She arched her back, causing her chest to stick out, and the growth of her breasts to accelerate. Wendy didn't realize how fast her breasts were growing, until the buttons of her flannel shirt started popping off, making her shirt useless.
Eugene, happily removed the flannel shirt, revealing Wendy's new tits in all their naked glory. She was huge. Her tits were bigger than Clair "E- cup" Vanderbilt and she was still growing.
"You like?" Wendy asked Eugene, knowing the answer to her question by the look on his face.
Eugene, speechless, let his actions speak for him and thrust his face into Wendy's expanding bosom. Licking and sucking every square inch. The moans that resulted from Eugene's ministrations seemed to indicate Wendy was enjoying the sucking and licking as much as he enjoyed giving them. And her breasts continued growing.
They grew so large that they filled up the front of Eugene's car. Wendy's breasts were pressing against the windshield and Eugene adjusted the seat. He moved the seat back as far as it would go and Wendy's breasts still grew. Panic ensued, as both Eugene and Wendy feared what would happen when Wendy's breasts crashed into the windshield. But fortunately, Wendy's breasts had nothing to fear.
Whatever magic caused Wendy's breasts to grow, also protected them. Her breasts smashed through the windshield without a single cut growing half the length of the car's hood where they finally stopped.
"Whew," said a relieved Wendy. "I'm glad that's over."
"I think it's only beginning," said Eugene morosely, noticing the neighboring cars as they turned their attention away from the movie. In minutes, all eyes seemed to be watching Wendy's tits resting on the hood of Eugene's car. Wendy, taking the stares in good stride, said,"Eugene, they'd be looking when I show up for school come Monday."
"You're actually thinking of going back to school," Eugene said in disbelief.
"Of course," Wendy said with a smirk, "I have to show my friends in the environmental club, my new developments."
And a shudder ran through Eugene's body. He couldn't explain it, but somehow he felt Wendy's sudden and miraculous development was caused by the wish he made at the park's wishing well. He also had the feeling that Wendy's friends in the environmental club would be similarly affected, making the former stick women more popular than the cheerleaders, and--
"Oogabooga," Wendy said with a laugh, indicating Eugene was doing the "caveman thinking".
Eugene forgot about the future and began focusing on the present. He noticed that Wendy had shifted into her mock-seductress role and began saying the line that began her sexual invitation.
"Alright, Eugene," Wendy said in her sexiest tones. "We're all alone. And my body awaits your every---"
"Hell, yeah!" Eugene replied, quickly cutting off Wendy's invitation.
"Then, ravage me."
And he did.