"HERE we are. Discoveries."
    "Wow," said Mrs Jones. "This is posh. Not like Mrs Gruffydd-Thomas' Foundation Boutique, Eirlys. This is a real boutique."
    They went in, to the sound of at least half a dozen separate bells. Mrs Smith whispered, as if they were in church, "You always have to wait ages before anybody..."
    "Hello? Mrs Smith! My dear, how are you? Not brought your little girls for me this morning? I am desolé."
    "Morning, Gerard."
    "A man?" Mrs Jones stared. "In a bra shop?"
    "Not just any man," Mrs Smith insisted. "This is Monsieur Gerard!"
    "He's French?"
    "No, madame," said Gerard with a lift of an eyebrow. "Just queer."
    "Bloody hell."
    "So, madame would like a bra?" Gerard sized up the present company and decided Mrs Jones was probably favourite.
    "Not me, no. Not this week, anyway. My daughter needs one."
    "This young lady?"
    "No, Mam! I don't want to."
    "Don't be a silly muggins. You've got to have a new bra, haven't you?"
    "Why can't I have 'Harad's old ones?"
    "Because she's at least six sizes bigger than you, love. You've got the smallest boobies in the family. All the old bras are worn out, aren't they?" Mrs Smith listened, slack-jawed. Gerard pricked up his ears at the prospect of some serious bra business.
    "You'd better come through into the back room," he said, already on his way. "What size are you, luvvie?"
    "Thirty-two," said Eirlys sullenly.
    "Good. I always like a customer who knows her own size. What's your name, luvvie?"
    "Eirlys."
    "I see. Okay, luvvie. Let's have your sweater off, shall we?"
    "I'm excused," Eirlys protested, shrinking back.
    "You're only excused PE and Games, Eirlys; not getting measured for a bra."
    "I don't need measuring," said Eirlys. "I'm a 32Q-cup."
    Gerard looked more closely. The sweater was baggy, but extremely well-filled. "We'd better just check, hadn't we? You want me to get the right size down from the shelf, don't you?"
    "You don't have that size in stock, do you?" Mrs Jones was shocked.
    "Not every size. Just alternate letter sizes after J-cups. And only in a limited range of styles. Right through to Z. After that, we only do made-to-measure," he added regretfully.
    "Gosh! Come on, Eirlys. Whip your top off and let the nice gentleman have his way with yew!" Mrs Jones rolled her eyes at Gerard. It seemed to have no effect, although he did roll his eyes back at her.
    "I'm excused," Eirlys muttered unhappily.
    "Eirlys! Let me remind you that you're not excused yet. Not until you've seen the doctor. Now get it off, okay?"
    Eirlys pouted, but seized her sweater and heaved it off over her head. She held it in front of her tummy, trying to keep her arms rigidly by her sides. A generously-proportioned pink bra bulged with surplus girl. Despite her pose, extensive clumps of armpit hair still found their way out into view.
    "Good girl," Gerard sighed. "Let's run the tape round you, then you can put your nice sweater on again. Arms up!"
    "I can't!" Eirlys gasped.
    "Eirlys!"
    "Oh, Mam!"
    She dropped the sweater on the floor and stuck her elbows out a few degrees.
    "I'm excused," she said in a tiny voice.
    Gerard did not falter. He encircled the unfortunate girl's chest with the tape from behind, dragging it through the tangle of hair that threatened to swallow up the tape measure completely. "We're going to need your bra off, luvvie. Don't worry. It won't take long."
    "You should have brushed your hair, Eirlys," said Mrs Jones. "You grumble when I have to drag a comb through it."
    "Mam!"
    Mrs Smith thought she could see why the girl was excused. It wasn't just the armpits. She was standing with her eyes turned to the ceiling so she didn't have to look at herself. A tear was trickling down one cheek. Emerging from the waist of her jeans was a disturbing jungle of almost black pubic hair, thinning to a mere two inch trail of fur as it neared her navel. It didn't stop there, either, continuing upwards between her luxuriantly swelling breasts. What was below the belt, out of sight, was anyone's guess.
    "I'll do you an S-cup, luvvie. You're a full fifty inches, so you're really an R, but we keep a couple of pretty S-cups in stock. How about black and lacy?"
    "Black?" Eirlys stared. "And lacy? For me?"
    "Of course!"
    Eirlys's face assumed an unaccustomed and disturbing expression; a smile. "Wow, the others are gonna go crazy!"

"It's not fair," Zara complained. "Why is it that my precious big sister gets off school when she feels sick in the morning? I'd have to be dying before Mum would let me stay in bed."
    "It's a bit early for you to be feeling sick in the mornings, Zar," Angharad grinned and let her eyes flicker around the classroom. She was leaning over the back of a chair, a pose which caused her breasts to strain monstrously against her bra and blouse. The pink of the bra showed plainly through the thin white material, to the horrified fascination of girls and boys alike. They had never seen anyone remotely as busty as the short Welsh newcomer. She would make even Zara's big sister look like a skinny boy. She crinkled her eyes as she looked at Zara again. "You wouldn't tell me last night. Did you get it?"
    Zara shifted uncomfortably. "I can't talk about it in here. They're all listening." This was an exaggeration: only two or three of the closer girls had heard the question. The rest of the class was lip-reading. To judge by the ribald cheers that broke out, they'd got the meaning of it, all right. Zara turned scarlet.
    Angharad held out a hand, fingers outspread. One by one, she ticked the fingers off. "Ryan — that's really his name — then Marco, then Winston Junior, then a snog with Gavin, then I sucked Billy off, then Gavin, then Ryan again. God, I was big as a dustbin after that lot, I can tell you. I can still feel it!" She demonstrated, feeling it in the full view of the whole class. "I'm getting wet again now, just thinking about it."
    "Angharad, no!"
    "I bet you can smell it, can't yew?" She offered a finger, but it was refused.
    "We've got Maths next," Zara bleated desperately.
    "Wow! You mean it's the dreaded Mr Lombank?" Angharad sat up straight and began adjusting her bra, tweaking the shoulder straps and taking great handfuls of the body band to pull it down. "Too bloody small, it is," she grunted. "What are yew lot looking at?" she suddenly shrieked like a banshee at the rest of the class. "Anyone'd think yew 'adn't seen a pair of tits before."
    Zara was mortified, burying her face in her hands. Her reputation was in tatters. How did she ever get mixed up with this appalling giant-breasted nymphomaniac? A rolled up ball of paper arrived on her desk. She was about to throw it away, when she noticed the writing. Hurriedly, she opened it up.
    If you didn't get it last night, Barry Boggis fancies you. He's got a fucking great hard-on! Signed, A Well-Wisher.
    Oh, no! Despite herself, she looked towards Barry's desk. Slightly reassuringly, he seemed oblivious, digging around in his desk for his Maths book. At the desk in front of Barry, Lucas Wooldridge had an evil smirk on his face. She screwed up the note as Mr Lombank swept in, banged down a pile of books and surveyed the class with a trace of anxiety. Then he saw what he was looking for.
    "You must be the new girl," he said, advancing upon Angharad's desk. Maybe he was short sighted, or he couldn't believe what his own eyes were telling him. He got to within a yard of the grinning girl's desk before he stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.
    "Angharad St Agnes Jones, Sir," she husked dreamily, giving him the full eyelashes and leaning back in her chair. Mr Lombank seemed to have lost his voice. His mouth was open but only little dry noises came out. "Hel-lo?" she said. "You still there, Sir?"
    "Good morning. I'm Mr Lombank. I may need a chat with you after classes this afternoon, to find out how far you've been ... come ... I mean, gone ... progressed. At Maths, that is."
    "Sure, Sir. Any time!"
    The teacher had started to pace nervously up and down the space between the desks, Angharad's laughing eyes tracking his every move. He cleared his throat and asserted his authority. Reaching Zara's desk, he snatched up the crumpled ball of paper. "I will not have notes being passed in my lessons!"
    "Sir!" Zara tried to grab it, but the teacher was already back at his desk, sitting down, crossing his legs then thinking better of it. He opened up the note and smoothed it out.
    "It is childish behaviour. I will not have it, you hear?" Then he read the words and turned a fetching shade of cerise. "I will see you after school, Zara Smith! Come to the staff room."
    Angharad turned and smiled delightedly at her friend. Meanwhile, the teacher was searching for his next victim.
    "And Barry Boggis. You too!"
    "Me, Sir? What for?"
    "Wow, I fancy him," Angharad whispered over her shoulder. "I love red-haired boys who blush!"
    "Shhhh!"
    Classes for the day ended all too soon, and everyone streamed out, leaving the Zara, Angharad and the unfortunate Barry Boggis to make their way to the staff room. Mr Lombank came hurrying round the corner of the corridor, red-faced as if he had run all the way from somewhere. "You want to see me now, Mr Lombank?" Angharad purred as she swayed towards him. "Or ... later?"
    "Erm ... not now. I must deal with these two naughty children." He produced the love letter from the pocket of his seedy sports jacket. "I will see you tomorrow, Angharad."
    "Oooh, thank you, Sir!" She slunk to the exit, her books under one arm. At some time during the day, she had untucked her shirt from the waist of her skirt. It now overhung her hips, almost hiding her skirt altogether, hanging straight down from the outthrust peaks of her mammoth globes. She looked like a small barrel on shapely little legs. "Tomorrow, then...!"
    She opened the door, and a gust of wind whisked in from somewhere. It snatched the crumpled sheet of paper out of Mr Lombank's hand and whirled it towards the doorway. Angharad caught it deftly between two fingers.
    "Ooh, look you! It nearly blew away. We can't 'ave that, now, can we?" She glanced at the paper, turned it up the right way, and smirked. Then she undulated across to Barry and pressed it into his sweaty palm. "You don't want to lose this, do you, boyo? It's like evidence, isn't it?" She ran a little hand down Barry's thigh, her eyes widening. "Wow, big boy! Later, Zar!"
    "I'll have that, Boggis," snapped Mr Lombank, tearing his eyes away from Angharad's hip-twitching departure. "It's evidence."
    "I didn't write that, Sir!" the boy insisted, scarlet with indignation and shame.
    "You expect me to believe that, Boggis?" the teacher sneered. "I will photocopy this and send a copy to your parents. It is only right and proper that parents should have the opportunity to judge for themselves on such matters. Dismissed, both of you."
    "But, Sir!"
    "Dismissed!"
    They trailed miserably away. Angharad was waiting for them outside.
    "How'd it go?" she said.
    "He's sending the note to Barry's parents."
    "My dad will murder me," Barry shook his head. "I didn't write that note."
    "I know you didn't," said Zara. "It was Lucas Wooldridge."
    "The rotten bastard! I only said..." Barry's voice faded away, embarrassed.
    Angharad had a light in her eye. "Lucas Wooldridge? That big hulking boy, sits in front of Barry yer?"
    "That's the one. Where are you going? Angharad? You'll miss the bus..."
    "See you at the bus stop," the busty little slut called over her shoulder. "I'm going to deal with Mr Wooldridge in person."
    "I'm sorry, Barry," said Zara. The boy looked so throughly miserable she wanted to hug him.
    "I only said I preferred you to Angharad Jones," he admitted.
    "Thanks, Barry. You're sweet."
    He gulped and blushed.
    "I've got to catch my bus now. If ... if you had written that note yourself, I might be ... well, interested, you know?"
    He hurried along beside her as she loped towards the bus stop. "You might?"
    "Of course! I haven't got a boyfriend."
    "You haven't?"
    They rounded the corner. The bus was just pulling away. Angharad puffed into sight behind them. "That's him sorted, anyway!" she said, rubbing her hands. "Was that our bus?"
    "Yeah. Tina was waving to us out of the back window. It will be all over the village by the time we get home. Zara's got a boyfriend!"
    "When's the next bus?"
    "Five o'clock. We'll be late for tea. What time's your bus, Barry?"
    "My dad picks me up in the car in ten minutes. I'm sure he could ... could drop you off at your house, if you like. He's got room for you both, and he can go round your way. Right past your front door."
    "Ooh, Barry," Angharad coo-ed. "How do you know where we live?"

Barry Boggis's dad knew where they lived now, all right. He dropped the girls at the Jones' front gate. They waved to Barry as the Galaxy drove off. At least, Zara waved to Barry; Angharad was waving to Mr Boggis.
    "His dad's nice!"
    "He's ancient!"
    "You know what older men are like, Zar. My dad's ancient, but he still fancied you. He must be thirty-five at least!"
    "It's horrible. It makes me feel funny inside."
    "You fancy Barry?"
    "Yeah."
    "He's got it bad for you. He shouldn'a told that creep Lucas Wooldridge."
    "He told him he fancied me?"
    "He's all yours for the taking, Zar, babe. Fill your boots. Anyway, I've sorted young Mister Wooldridge. He won't trouble us no more."
    "What did you say to him?"
    "Not so much what I said, as what I did. He was throwing up in the flower beds, and holding his bollocks. Very gently. He got the message. Don't mess with Angharad's bestest friend."
    "Should I go out with Barry, do you think?"
    "It don't much matter whether you go out with him or not, as long as you get his fat cock inside you. It is, too. Not all that long, but lovely and thick it is! I had a feel of it when I gave him that note after class."
    "Angharad! You're terrible."
    "You need someone like me to look after you, Zar. You comin' down the green tonight?"
    "I'd better catch up with some homework."
    To her surprise, Angharad stood on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. Her breasts were enormously full and heavy against Zara's tummy. "You really got it bad, you 'ave! Never mind, I'll give them your apologies."

"So, Mrs ... Jones, this is Eye ... Ear ... Ee-aye...?"
    "Eirlys."
    "Quite." Dr Wallace sat back and peered at the girl over his glasses. "And what seems to be the trouble? Something to do with her ... development?"
    "She needs to be excused from PE and Games."
    "But Mrs Jones," the doctor chuckled jovially like Santa Claus. "Lots of girls have full figures these days. I see schoolgirls with very full figures indeed." His expression glazed over and he went silent for a while.
    "Doctor?"
    "Sorry. We can't excuse every schoolgirl with a large bust from games, can we? Of course we can't!"
    "It's not her bust, doctor. Eirlys does have rather a large bust, but that runs in the family."
    The doctor turned his attention to Mrs Jones' cleavage. "So I see, but as I say, we can't excuse ... I beg your pardon. You say it isn't her bust?"
    "That's right. Not her bust."
    He scrutinised the girl for several seconds. "What is it, then?"
    "Body hair," said Mrs Jones chillingly.
    "Oh, Mam!"
    "Body hair? We all have body hair. We don't get let off games because of body hair." The doctor didn't look as if he played anything at all, apart from playing with himself.
    "She's extremely embarrassed about undressing. You'd better have a look."
    "If she's embarrassed about it, she won't want me looking at her."
    "But you're a doctor, not a dozen thirteen-year-old girls!"
    "How old?" The doctor scrabbled through the papers on his desk, then stared at Eirlys' thunderously prominent bust. "Thirteen?"
    "Thirteen and one month."
    "Goodness me! You'd better undress for me, Eirlys. Go behind the screen."
    "Why?" Eirlys wanted to know.
    "Why what?"
    "If you're going to examine me, why do I have to hide while I take my clothes off."
    "It's not hiding..."
    "I'll do it here," the girl said, surprising her mother almost as much as she surprised herself. And before the doctor could say another word, she was hoisting her sweater over her head and tossing it over the back of a chair.
    "Eirlys ... what on earth...?"
    "Lovely sexy black lacy bra, doctor," Eirlys shook her breasts at the startled medico, thrusting her chest out in a lewd pose, leaning forward and plopping the well-filled satin S-cups on the desktop. Then she straightened up and placed her hands behind her head. "What do you think, doc?"
    "The doctor recovered slowly, blinking. "Ah, I see what you mean about the hair, Mrs Jones."
    "Eeeek!" Eirlys thrust her arms to her sides and hunched her shoulders. There were still a pair of tufts of hair on display, like small creatures trying to escape from beneath her armpits.
    "What about her pubic area, Mrs Jones?"
    "Show the doctor, Eirlys."
    "No, I ... I can't. I mustn't!"
    "I'm a doctor, Eirlys."
    Crimson with shame and humiliation, and still with her elbows tucked in to her sides, she loosened her jeans and pushed them down, then stood up slowly.
    "I see!" The doctor cleared his throat and continued hoarsely. "How often do you shave your legs?"
    "Every two days."
    "What about the rest? Your ... erm ... bikini line?"
    "I don't wear bikinis. I'm excused swimming."
    "Yes, I can see that. But there is pubic hair growing thickly all the way out to your hip bones, curly locks spreading for several inches down the inside of your thighs, and a great wide swathe up to your navel. And beyond! You don't shave it at all?"
    "What's the point? It would only grow again, twice as thick as it is now."
    "Do you want her to take her panties off, doctor?"
    "That shouldn't be necessary. Just turn round, Eirlys, please. Stand with your feet apart. Bend over. My goodness, gracious me! Thank you. Pull your jeans up and get dressed, thank you." With shaking hands, he opened a notepad and carefully wrote several lines. "What school, Mrs Jones?"
    "I'm excused!" Eirlys exulted. "Excused!"

"I'm allergic to dairy products," Betsy announced.
    "You don't have to stay in bed just 'cos you're allergic to dairy products," said Zara.
    "I don't feel very well, anyway."
    "When are you coming back to school?"
    "I don't know. I might just lie here and die."
    "It's because you're smaller than Ceredwyn, isn't it?"
    Betsy turned scarlet. "It's not!"
    "It's okay. Ceredwyn's smaller than her little sister."
    Betsy blinked. "Which little sister?"
    "I only saw two of them today. The other one went to get fitted for a new bra. And to get excused PE by the doctor."
    "Excused PE? As big as that? Which one was that?"
    Zara laughed. "It's okay! That was Eirlys. She's not huge. She only gets excused PE 'cos of her hair."
    "You don't get out of PE because of your hair. How big is her bust?"
    "I don't know. Angharad's a bit vague about measurements, being so big herself. About fifty inches, I suppose."
    "Fifty? And she's the same age as Tina?"
    "The others are bigger than her, Bets. Anyway, it's not her hair. It's her hairs. You know? Her hairs!"
    "You mean ... her hairs?" Betsy pulled a disgusted face.
    "Yeah, she's really hairy. Under her arms and ... down there. I mean, I've got quite a lot of hair down there, but Angharad says Eirlys is like an animal. That's why she's excused: so she won't scare people."
    "Why can't they be just ordinary? Why do they all have huge tits, or hairs, or milk?"
    "It's just the way they are, Bets. Are you coming back to school tomorrow?"
    "No. I don't like that school any more. I'm going to get mum to send me away to another school."
    "Just because you haven't got the biggest tits in school any more!" Zara ducked out of the bedroom as a book hit the wall above her head. Betsy never had been any good at throwing.

"How was your day, Keri?" Mrs Jones plunged a fistful of spaghetti into the boiling water and watched it bend slowly into submission.
    Ceredwyn piled her breasts back into her bra and busied herself with her milk bottle. "Not bad. That girl from next door wasn't there, though. This bottle's full up."
    "There's another empty one in the cupboard. Young Sian's been producing loads more than usual. She was sick."
    "Sian was sick?" Ceredwyn looked bemused. "She was there today. All the kids in her class were staring at her like they'd never seen a girl using a breast pump before."
    "No, Betsy was sick, not Sian. And I don't s'pose they had, not in the school dining hall."
    "This was outside, on the grass. She'd got quite a crowd round her."
    "Oh, dear. I hope the school doesn't get the wrong idea. I did send a note to the head teacher. I've got another one for him tomorrow. Eirlys is excused. She's had a busy day. A new bra, and she did a striptease in the doctor's surgery..."
    "A striptease? Eirlys?"
    "Funny, it was. She didn't want to, but then she suddenly stripped her top off and started practically shoving her tits in his face. I've never been so embarrassed. Then she went all coy again. But at least she showed him her hair, and he wrote a note straight away."
    "What's he like?" Ceredwyn shrugged into her shirt and fastened one token button in case her dad came downstairs.
    "Dr Wallace? Just the usual sort of doctor. Lecherous old sod. Goin' on about big breasted schoolgirls the whole time. I think that's why Eirlys turned on a bit of a show for him. And she wanted to show off her fancy new bra."
    "Not battleship pink, then?"
    Mrs Jones laughed. "No. Amazing shop it was, too. You'll love it. Loads of fancy bras in stock. In stock, look you, right up to a Z-cup. You could've knocked me down with a feather when he told us that."
    "He?"
    "Gerard! Bent as a shepherd's crook, 'e is. Lovely boy. Seemed to know his stuff, too. And Eirlys has got a nice sexy black lace number, size 32S."
    "Christ, what size is that?"
    "She's dead-on fifty inches. How big are you, now?"
    "Now? I'm fifty-four when I'm full up. I doubt if I'm as big as Eirlys at the moment. Look at them, like week-old party balloons. It's young Sian bothers me. At lunchtime, milking herself outside, she looked bigger up top than bloody 'Harad. I never saw tits like them."
    Mrs Jones hooked a thread of spaghetti out of the saucepan and threw it at the wall. It stuck to the tiles. "This is ready. You'd better give her a shout. You know how she likes her spag bol. And Angharad as well, she wants to go out straight after dinner."
    "Not again?"
    "You know what she's like. She's unstoppable. As long as she uses protection, that's all we can do."
    "She's certainly made an instant hit round the village, anyway. Bloody boys don't know what's hit them. A young girl like that, with the biggest tits they've ever seen, and a pussy like the Severn Tunnel; and she's taking them on half a dozen at a time. I know who'll get tired first, too.

"C'n I come in, Eirlys?"
    "You're already in! I thought I'd locked the door."
    "It don't lock prop'ly," said Sian, perching her bottom on the edge of the bath and inadvertently farting. "You've got to wiggle it."
    "Trust you to know all about the bathroom security arrangements. What you want, anyway? I'm having a pee."
    "And reading a book. You've been in here ages. I need a poo."
    Eirlys fanned the air with her book. "You always need a poo. Wait outside."
    "I'm in yer now. I might as well wait where I can sit down. Is that your new bra, Ei?"
    "Yeah. You like it?"
    "Looks nice. Black's ever so sexy."
    "It's ever so comfy, too. Not like Mrs Griff's pink monstrosities. I've finished now. Don't look when I stand up."
    "Okay." Sian obligingly covered her eyes with both hands. "You're getting hairier, Ei!"
    Eirlys bleated in panic and pulled up her panties, trying to keep her knees together. "I told you no looking!"
    "I'm not looking. Just a little bit, that's all. It looks sexy."
    "What does?"
    "All that hair sticking out of your pants. I wish I had some."
    "You're welcome to some of mine," Eirlys mumbled. "It looks horrible."
    "It looks sexy, I reckon. I bet some blokes love it."
    "Why?" She looked at her little sister curiously.
    "Just 'cos. Men like too much of anything. If tits are too big, they like it. They hang round all of us, but they hang round Angharad the most. So the more tit you've got, the more they like it. Same with hair."
    "Boys don't like hair."
    "Some do. I bet."
    "I wonder..." Eirlys gazed into the distance. "That doctor..."
    "The one who excused you? What about him?"
    "It's what he said. He made me turn round and bend over, and he said 'Goodness gracious me!'"
    "Turn round and bend over, Ei. Let me have a look."
    Eirlys did as she was told.
    "Goodness gracious me, Ei! Your pants are nearly exploding. I bet the doctor was creaming himself!"
    "He was earlier," Eirlys giggled. "I did a strip for him. Took my sweater off and waggled my tits in front of him. I don't know what came over me. Must have been this sexy bra."
    "Wow! What did he do?"
    "He went bright red." Eirlys pressed her groin against the washbasin. "So did I. But it felt ... like ... wow!"
    "I felt like wow at school today," said Sian. "I was milking myself, at lunchtime..."
    "Where, in the school dining hall?"
    "No, outside, on the grass."
    "Sian! People would see!"
    "They did. I got this huge crowd watching me."
    "I'm not surprised."
    "It was same as yesterday, me'n Panda went for a walk and my milk came in, so we ducked into a field full of cows..."
    "Cows! Did they chase you?"
    "No, I sat down and got my tits out, and the cows came over and stood all round us, just watching."
    "They must have been jealous! Your tits were as big as theirs!""
    Sian thought about that. "Thanks, Ei," she said without a hint of malice. "What size are you now?"
    Eirlys looked pleased with herself. "Fifty inches, the man said!"
    "That sounds big. I wonder how big I am."
    "Yours are loads bigger than mine, Sian. Especially when they're full up."
    "Are they?" It was Sian's turn to look pleased with herself. "They've been getting lots bigger since the milk started. Even when they're empty. I mean, they're empty now and they still look quite big. And I've got tons more milk now than I used to. No wonder they're getting bigger."
    "Let's measure them."
    "What, downstairs?"
    "No, in my bedroom. I've got a tape measure. Have your poo first, then come along, okay?"

"That's better," Sian said. She came into Eirlys's room and closed the door. "I always feel better after a good dump..."
    "There are some things I don't want to know, Sian!"
    "C'n I try your new bra on, Ei?"
    "It wouldn't fit you. You're skinny, apart from your tits. and they're bigger than mine. You're getting some new bras soon, anyway."
    "I only had one last month."
    "Mam was telling the bra man she's gonna need new ones for all of us, so there. Milkin' bras for you and Keri. Sexy black lacy ones."
    "Do they make sexy black lacy bras with flaps to get milked through?"
    "Why not? I know lots of mams are really old, so they only want boring old pink ones; but there must be loads of teenage girls who give milk like you and Keri. So there must be sexy black lacy bras for them, mustn't there?"
    "I s'pose so." Sian had noticed that Ceredwyn and herself seemed to be the only girls she knew who gave milk. Maybe the others were all shy and went and hid themselves away instead of sitting outside in the sunshine.
    "Take your T-shirt off and lift your arms up. Have you got a bra on?"
    "Yeah. Shall I take it off?"
    "No, you have to wear it to get measured. It's the law."
    Sian thought it was a funny old law, but she found a lot of grown-up things surprising. She took off her T-shirt and cupped her tits through her bra. Eirlys was biting her lip and going red.
    "What's up, Ei?"
    "Nothing. Arms up." The tape went round her chest, in the dark shadows beneath the pink bra cups. "Twenty-four."
    "Why is it if I'm only twenty-four round there, why does my bra have a 30 on the label?"
    "That's the law as well. It just is, that's all."
    "Panda's a thirty, she says, but she has to wear her sister's old ones and they're 32D-cups. Are mine bigger than D-cups, Ei?
    "D-cups? You've got to be joking!" Eirlys wrapped the tape round the extremities of the pink cups. "Look at that! Fifty-one!"
    "It's only an inch bigger than you!"
    "Yeah, but you're only a size thirty. I'm a thirty-two. So you're three sizes bigger than me. And you're empty! You get huge when you're full. Look how much your straps are stretched. How much bigger do they get?"
    Sian shrugged her shoulders and looked around the bedroom. She prowled across to the dressing table. "Socks," she said, opening a drawer at random. "Wow, you've got loads of socks!" And she began cramming her bra with them, stuffing them in at the sides, the top, underneath. Finally, looking like a badly repaired rag doll, she waddled stiffly over to her sister. "How big am I now, then?"
    "Wow, look at you!" Eirlys applied the tape. "Fifty-five," she said, and clapped a hand to the bulging crotch of her jeans. "That's a Y-cup! You're nearly a Z!"
    "What happens when you reach Z?" Sian wondered.
    "You have to get your bras made special. The man only has up to Z's."
    "Mam won't like that," said Sian. "That sounds expensive!"
    "Just think," said Eirlys. "You need a 30Y-cup and you're only eleven!"
    "I'm just lucky, I s'pose..." she said doubtfully.

End of Chapter 3