Julia's Vacation
Or
An Exploration of the Complexities of Modern Feminism--With Growing Tits!

By Yossarian

Without warning her friends, Julia quit her job on the opinion page of a small East Village newspaper to open a flower shop in Brooklyn, which she named "Blooming." She was tired of the pace meant by working at a daily paper--even a bad one--and had always wanted to pursue her interest in flowers. She was thirty-one, and didn't consider her decision a mid-life crisis. It was simply a change of direction, something a person is entitled to every once in a while. She began renting a tiny space on the ground floor of an apartment building in Williamsburg, an area that, though quite hip, was not yet fully developed. She had lived in Manhattan for years, but the high rent and high buildings had worn on her. It was time for her to see the sky, to slow down a little bit. This was not a permanent plan, but flowers would certainly suit her for now.

In fact, they suited her wonderfully. It was not easy, especially not at the start, but the quiet, seldom-noticed work of cutting and arranging flowers was far more rewarding than the equally unnoticed work of cutting and arranging opinion pieces. She woke early in the morning, allowing plenty of time for a shower, breakfast, and the newspaper. (She read the Times, not the one she had worked for before.) Her apartment--larger and cheaper than her old Village rathole--was not far from her shop, allowing her to walk. She opened at nine, ate her lunch at the counter in between customers, and closed at four. She would have dinner at home--after quitting the paper she had much more time to improve her cooking--or would take the train back to Manhattan, to dine out with some of her old friends.

One night in June, two years after she had opened her shop, she went to eat with Diane and Christopher--a long married couple--and Annette. The three women knew each other from their work on the Village daily, where they had banded together long before, circling the wagons against the intense masculinity of the paper's offices, a masculinity that often crept into chauvinism. Diane was the head of the opinion section--Julia had been her assistant editor--a page she had quickly turned into one of the strongest feminist voices in the city. (Though it was doubtful that anyone was listening.) She had never been enthusiastic about Julia's floral venture.

Annette was more supportive, and reacted glowingly, as she always did, to the small bouquet Julia had brought her on the train. "Oh, my dear Julia! You have the most wonderful taste in color. My apartment would be nothing if not for your arrangements. You are my salvation, darling." Diane and Christopher thanked her, but hardly seemed thrilled.

Judging by stereotypes, Annette appeared much less of a lesbian than her married friend. Diane was pretty, but had since high school dressed conservatively. That night she wore a long gray skirt, a comfortable forest-green sweater, and the same bob haircut she had adopted in seventh grade. She was short, and her physical type was impossible to discern beneath her clothes. (The extremely satisfied grin that Christopher always sported suggested, however, that she was not unpleasant in bed.) Annette was wearing a knee-length black dress, whose slit rose well up her thigh. It fit tightly in the stomach, and had a diagonal cut which displayed much of her cleavage and nearly all of the surface of her left breast, which Julia could only consider "enormous." It hung loosely below the waist, meaning that it only suggested the graceful, wide curve of her hips and ass. She had olive skin, long, straight brown hair, and a strong jaw. She had a wide smile, and the gleaming white of her teeth contrasted nicely with her dark face. She was tall, and Julia assumed that she had no trouble getting dates.

It seemed, in fact, that her friend had become taller since they last met. Perhaps even by as much as an inch. What's more, Julia noticed without considering in depth, Annette's bust seemed fuller, higher, and the curve of her hips, though only suggested, seemed wider than she remembered. Perhaps Annette had put on some weight. It had been almost a month since they'd last eaten together, she realized with a shock. How strange it felt to be separated from her friends.

"So how are things in flower-land?" Diane asked Julia as she sat down. "As hectic and exciting as always, I assume?"

"I'm enjoying myself. Things are a little slow after Spring ends, and I like the shop a little quieter."

"And the drop in income isn't a problem?" Christopher asked.

"I don't mind being a little more frugal. Thankfully, I've always managed to go without air conditioning."

Annette said, "I could never live without A/C. I sweat like a pig!"

Julia smiled, and said, "It does get hard in July, I'll admit. I was thinking of taking a couple of weeks off, maybe go to the beach, maybe even the Caribbean."

Diane said, "Yes, a vacation is always in order. Who knows, you might meet two or three nice men by the sea." There was slight scorn in her voice.

Annette said, "Now Diane, you know that our Julia is far too conservative for sexual tourism. Besides, she's much too modern to enjoy exploiting the cabana boys."

Julia said, "Excuse me, you too, but I'm only just past thirty. I can do well enough in the city without having to resort to buying off cabana boys."

Christopher, perhaps unwilling to continue musing on the young, pliable boys of the island, asked: "How are things with men, Julia? Did things go anywhere with that man Nick? I did like him, the time you brought him over to meet us."

"No, no, I'm afraid that fell apart a few months ago. It's been a barren spring in Brooklyn."

"Things will pick up, I'm sure."

"I'm sure." After that, thankfully, the conversation was diverted away from her.

After dinner ended--she enjoyed a splendid tiramisu as dessert--she bid her friends goodbyes, and walked West towards her subway stop. She turned the corner, and before she had crossed the street Annette was by her side.

"Are you going this way?" Julia asked.

"Nope, I'm in absolutely the other direction, but I wanted to walk you to your stop. A girl can never be too careful in this city, you know."

"You're right, of course. Thank you."

"So I think you're right--you need a vacation."

"Don't I know it! But really I don't have the time, and I can't waste the money on plane tickets to the Virgin Islands. Maybe this Winter I'll be able to, but not now."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I have an unusual proposal for a cheap vacation that you can take right here, or even in Brooklyn."

"What do you mean? Brighton Beach?"

"Not quite." Annette laughed, although what she was about to say was quite serious. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a little taller than I used to be."

"I'd assumed it was heels."

"I'm wearing flats. I've gained three inches in the last month, and thrown out all my heels."

"What? How?"

"Don't speak. I'll get to that. I've also grown elsewhere. My hips are fuller; my tits are heavier; my ass is bigger than ever before. Don't believe me? Well, the Annette you worked with on the paper wore D cup bras over a 36 inch bust; I've grown outwards at least four inches. I'm buying G cups now; I'd never heard of them six months ago. And the reason it all made me think of you is that the stuff that does it comes from flowers."

"Flowers? You're joking."

Suddenly, Annette stopped walking. She grabbed Julia's hands and pulled them to her breasts, which felt soft, warm, and quite, quite large. Julia blushed, and began to sweat slightly as she pulled her hands away. "I'm not joking!" her friend said with another laugh. "I know a guy on Seventh Avenue, he gets the stuff from Kentucky. I don't know how it works, all I know is that it does. Stimulates growth in secondary sexual characteristics. I met him through the paper--I was doing some bullshit piece on alternative medicine that Diane assigned me--but God knows I didn't print this. It's information for a select few, and I select you."

"So what, now I'm going to start going to your secret meetings, learning the ancient chants and rituals of the Kentucky Bombshell Babes?"

"Nothing so involved. They're just little pills. If you don't like how you look, you can just quit taking them and you'll go right back to normal. No risk; it'd just be a little fun. I've got my bottle with me here; it's got about 20 pills. Take two a day for a few days and see what happens." She handed her friend the bottle and, before the florist could protest, was off in the other direction. She hadn't even bothered to walk her to the subway.

Julia considered the pills on her way home. They were pink and tiny; she could easily take one without water. She did. She had never been dissatisfied with her physical appearance--she was tall and slim, and kept herself in shape--but Annette was right. She could use a vacation, perhaps not from Brooklyn but at least from her ordinary life there. And there had been something in Annette that night; she was so much more lively than she had been in the past. The prospect of permanent change frightened Julia, but she was surprisingly unhesitant to try the treatment for a week or two. Part of her had always been a little disappointed that she had not developed more; as a young girl she had loved the movies of Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield, and she had long coveted a body like their's, with amazing curves and a smile to match. She wondered if her hair would change color, too.

When Julia got home she took the second pill and drew a bath for herself as part of her ritual that followed any night out. Despite the long subway ride she was still a little bit drunk, and sinking into the hot water drew all the tension out of her muscles. She began to stroke her right nipple, then pinch it, as her other hand squeezed the small mound of her left breast. She couldn't wait for them to grow, to spill out from between her fingers and over the tops of her dresses. She continued stroking them for several minutes as she imagined the attention she would get, the delightful prospect of purchasing new clothes and new bras. Finally she removed her hands and reached to her right, where by the soap lay her blue vibrator, the waterproof one. She turned it on and, smiling slightly at the quiet hum that came from beneath the water, went to work on her labia.

Julia did not like to lose herself in pleasure. She was an efficient lovemaker and masturbator as well, but if an evening went well, there would always be one moment where her resolve would crack, just slightly, and let pleasure flow into and over her. This often happened with men, and almost always with the vibe. She did not usually focus on anything in particular when she masturbated; she simply let the dull warmth of the bath and the vibrator spread throughout her body, thinking about nothing until an orgasm was reached. But tonight, as she teased her nipples, stroked her clit, and gradually quickened the movement of the vibrator, she found her thoughts drawn to the body of Annette, and to that long touch she had given Julia earlier. She thought about the soft fabric of her black dress, and of the warmth of her skin. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she had felt the presence of a slightly erect nipple beneath her palms. Could it be that Annette was more than just a shill for these miracles, that she was interested as well? Quickly, a silent image of her old friend naked, with her new height and powerful build, with her hands on her massive breasts and her head reared back at the pleasure coming from Julia's face, which was tightly held between Annette's thighs. With that, Julia's orgasm came, surprising her with its force and leaving her muttering "Shit," and panting. Before she went to bed, she took two more of Annette's pills. After all, vacations require a bit of indulgence, and she had never been afraid of recommended dosage.

Not since high school had she had such filthy dreams, visions of herself fondling first the voluptuous Annette--one of her best friends--and then, as her breasts and hips slowly spilled outwards, being groped by an array of different men. Her clothes disappeared as she grew plumper, until she was completely naked, with a frisbee sized waste and tits down to her navel. There were no more men at this point; she was simply writhing on her bed in a dark room, rubbing her nipples and pumping her fingers in and out of her hungry pussy. Finally a spectre of a man appeared: a formless body with no face, but with a very clearly defined cock. When she awoke she remembered all this faintly, but she recalled a feeling of terror mixed with excitement--and an adrenaline rush--that came when the apparition entered her.

As she replayed it that morning the dream struck her as funny. She had never in her life been so overcome by passion that she could do nothing but yank on her nipples, much less given herself up to a strange man. Even in her most highly sexualized dreams she stuck to men she knew. She was smiling as she sat up in bed, but her grin vanished at the feeling of a slight, unfamiliar weight on her chest. She rushed to her closet, pulling a battered cardboard box from deep within. She tore through its contents, and finally produced a small book bound in expensive leather and embossed with the gold letters, "Travel Journal." Without bothering to put on her bathrobe, she sat at her desk and began to write.

June 20, 2006

I've always found it rewarding to keep a log of my vacations. It seems I have begun one today. I took four of Annette's pills last night and am no longer quite myself. If changes continue at this rate, next week will see me inhabiting an entirely unrecognizable form, a kind of vacation cottage within my home. Indeed, a cottage within my clothes! I first noticed my breasts, that I now actually have breasts, but closer inspection reveals more. My waist seems a bit indented, but that could just be that my hips have begun curving outward. No longer have I the slim thighs of a 13 year old! I have discarded her ass, as well: I can tell just by sitting naked in this chair that I have developed a slight natural cushion. Though I'm sitting in my normal way, my knees touch the underside of the desk, meaning my legs have extended perhaps as much as an inch. But these developments would only be clear to one accustomed to my regular body. My breasts are another story.

I've always found my small bust to be sexy, though it is little more than a subtle curve. My small red nipples harden readily, providing a pleasant contrast to the rest of my body, which has always been smooth, fair, and soft. It is a bust for someone with a taste for understatement. For the next few weeks, I am abandoning that subtlety along with my A cup. Cupping my breasts in my hands I find that, for the first time, I can actually cup my breasts in my hands. They have begun to hang over slightly; their weight is undeniable. We will see what changes I find tomorrow. I will continue with my double-dose.

June 21

When I woke yesterday I assumed that the changes brought by these amazing little pills would be gradual. I was wrong. After yesterday's entry I took a shower, dressed, then walked to work as normal. It was only when I set my purse down by the register at the shop that I remembered to take the pills. Fetching water from the bathroom, I took the four and turned the "Yes--We're Open!" sign on the door. I was tending to a window display of tulips when the first customer entered. He began his order when I was struck by a pain in the abdomen. "Excuse me for just a moment," I said, and retreated quickly to the back office. I tried to sit down, but as I moved the chair the pain spread in all directions, and I fell to the ground. Once the brilliant ache had expanded from my abdomen, it rose to a crescendo. I grunted at the pain, but as soon as the spike had begun, it subsided, leaving me to bathe din the rosy glow of pain departed. The glow grew hotter, however, and I realized the feeling was more than relief. A small warmth spread from my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes, touching everything in between. The sensation quickly concentrated in my breasts and vagina, and as it intensified I spread my limbs out on the concrete floor, wholly ignorant of any discomfort.

The feeling grew and grew, and as one finally succumbs to the demands of an insistent itch, I was eventually unable to keep my arms extended. I seized my left breast with my right hand and began pinching hard through my bra at my hardened nipple. My other hand I plunged below the waistband of my extremely tight, formerly baggy, jeans, and began rubbing at the lips of my vagina through my underwear. I pushed the cotton to the side, and began working my fingers as quickly as I could in the minimal space provided. I stopped momentarily when I felt and heard the seam of my panties rip, but then pressed on. Soon I had come, and I let my head down slowly onto the hard floor. I stood, happy I had worn a baggy shirt that day, more happy that I hadn't tried to make any of my small bras fit, for they would all likely have been destroyed too. I peeled my shirt back from my sweaty chest and cupped myself again: they were already the size of my hands, approximately a C cup. My nipple was still hard, and sticking out slightly farther than I remembered. I let the shirt drop, astonished at the power of the "medicine," and giggled as I reached back down into my jeans and withdrew my torn underwear, utterly soaked from the juices of my vagina. I threw the useless cotton in the garbage, wiped the sweat from my face and the fluids from my fingers, and went back outside to my customer. "Were you all right in there?" he asked. Apparently, without realizing it, I'd been screaming.

After he left, I closed the shop and called Annette. "Hey buddy," I began, "so I took those pills you gave me."

"Really? I'm so glad! You're going to have the best time. Have they started working yet?"

"They started working pretty quickly, actually. I'm a little worried...I think I might have taken too many."

"How many have you taken?"

"I've taken eight so far."

"Just eight? Listen babe, don't you worry about it. Two is a maintenance dose; everyone takes more once they start getting into the feeling of transformation. Keep taking four for the next few days until you like where you are, then cut back to two until you're ready to go back to normal."

"Okay, thanks. I feel a lot better now, actually. I kind of freaked out when the pills hit me this morning. It really hurt at first, and then it was the strangest kind of pleasure I've ever felt. This sounds silly, but I swear I've never been so horny."

She laughed. "That's normal dear, don't you worry. And I bet your clothes are pretty tight now too."

"My panties ripped!"

"You might want to start going without, or invest in a couple of extra pairs to wear this week."

"I'll think about it. Any other advice?"

"Sure. I told you to take four today, and I don't want you thinking that now you should go taking eight. If you want to indulge yourself, take six, but spread them out over an hour or so, and make sure you've eaten."

"Thanks. I think I'm going to be careful from now on. These things are serious."

The conversation with Annette left me slightly aroused, but I kept myself under control and went through the day normally. Bath-time that night was more fun than usual; it was amazing seeing the water running down my new breasts, to feel the heat of the water on my enlarged nipples, to find my hips brushing against the sides of the tub more than I was used to. It was then I noticed that my hair was lightening: in a few days I'd be fully blonde.

This is all quite strange, but talking to Annette reassured me, and I've resolved not to worry any more until the rest of my vacation. I will take four pills each day for the next two, and then, depending on how I look/feel after that, I will probably cut back to two a day until I get tired of my new body and want to go back to normal. We'll see how this works out. Okay, time to take today's medication and head down to the shop. I'll report back later tonight.

June 22 -- Night

Several of my regular customers came in today to stock up on flowers for the weekend, and all asked where Julia was. I said I was her sister: her 5'9", blonde haired, full lipped sister, whose hips, ass, and calves are fuller and stronger than her older, less-nourished sibling. Or perhaps it was the breasts that confused them. The Julia they knew hardly dented her tops, but my shirts are straining now. My breasts are bigger than Annette's old D cups, and they are perfectly formed. They hang down majestically, tilting out slightly, so that my nipples point towards my elbows. I was amused by all the attention they got--from men and women--but I'm not taking any of this too seriously. It's fun being sexy, but I'd rather just be me. Still, for now it's an interesting novelty. Even my pubic hair is blonde!

After I took the pills this morning I sat down on the floor of the bathroom, bracing myself for the onrush of strange pain. It came, but with a third the force of yesterday, and the feeling that followed seemed to have increased by the same proportion. I'd set my vibrator by my head, intending to force myself to take things slowly, but once I was in the throes of that intense warmth, I couldn't restrain myself. I circled my clit with the vibe while I fucked myself with my other hand, and after I came I did it again. When I had finished I slumped onto the bathmat for a few minutes, then made myself stand and shower. I felt extremely relaxed as I dried myself, and before I dressed I spent a few minutes toying with my new features. You should see the way these wacky new tits bounce! It'll be insane if they get much bigger than this; I really doubt they will. We'll see what happens tomorrow.

June 23

I'm writing this at Annette's house after a long day that hasn't ended yet. I had just taken my pills this morning--just finished writhing on the floor, playing with my new, shockingly larger breasts, etc.--when I heard the doorbell ring. I wrapped my bathrobe as well as I could around my expanded figure, trying not to expose my inches of deep, smooth cleavage, and answered the door. It was Annette, wearing a very tight sweater and, as the least slutty way of showing herself off as she could find, a vintage torpedo bra. Her skirt wasn't that short, but it clung tightly enough to give one a vague idea of what lay beneath. I had to admit that for a girl with G cup breasts she looked pretty classy. It was only when I thought that that I realized that my tits were the size of hers now, that I was as tall as her, that my hips were fuller, my ass plumper, my lips redder and my hair blonder. I had outstripped the vixen herself, at least physically. She certainly knew how to wear her body better and, as I would find out, how to use it.

"I see you've stuck to your diet, darling," she said.

"I just finished today's dose. Those things are strong!"

"Didn't I warn you? I'm glad I caught you before work; I really wanted a look at the new you."

"Come inside, then. I feel ridiculous standing in the hall like this."

I shut the door and, as I had decided as soon as I saw her standing there with those tits jutting into my face, dropped my robe to the floor. I was surprised by how well she restrained herself.

"Oh, so we're just going to do the inspection right here, then? Shouldn't I draw the blinds?"

Barely audibly, I exhaled, "It's all right." The air was cold on my skin, and I could feel goosebumps forming on my shoulders, thighs, and the tops of my massive breasts.

She peered forward at them, touching her finger to her chin with the detachment of a medical student. "Very interesting," she murmured. She walked around me, dipping to examine the perfectly rounded cheeks of my ass, and then returned to my breast. She ran her fingertip across my nipple, and it hardened immediately. I was on fire, but I kept my composure as well. I had already lost myself once that day, and I did not intend to do so again. She licked the tip of her middle finger as one about to check the wind, and with her eyes on mine began stroking my labia. I smiled, sighed, and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. I would not relax until she did.

Deciding to take control of the situation, I placed my hands on her shoulders and, continuing the kiss, walked her backwards into the wall. I began stroking the underside of her chest with my fingertips, then let my left hand drift down to her stomach. I tickled her midriff, and began to squeeze her breast. Suddenly I grabbed harder, and shoved my left hand down her skirt and underwear, a little revenge for her abruptly fingering me earlier. She grabbed my ass in both hands and pulled me forward, and I decided that she had relaxed enough. She began sucking on my nipples--I realized they were at least the size of silver dollars now, though they still looked pretty on my pale white chest--and though I was astonished by the pleasure that gave, I needed more serious attention. I gave her a short kiss and, smiling, lowered her to the ground. I sat down on the arm of a chair behind me, and she began eating me out.

She was good at it, certainly, but I wanted more complete stimulation before I let her coax an orgasm out of me. I leaned over and pulled her sweater off, and she was kind enough to take her bra off. The pointed white cups fell to the floor and her tits hung loose for the first time. I grabbed myself two handfuls and she returned to her work. My mouth fell open as her tongue moved, flooding my body with a sensation of warmth that was like that caused by the pills in everything but intensity. Even I--an occasional bisexual well removed from gay New York--was aware of Annette's reputation for giving splendid head, and she did not disappoint. The feeling grew from my stomach and increased in waves, until I was absolutely helpless, and began to shout.

"Wait a second," she said, and walked to the bathroom.

"Are you kidding?" I shouted.

"How many pills have you taken today?" she asked, with an air of casualness that did not belie the fact that, just seconds before, she had had a huge titted nymph not thirty seconds away from a full on orgasmofreakout.

"Just four. Why?"

"I've got an idea. I want you to really enjoy this." She brought back a glass of water and four of the pills.

"I'm not taking four more of those," I said, hefting one of my huge breasts in both hands. "I already look ridiculous."

"You've grown so much that they won't do anything there. But it'll still feel great."

"Are you sure?"

"I've taken eight before. I once took ten, and I don't look like a freak."

I took the pills like a good patient, and she sucked my nipples while we waited. It didn't take long. This time there was only one sharp stab of pain--enough to knock me backwards into the chair--and then a swelling of mindnumbing elation. My eyes rolled back into my head as she stuck her tongue back into me, dancing it across my vagina with the skill of many years' practice. It occurred to me that I should return my hands to her tits, but I could hardly move, and even that only had a few seconds to register before I was overcome by my first orgasm. I call it an orgasm, but that word is hardly appropriate, so much more intense was it than anything I had felt before. And it did not come alone. They cascaded across me in waves, my body jerking violently each time. There couldn't have been more than a few--otherwise I think my heart might have burst--but I was totally unable to count. For all I know, she might have stopped eating me out partway through. The pills certainly didn't need any help.

I blacked out eventually, but probably only for a few seconds, because my tits had only just started growing again when I regained consciousness. Annette, now naked, was leaning against the wall opposite me, satisfied with her accomplishment and apparently content to watch me transform further. This time I could feel the skin stretching and the bizarrely painless sensation of the bones of my hips rounding further, the bones of my legs stretching longer. I wanted to stand to see what was happening, but I was utterly exhausted by the strength of Annette's tongue-lashing, and I could only grin. Suddenly, I burst into laughter at the thought of it. Me, owner of a quiet flower shop in a quiet part of New York, undeniably sensible in every way--even when masturbating--reduced to a quivering mass, my legs sticky from the juice of several orgasms, helplessly staring at my ever expanding, now undeniably cartoonish, rocket-body. My breasts must have grown by a third--they were now the size of a man's head, I think, but still hung beautifully, like twin speedbags in a palooka's gym--and when I finally was able to stand I found myself several inches taller than my friend. I must have been 6'2! I should have been angry for her misleading me, but it wasn't a big deal. And really, it was funny.

"You silly bitch!" I shouted.

She gave my ass cheek a resounding slap and said, "Silly? Look at yourself. We're going to have to get you over to my house and get you dressed."

"Do you have clothes that would fit me?"

"Well, I know I told you that I'm taking a maintenance dose, but talking to you on the phone the other day got me so hot that I've decided to go bigger. I've already bought a few outfits. Now, they might be a little tight on you, but there's nothing wrong with that. We're going out tonight, babe."

I laughed. It was all so silly! "Okay. I am on vacation, after all. I might as well show a little skin."

"You'll have to show a little less to get to my apartment." She paused. "But don't start now. You haven't done me yet." And so I applied myself to the soft folds of her vagina. She seemed satisfied by my efforts, and I'll admit that I didn't mind the sight of her nude form, nor, once I was reaccustomed to it, the half-forgotten taste of woman. I pulled on my baggiest clothes and, still looking a bit of a whore, traveled alongside Annette back to Manhattan, attracting shocked stares the entire length of the subway ride and walk to her apartment. At first I was embarrassed, feeling freakish, but after seeing how calmly she paraded down the filthy concrete of the subway platform, I did my best to adopt Annette's pride. I thrust my shoulders back and my huge tits forward, and relished every stare I got. I knew that objectively I looked silly, but I also realized that no one could look at me objectively. Every man, intellectual or simian, would find himself irrationally drawn to my curves and projection of power, for my overdeveloped body was an expression of pure evolution. I stood in the subway, my braless tits jiggling wildly with every bump and rock of the car, a living fertility statue: hips to birth and breasts to suckle. I did not like thinking of myself as nothing more than the realization of a male ideal, but reminded myself that it wouldn't be for long. I'm only having a bit of harmless fun, exploiting that ideal for my own pleasure.

But what of Annette? She has made these changes permanent, and she wants to exaggerate herself further. Has she lost something in giving her body over to this bizarre perversion of sensual fantasy? No one should base their identity so heavily on physical appearance, and by doing so she seems to have abandoned the life of the mind in favor of pleasure. Or perhaps I'm just reading too much into this. Maybe she just gets a kick out of being a sexpot--that doesn't mean she can't be a feminist too. Still, one wades into dangerous water when adopting a G-Cup chest. I hope she's doing it for the right reasons.

The right reasons now, though, are clearly out the window. Annette has dressed me up as her own slut-tastic experiment, and we are going dancing. I'm wearing an extremely tight red bustier that matches my red pumps--I stand about 6'4 in them--and fiery red lipstick. I wear a skirt, of course, a bright blue one, and though it's not too short--about halfway down my thigh--it's stretched to the seams by my rounded ass. Tonight, Annette has decided, I'm getting a man.

June 24

First, let me say that it is past two in the afternoon, and I have just woken up in Annette's bed. I am hungover, and my recollection of last night is hazy. It began at a club near Annette's house, with a few rounds of gin and tonic which quickly had my hips moving, swaying back and forth on the dance floor in a (perhaps evolutionary) effort to attract a mate. It didn't take long. Men approached me, some politely, some less so. One rat-faced gentleman simply sidled up behind me, put his hands on his hips and his head between my shoulder-blades (that's as far as he reached), and tried grinding into me. I'd always wanted to slap a man for getting fresh, and I did just that.

Finally, my man spotted me. He was several inches above me--even in my heels--and built in exactly the way that I could never attract as an intellectual. I decided that it was time for a change. His name was...well, come to think of it, I can't remember his name. I'll call him Jack, since he wore a flannel shirt, and had the physique of a lumberjack. He had beautiful eyes--I remember those--the kind of arctic blue that attracts one's gaze even across a hazy dance floor. He took my hands in his enormous palms and began to dance, apparently wanting to keep things classy. I respected his gesture, but I had none of it. I pulled his pelvis to mine, put my head on his shoulder, and forced my massive soft chest into the solidity of his, all in one subtly obscene gesture.

His erection appeared quickly and, grinning at the absurdity of the entire thing, I rubbed myself against it through the very thin fabric of my very thin skirt. He took my ass in his hands--they could hardly get a grip on it--and pushed me harder onto his cock. I could tell he enjoyed filling his hands with my asscheeks, and I took advantage of his surprise to nibble on his ear a bit. His knees buckled slightly, and I pushed my tits harder into his chest. We made a cycle of these filthy motions, and finally I decided that, as we were basically dry-humping, we should do everyone else a favor and go someplace private. "It's amazing the smut that passes for dancing nowadays," I whispered in his ear. "Would you like to get a private room?"

Annette had paid in advance for us to use the back room, and she was already back there when I arrived, Jack in tow. She worked faster than I ever could. She was on her back, rubbing her clit while a short sylph with cropped, bleached hair hitched on a massive blue strap-on. There were several bottles of champagne scattered about, one empty, one nearly there. Stroking his cheek, I asked Jack, "Would you be a dear and crack open a bottle for us, darling, so we can enjoy Annette's show?" He obliged, and we emptied it as the slim dyke tore Annette's pussy apart. Following his eyes, I could see Jack was particularly amused by the chaotic shaking of my friend's breasts. I must say they amused me as well. I loosened my bustier and (not forgetting the irony!) assumed the traditional position of female domination: at the knees of my date.

The sight of my plunging cleavage tore his eyes away--briefly--from the cavorting lesbians on the other side of the room, and what I proceeded with after unzipping his jeans surely diverted his attention further. I pumped my head up and down his thick shaft, happy that my booze-numbed throat could so easily accommodate the full length of his cock. He shoved his hand down onto my breast, and squeezed it in time with my pumping. I jerked him off in between deep-throating, and it didn't take long before his eyes were shut in rapture. His sole focus, it seemed, was squeezing the life out of my gargantuan breast and yanking on my oversized nipple. It was rough, but that's how lumberjack sex is supposed to be, and I was drunk enough to be amused by it. I was so engrossed in sucking his cock that I hardly noticed Annette's continuing screams on the other side of the room. It was not until he had finished--spraying come down my throat and all over my face--that I slumped against the floor and noticed how loud my friend was being. I was exhausted, happy to let the come drip down my chin and in between my tits, but Jack was kind enough to help me onto the cushion, and undo my jeans as I stared at the ceiling. Perhaps he felt guilty about subjugating me: he attacked my cunt with his mouth, doing as good a job as I'd done on him. I did not have time to come before Annette announced we were going back to her place. We had a few shots of something or other and were on our way, our clothes not as well put on as they had been when we'd entered.

They did not stay on for long. Jack undid my bustier as soon as we were through the door, and tried to shove me backwards on the sofa. I stood my ground, though, and pushed him down instead. I wanted to be on top. I took his shirt off and ran my hands over his muscles--not something I usually do, but a girl must indulge herself sometimes--then with a girlish drunken laugh wiggled my tits in his face. He looked in awe at them. I took off my skirt and told him to follow suit. Once he was naked I let him tug down my underwear, and for the second time that night the stranger saw my naked pussy. This time, though, was to be serious. Glad I was still on birth control, I crouched over him, positioned his fat cock, and slowly lowered myself. He slid in easily--I was soaking wet-- and I began to glide up and down on his manhood. The sensation was electric, the pleasure running from the sides of my pussy walls, through my clit, and up through my entire body, from my rock-hard nipples to the tips of my fingers. I didn't think it would be long before I came.

When Annette tore herself away from her little nymph and saw what we were doing, she shouted for us to hold on, and ran to the bathroom. She came back with a glass of water--or was it more booze?--and a few of her wonderful little pills. She popped a few in my mouth and a few in his; we were too far gone to question her. He probably thought they were tabs of E, but I knew them to be something far more powerful. It wasn't long before that now familiar warmth began to grow deep in my stomach, stronger now even than it was when Annette was eating me out earlier that day. This time it was more like fire. I shook uncontrollably, but at first was together enough to keep myself bouncing up and down on his dick. Finally, though, the feeling overwhelmed me, and I fell to the floor. He did not question that his partner had left him to writhe on the floor, rubbing herself and growling like some kind of animal. Some men might have freaked out and run away, but he was an accomplished swinger, and knew his duty. He followed me to the floor, enjoying the bizarre warmth and pain that was filling his chest, and slid himself right back into me. I was already out of my head with pleasure, and the additional stimulation threw me over the edge. As I came I lost perception of the fact that the being penetrating me had a body and a face, that he was more than a fat hungry dick. The only thing I could see in sharp relief was the fantastic sight of my quaking tits; the only thing I could feel was rapture.

Once again, there was no way to clearly demarcate what I was feeling as "orgasms." It like my whole body was on the verge of breaking apart, that the only thing holding my atoms together was the electric pleasure coursing through me. My tits were growing again, sliding everywhere as he pumped in and out of me. I was too far gone to try to match his rhythm in any coherent way; I was lucky to stay more or less attached to him. Soon his dick began to grow; I screamed at the superb stretching pain. He came inside me, and the heat of his come was a fine complement to the heat that was swelling from deep inside me. He pulled out, but I was not through. "Keep fucking me!" I grunted at him. "Or eat me out!" Perhaps he was slightly afraid, but he obliged. After that, I don't remember much...

When I woke up this morning he was gone, and I think that's probably a good thing. I would have been pretty embarrassed to see him again--I was insensible last night, and don't like to be seen that way. It's one thing if I'm masturbating on the floor of my bathroom (or flower-shop), or even fooling around with an old friend, but a stranger? That's just not me. Also not me, I decided, is the body I've been walking around with. Thankfully my hips didn't widen further, and I didn't get any taller (holding solid at 6'2!), but my tits are, quite literally, out of hand. They're about down to my navel now, just like in that dream I had a few days ago. (Was that really just a few days ago? Amazing!) I'm undeniably sexy, but I liked being sexy in my old way: by being clever, interesting, and fit. This new body is too decadent for me, and I'm about through with it.

I talked to Annette about it, expressing concern that maybe she's given up too much of herself to be such a bombshell. She was a little annoyed, accusing me of judgment, but I reassured her that I just wanted to be sure she had effected these changes in herself for the right reasons. She said that she appreciated my concern, but that she didn't think there was anything wrong with wanting to be sexy. I decided not to press my argument, and left it at that. After all, her body is her business just as much as mine is mine. (And, apparently, Jack's.)

She convinced me not to give up the pills quite yet, to go on a maintenance dose for a week or so before I go back to my old life. I don't see anything wrong with having a little bit of fun while I've still got these ridiculous fucking tits, and there's no sense ending my vacation after just a few days. I'm not going to try to grow any more, though, so I don't see any reason to keep up with this journal. Let me conclude with this:

Before:

5'7"

Thin, straight brown hair

27 inch waist

32 inch hips

32A bust

After:

6'2"

Thick, long blonde hair

23 inch waist

40 inch hips

44H bust (According to Annette's custom bra, which I admit is quite tight on me)

It's been a great little trip!

---

From then, Julia began taking two pills a day, and at least one dick a night. After the first few evenings out with Annette--whose physique was quickly catching up with her friend's--the men at the clubs caught word of the ease of getting with the two huge-titted vixens, and started taking advantage of them. A week after she stopped growing, Julia had sex with two men at once for the first time. The next day, three. It was the morning after what would have to be termed a gang-bang--she didn't remember the number of men, and her shirt was ruined by the come-stains--when she awoke with another killer hangover and, for the first time, a desperate craving for the warm pleasure of the pills, that Julia knew she had to stop.

It was then she understood Annette's decision to continue growth. It had less to do with feeling sexy than with addiction, both to the pleasure the pills gave and the astonishing "self-improvement." She told Annette she was done taking them and why, and returned home. Over the next week she was overjoyed to see her body returning to normal. Everything shrank, and for the first time since Annette had suggested the pills Julia felt herself again. She wasn't a head turner, but she was happier.

Once she was back to normal, Julia visited Annette and staged a one-woman intervention. It was difficult, but she was eventually able to break her friend down and admit she'd gone too far, that if she kept taking them as she was she wouldn't be able to walk in a month. Julia didn't want to make Annette quit, but she convinced her to cut back, to let her body regress for a few days before returning to her maintenance dose.

Annette agreed that was better, that as fun as it was to look like a cartoon it would be better to be sexy in a natural (or at least natural-looking) way. Julia gave her a potted fern as a present for the thrill of her vacation. It had gotten a bit out of control in the end, yes, but even florists are allowed to get a bit out of control every once in a while.