TRUDY  (A 50's Romance) 
By Road Dog
A much earlier story including one of the St Cats girls


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


