DR HOOTERS - Part 1



    Wham!

    The door slammed shut behind Jill Clayton, her willowy  frame
slumping  down  in  her  chair.    In  her plain black dress, she
resembled Cher, except without the pretty face and  shapely  fig-
ure.   "The  Stick" was her nickname throughout life, much to her
dismay.

    "Bite my left one!" she shouts to the world, knowing  no  one
would  hear  her.  Grabbing her cold coffee, she entered the dark
lab.

    Click.  A single light illuminated her desk  space.   Beakers
and  test  tubes  refracted the light in different colors, giving
her desk top an almost church-window  like  effect.   She  sobbed
slightly, looking up to the ceiling for guidance.

    "All I want is some understanding and respect.   I've  worked
hard  to  get  where  I  am," Jill explained.  "For me, having my
peers respect my research is all I ever wanted.  But now..."

    Jill stopped short.  Julie Heatherwick, her office-mate,  en-
tered the lab abruptly.

    "Jilly?" Julie asked quietly.  "Are you mad?"

    "As a wet cat.  I should be heading that grant!" Jill demand-
ed,  looking  sad.  "I number-crunched for two years on the side,
preparing to head this department when Dr. Reardon retired.   Why
did they give it to you?" Jill asked, half-knowing the answer.

    "Look, I'm sick of you blaming my success on my looks.  I  am
just  as  committed to this department as you," Julie began.  She
pointed a finger at Jill, making her skin-tight evening gown move
slightly  over  her supple figure.  Her dark red hair fell down a
bit into her face.

    "I know I know, I'm sorry," Jill sighed.  "It's just...I  see
them  staring  at you when you saunter down the hall.  I've heard
the jokes about your figure and how you could breast feed Europe.
And now, it's just easy to blame the whole thing on you."

    Julie put her arm around Jill, squeezing her shoulder.   Jill
glanced  at Julie's plump face and she even noticed Julie's ample
cleavage protruding  slightly  from  her  evening  dress.   Julie
sighed, making her chest creep out just a bit more.

    "I understand.  What do you suggest I do?" Julie asked.

    "Wear a snowsuit to meetings, you silicon queen," Jill's sub-
conscious  piped  up.   "Nothing  you can do, Jules.  I just need
some time to myself?" she muttered.

    "I hear ya, hon.  I should get  back  to  the  party,"  Julie
said,  rising  to  leave.   As  she opened the door to leave, she
asked if Jill would be joining them soon.  The  silence  answered
her.

    Hours later, Jill continued to drown herself in her research.
Hoping  desperately that it would block out the hurt, she contin-
ued to lose herself in her electron microscope.  Her latest batch
of  hormones  had given her the best results up to date, but they
were nowhere near successful.  Who would buy a  drug  that  would
make  you  just %.05 percent smarter?  The numbers had to rise in
order to make it viable.

    Removing the slide, she stared at  the  greasy  spot  on  the
glass.   Tears  almost formed in her eyes as she contemplated the
fact that so much of her life had been poured into a greasy spot,
and  she  seemed  light  years  from  the solution.  Gritting her
teeth, she pulled herself together and  walked  to  the  specimen
table.   Just  as she opened the cabinet, she noticed the reflec-
tion of a light in the glass door.  Someone had  left  the  gamma
projector on.

    Spinning on her heels, something she's not  worn  for  years,
she  meandered  over  to  the machine to kill it.  Then something
sparked inside her.

    "Gamma rays?" Jill grinned, thinking of the  Incredible  Hulk
TV  program  she'd grown up hating.  Her brother had tortured her
by watching that show each Sunday night, with her fighting to see
PBS.  Then she paused.

Why not?  She'd tried everything else, hadn't she?

    ZZZAP.  It was over.  She  removed  the  slide.   Slipped  it
under the microscope.  At first, nothing happened.  Then, slowly,
the brain cells began to multiply.  Neuron  production  shot  off
the  scale.   Jill grinned slightly.  This may be it.  She waited
three hours, then tested the sample.  It'd reproduced cell matter
400%.    Another  hybrid  hormone showed up on the test, but Jill
barely looked at it.  Her guess had worked!

    Quickly she took a batch of the same substance and zapped in,
turning up the dosage to twice as much.  A speedy test showed the
whole batch was performing as expected.  Readying a  needle  with
the  batch,  she  approached the lab rat, who just happened to be
sleeping.

    "Wait," Jill thought.  "If I do this, and Julie and the  oth-
ers notice it, who's to say I'll even get the credit for this, as
I should.  It'll probably be put onto Julie's padded shoulders so
she'll  look  good  for  the cameras.  Let's put the Stick in the
corner until we need something else done," Jill said, getting red
faced.  "What do I have to lose?"

    Needles always made Jill queasy, but she  forgot  that  point
until just after she stuck her arm and pushed the plunger.

                                * * *

    "The floor needs cleaning, and a little salt," Jill  murmured
as  she  raised  from  the floor.  Spitting out the dust from her
mouth, she walked to the mirror.  "Four hours?" Jill whispered as
she  looked  at  her watch.  The sun was peeking over the horizon
outside the window.  In the mirror was a disheveled woman,  look-
ing as if she'd slept in a hamper.

    "Oh my god!" Jill gasped.  She checked her arm.  Sure enough,
there was the puncture mark.  She really had done it.

    Finding a chair quickly,  she began to go over what had tran-
spired.   Coming  to  the  conclusion  that she'd suffered a mild
breakdown, she now hoped that she'd not damaged  herself  by  her
actions.  After cleaning herself up, she raced for the exit.

    Upon leaving the building and entering the fresh morning air,
she  ran  into  Brendon Hill.  He was the typical early riser do-
gooder with about 6 hairs left and a pocket  protector  to  boot.
And  on  a  Saturday  as  well.   She  tried to avoid him, but he
couldn't help but notice her attire.

    "Is the party still going on?" Brendon asked.

    "Ummm...I fell asleep in my  office,"  Jill  explained.   She
wished that was all that had happened.

    "I heard about the promotion.  I think you should have gotten
it,"  Brendon  continued.   "Did you ever find the answer to your
temperature differential in the subject chamber?"

    "No...well, maybe.  What if we tried  lowering  the  pressure
inside  the  transfer  chamber,  thus  lowering  the need to con-
sistently drop the temperature.  The cells themselves might  then
undergo  mitosis rapidly in the..."Jill theorized, almost unaware
of the hypothesis she was creating  on  the  stop.   And  to  her
amazement, what she was saying was making perfect sense.  A solu-
tion to the problem that had been  plaguing  the  department  for
months  was  literally falling from her lips, and she didn't even
know much about the situation.  As she looked at Brendon, she no-
ticed right away that his attention was focusing elsewhere.

    "...and I gather that if  the  value...Brendon?   What's  the
matter?" Jill asked puzzled.

    "I...ummm...well.  errr" Brendon stammered, turning beet red.
"My  goodness,  is  that the tit...time?"  He excused himself and
stumbled off into the building, looking back once at the  stymied
Jill.

    "I wonder what that was all about?" Jill murmured.  She began
hurrying to her car, but noticed something different in her walk.
Looking down, she almost passed out again.

    "Holy Mary!" Jill exclaimed, feeling her chest.  Her  fingers
touched  the fabric of her dress, only now, it appeared that a C-
cupped size bust was lurking underneath it!  She pulled away  the
neck  of her dress.  Sure enough, there was a mass of real breast
flesh filling her A-cup bra to overflowing.

    "I have breasts!?!" Jill whispered, almost crying.   Then  it
hit her.  That's not good.  This was not supposed to happen over-
night.  She was 28.  Jill thought back to  just  minutes  before.
She'd  looked  in the mirror.  Washed her face.  Brushed the lint
from her dress.  No, there'd not been a bust there when  she  did
that...or was there?  She needed help.

    She bolted back inside and caught Brendon before  he  entered
his  office.  He looked flustered still, but ushered her into his
office regardless.

    "What were you staring at, just then when we  were  talking?"
Jill asked.  Brendon went candy red this time.

    "I  was   noticing   your   dress.    It   seemed   to   have
been...umm...moving  in  your  upper regions," Brendon stammered.
She could almost  feel  the  heat  from  his  embarrassment.   He
cracked under the pressure and spun around in his chair to attend
to a computational equation on the blackboard.  Jill stood quiet-
ly  for  a  second, then started to pursue her investigation.  As
she reached to turn Brendon  around,  her  eye  wandered  to  the
blackboard.   Instantly, she smiled and grabbed and erasure, wip-
ing away a large portion of the equation.

    "Hey Jill!" Brendon said, turning to look at her.

    "You did this all wrong.  Look, if you take the  variance  of
mercury..." Jill dictated, barely pausing between sentences.  She
spoke so fast and wrote so quickly that she  didn't  even  notice
what was happening to her.  But Brendon did.

    As he sat wide-eyed, staring at Jill's cotton evening  dress,
he  noticed  that  her breasts were beginning to grow again.  The
black fabric became tighter  and  tighter  as  her  bustline  in-
creased.   Had  he been able to move his eyes from her ballooning
boobs, Brendon would have seen that Jill's hair was slowly begin-
ning  to  become  lighter  colored.  And the rest of her body was
changing too, becoming more soft and fleshy.  As  her  arm  moved
quickly  up and down the chalkboard, he watched mesmerized as her
stretching dress outlined perfectly the imprint  her  super-small
bra  was making into her bouncing bazooms.   She was really blow-
ing up!

    "...and  therefore  if  you  substitute  the  zygote  of  the
male...pay  attention  here Brendon," Jill scolded, her arm still
writing as fast  as  it  could.   She  turned  her  head  to  see
Brendon's  face  lit  like a child's at Christmas.  Following his
eyeline, her gaze fell into her own extending cleavage, now mark-
ing out a DD-cupped chest.

    "My breasts!   Look  at  my  breasts!"  Jill  squeaked.   She
dropped  her chalk and it shattered on the wood floor.  Her writ-
ing hand made palm marks on her dress where she grasped the sides
of  her now larger bust.  The growth continued slightly, starting
to cause little tears to appear in the seam  that  ran  down  the
front of the dress.

    "I'm blowing up, Brendon.   My  boobs  are  actually  getting
bigger!!!"

    "I know," Brendon drooled, his eyes beginning to glaze over.

    The growth stopped, and Jill turned to look at herself in the
reflection  of the walk-in freezer.  She looked to have gained 30
lbs, not counting her chest.  And her hair?!?!

    "I'm getting....blonde?" Jill noticed, then refocusing on the
outstanding part of this development.  The pain from the unrelin-
quishing bra was beginning to seep through her shock, but  before
she  could  attend  to  relieving  it, her eyes noticed Brendon's
grinning face again.

    "Why are you just sitting there?  Quit staring at me.   Can't
you see I need some help?" Jill pleaded.

    Brendon surprised Jill by letting out a sound that could only
be  diagnosed  as  a Beavis laugh.  He then reached out a hand to
squeeze one of her mammoth mammaries.  Jill became livid.

    "Look Cro-Magnon man.  Just because a woman has large breasts
does  not  mean  you  get  squeezing rights.  Women in history, I
quote,  "Have  been  oppressed  by  their   captors,   man,   for
countless..."Jill spouted.

    Brendon grinned as  Jill's  boobs  began  to  billow  outward
again, causing the tears to widen longer.  Soon, he could see the
front of her bra, which by now was merely a string around her in-
flating  volleyballs.  Jill seemed to get even more adamant about
convincing Brendon what he was doing was wrong, causing her  tits
to swell all the more.

    POP!  Jill's tits jiggled a bit as her bra broke, letting her
chest  fill  out her tortured dress even more.  The rips were al-
most joining now.  With each breath Jill took, a little  rip  let
Brendon  know  her breasts were blowing up that much bigger.  Her
hair was now completely blonde, and her figure had filled to that
of Anna Nicole Smith, except for her basketball sized jugs.

    "...and  if  you  can't  take  your  eyes  off  my  expanding
chest...my..."Jill slowed.  "Holy Shit!"

    Jill felt the front of her dress.  Flesh from  her  enlarging
boobs  was  seeping out the tear holes, showing just how much her
breasts were being squeezed by her now far-too-small dress.   She
moaned  as  her  hands  brushed  across  her  hardening  nipples,
surprisingly the same size they'd always been.

    Brendon's breathing became  erratic  and  he  leaped  towards
Jill,  pulling on the fabric of her dress.  RRIIIPPPP!  The dress
thankfully unloaded it payload.  Jill shrieked at  the  sight  of
the nerdy little man staring slobberingly at her titanic titties.
She boob-butted him to the ground and ran yelling  from  his  of-
fice.

    With her added weight, she found running  to  be  quiet  dif-
ferent.   As she hit her office, she couldn't help but notice how
long it took her naked chest to stop moving.  They  continued  to
bounce and sway, rubbing against the torn fabric of the dress and
each other.  Her head swimming, she sat down at her  desk.   This
caused  her  to  knock over half the items on her desktop and she
realized that her huge hooters were as real as they felt.

    The air conditioned room was cold, making her  nipples  stand
straight out.  She lay her head on the desk, trying to center her
thoughts.  Her breasts had stopped growing, but  the  damage  had
been  done.   Her  boobs  were  huge!  She'd have trouble sitting
behind the wheel of her car to drive home, they were so big.

    As she sat sobbing, she looked at her notes from the previous
night.   This  time, she didn't pass up the extra hormone part of
the report.  As her brain centered on the calculations, she  felt
her boobs begin to tingle.  She concentrated on the paper, begin-
ning to scribble notes, ignoring the filling feeling  that  began
again in her bosom.  30 seconds later, she finished her analysis,
and had grown an extra 10 inches to stop at what she figured  had
to be a 60 inch bust.

    "Cerebral stimulation resulting in hormonal  imbalance,"  was
underlined  at  the bottom of the page.  Jill had figured it out.
Her body was  changing  to  represent  what  she  resented  most;
blonde-haired,  buxom  bimbos.   Meanwhile, her brain was able to
deduce the most complex of equations.  And following this theory,
she  might  be able to reduce her chest size by not using her in-
telligence for a period of time, but each time  she  resumed  her
higher functions, she'd begin to balloon up again.

    "Oh my...this means...," Jill realized, bringing her hands up
to  her  face.   "No one's ever going to take me seriously.  Each
time I get into a debate or a lecture, all the men are  going  to
be  watching me pop buttons on my blouses as my breasts enlarge."
She sat back in her chair, resting her elbows in the soft pillows
of flesh her now-enormous breasts had formed.    Her life was go-
ing to get complicated, fast.  She'd been ordered by the board to
give  daily  briefings at the corporate headquarters for the next
two weeks.

How would she pull that off?                                  * *
*

