Dr HOOTERS PT. XXXVIII




Consuela  closed  the  gate  behind her as she loped out onto the
dusty road that ran in front of Captain  Mourassi's  house.   The
house,  an  old cracker house with high ceilings and a wide front
porch, was located well off the beaten path, surrounded by groves
of  citrus  and  orchards of other  fruit.  She was used to this,
this country way of life, before that bearded bastard  made  life
so hard in Cuba.

It had been a while since she had felt like this, she realized as
she began running down the long dirt road towards the state high-
way.   Running  for  fun, she thought to herself.  Who would have
believed it?  Equally unusual it was  that  she  didn't  crave  a
drink.  In Miami, that human sewer that has the nerve to call it-
self a city, it seemed like she wanted a drink every fifteen min-
utes.

Not  out  here, though.  This was life "como Dios manda", the way
God intended.  Consuela pulled her long black hair  into  a  pony
tail  and  secured  it  with a rubber band.  The road in front of
Captain Mourassi's house rose and fell  gently  as  it  meandered
through  the  groves,  and  Consuela paced herself appropriately,
swinging into a longer stride on the downslopes and pushing hard-
er on the uphill portions.  Soon, a trickle of sweat began to run
down the front of her T-shirt as the fierce  summer  sun  climbed
higher, peaking over the tops of the trees.

Reaching  the  state  highway,  Consuela  crossed the street  and
bought a bag of churros from an old Mexican lady who had set up a
fruit  stand there.  There was another difference, she thought to
herself.  In Miami, you have Cubans  and  Colombians.   Up  here,
Mexicans  and  Salvadorans.   The accent's different, but, God be
thanked, Spanish is Spanish.

The churros were good, too, fresh and warm.  She bought  a  small
cup  of  hot  chocolate and dipped one of the churros in it.  She
sat and chatted briefly with the  Mexican  woman,  who  was  from
Guanjuato.   Damn Mexican names!  Consuela had only the slightest
idea where Guanjuato was, but it wasn't hard to get  the  Mexican
lady talking about the place.

Todos  vulven  a la tierra en que nacieron..., went the old song.
No place has as strong a grip on you as that place where you grew
up, where you first ate mangoes and drank agua de coco, where you
made love for the first time.  A car passed by, on its way
 to Jacksonville, and honked at Consuela.  She waved back.   Con-
suela  tossed  her head back and put her hands to her cheeks.  At
fifty-three, it was nice to have car horns honk at  her  as  they
passed  by.   It  had  never  happened  in Miami.  Of course, she
hadn't gotten out much.  Mostly, she had stuck around her  daugh-
ter's  apartment  and  looked after the girls.  That is, when the
memories didn't get the best of her, and she  started  needing  a
drink.

The  Mexican  lady's husband wandered up from their house to talk
with Consuela.  Old goat!  Men of Latin  heritage  were  so  pre-
dictible.   Just  let  them see a flash of hair, or a well-turned
thigh, and they all turned into Don Juans.   The  Mexican  lady's
husband  reeked  of  agua  de colonia.  Consuela flirted with him
gently until she saw the Mexican lady begin to scowl at  the  two
of them.  She laughed.  He'd pay for this tonight.

Consuela  finished  her  bag of churros and set off back down the
dirt road to Captain Mourassi's house.  She  and  Mary  had  been
staying  there almost two weeks now, and she was still as much in
the dark about their host, and what they were supposed to be  do-
ing there as she was when she first pulled into the driveway.

Not to say that Captain Mourassi had even once been found wanting
as a host.  He always showed up in the early evening, just before
dinnertime, and regaled his guests with food and drink at a sump-
tuously spread table.  He would tell them stories about his  life
at  sea,  sing  them songs on his guitar, and tuck them into bed.
Sometimes he would stay up late at night talking to Tommy, but in
the morning, he would be gone.

In the mornings, Bernard would greet them with breakfast.  As far
as they could make out, Bernard was Captain  Ted's  groveskeeper,
but he was only around during the day.  Bernard was tall, silver-
haired, and as silent and taciturn as Captain Ted  was  expansive
and  loquacious.  The two of them were never seen together, which
struck Consuela as odd for an employer/employee relationship.

"The Cap'n and I have been together longer than most couples have
been  married", Bernard had replied when Consulea asked him about
this.  "I know what he wants, and  he  knows  I'll  do  it.   Why
should we have to stick around and talk?"

There  had  been  a lot of changes.  Mary was entirely green now.
Her skin had gone from the light green of new spring  peas  to  a
deeper  green,  more  the color of summer grass, and her hair had
darkened as well until it was the color  of  pine  needles.    At
first, she had been apprehensive, but time passed, and, as no one
from the outside intruded on Captain Ted's  household,  she  grew
accustomed to it.  Indeed, her new color seemed to endow her with
an empathy for plants, trees, and growing things, and  she  often
stood  out  on the lawn, her feet buried in the rich loam of Cap-
tain Ted's orchards, listening, as she put it, to the trees.

Once you got used to Mary being green, you saw that  she  was  an
uncommonly  attractive  woman, slight and well-knit with a narrow
waist, a small bust, firm and high,   long  shapely  legs  and  a
round, eminently pinchable ass.  She paraded around Captain Ted's
estate in a white cotton shirt open to the  navel,  exposing  her
small  hard  green  breasts,  and  a pair of khaki shorts  over a
well-chisled pair of long emerald-green legs.   She  and  Bernard
spent  a lot of time together, fussing over shoots and seedlings,
and at times she would stride out into the center of  the  grove,
remaining the whole day, not returning until the evening meal.

That Bernard and Mary's relationship was a a chaste one, Consuela
felt assured.  However, judging from the noises  that  came  from
Tommy's room at night, she was not so sure about her daughter and
the young man.  Consuela tried to  talk  to  her  daughter  about
this, but Mary was quite emphatic.


True.   The  boy  had  an incredible body for his thirteen years,
tall and thickly muscled.  According to Mary, he also had a  tool
like  a fire hose.  Still, there was a fifteen year difference in
their ages, and Consuela was certain that her daughter was break-
ing  more than a couple of state statutes, besides trespassing on
her own daughter Blair's territory.

Indeed, Tommy seemed to get more  and  more  restless  with  each
passing day.  He moped around the house when Captain Ted was out,
and only came to life at  suppertime,  when  his  former  foster-
parent  was around.  One night, he deprived himself of Mary's at-
tentions to spend the whole night whispering with Captain Ted  in
the older man's bedroom.  The next morning, with no explanantion,
he was gone.

"The Captain sent him back to Miami", Bernard informed  them  la-
conically.

By  this time, Consuela had noticed a good deal of improvement in
her own condition.  She felt wonderfully energetic, all the time.
Whereas  before, she had dragged her way from day to day, she now
bounced and strutted as though fifteen years had been  subtracted
from the table of ther life.

Then too, the  mirror seemed to give creedence to this.  Consulea
had never been a beauty, not even in her girlhood in Cuba.   Life
was too tough before the Revolution, and too unstable afterwards.
She managed to escape with Mary's father and start  a  family  in
Miami,  but soon after, her husband died, and the bottle began to
take its toll.  When she looked into the mirror now,  she  didn't
see a tired, wrinkled, fifty-three year old drunk.

Even Mary saw the difference.  "Mom", she said one day, "you look
like you used to look, before Dad  died."    It  wasn't  strictly
true.  Consuela thought she looked better.  The flesh in her face
had returned, and her dark eyes sparkled under an  midnight-black
shock  of hair which had never been so thick or so lustrous.  Try
as she would, the only wrinkles she was able to coax out  of  her
face  were a few fine lines around the eyes and a few small laugh
linea about the lips.  The deep furrows  in  her  brow,  the  in-
grained  lines of resignation about her mouth had completely dis-
appeared.

Her body had fleshed out as well, and her once spindly  legs  and
arms  were solid now with new muscle.  Her breasts, once pancake-
flat and withered, had sprouted again and now rode as high and as
proud  on her rib cage as ever they had in her long-departed ado-
lescence.  She gladly tore off her old-lady shifts and skirts and
joined Mary in T-shirts and cutoffs.

Captain  Ted  drank a toast to her one evening, with that ungodly
resinous Greek wine he was so fond of serving.  "To Consuela, the
twice-youthful.   Were  Castro  to catch a glimpse of what he al-
lowed to escape  his  island,  the  Revolution  would  collapse!"
Consuela blushed and stammered her thanks.

Trotting back briskly down the dirt road that led back to Captain
Mourassi's estate, Consuela felt an unusual chafing under her  T-
shirt.   It  was  as  though her bra had been scaping against her
breasts and had rubbed them  a  bit  raw.   Not  unexpected,  she
thought.  It was one of Mary's bras she had been using, and maybe
the fit just wasn't right.  As she jogged along, though,  it  be-
came obvious to her that she was jiggling slightly as well.

Consuela  stopped  running, and sat down under a tree.  Gingerly,
she patted around her breasts.  Odd, she thought, it  feels  like
I've  gotten a little bigger up here.  Stepping back four or five
rows into the grove, just far enough to shield her  from  anyone,
she stripped off her shirt.

Sure  enough,  two little slivers of breast flesh were poking out
underneath the borrowed brassiere.  Consuela tried to adjust  the
bra,  pulling  the cups down over the vagrant flesh, but then her
boobs began to spill out the sides.  Try as she might, there just
didn't  seem  to  be  enough bra to pull over what had become too
much Consuela.

Shrugging her shapely shoulders, Consuela pulled Mary's  bra  off
and stuffed it into one of the pockets of her shorts, then pulled
her T-shirt back on.   She stared down at the front of the shirt.
yes,  she was definitely larger than when she had left this morn-
ing.  As she began to jog, she felt the new fullness on her chest
as  she  bounced  and jiggled merrily underneath the T-shirt.  It
feels delicious,  thought  Consuela,  as  her  now-erect  nipples
brushed  freely against the fabric of the T-shirt, freed from the
restraints of the bra.

With a final burst, she pumped her way up the hill to the Mouras-
si  house.   She  called out, but neither Mary nor Bernard was in
evidence.  Making her way upstairs, she climbed into  the  shower
to rinse off the dust from her morning run.

As  the warm water flowed over her tingling body, Consuela inves-
tigated her breasts.  She found that she had just  about  doubled
in  size,  her breasts now comprising a considerable handful, and
that her nipples had lengthened and thickened as  well.   Patting
the  firm  mass  of new breast tissue with unalloyed delight, she
moved an exploratory hand down to her thatch.

Thinking back over the past few months, she remembered her grand-
daughters  Blair and Amanda.  They had started growing early, and
got very large for their age before they disappeared.   She  won-
dered if the same thing was going to happen to her.

She  began stroking her pussy gently, and to her amazement, found
it was dewy with lubricant.  Saints above, she thought, I haven't
been  wet  in  years!  Shivers of delight began to tremor through
her as she inserted her index finger into her increasingly  humid
cunt.   Fifty-three  years  old  and  I'm  still  thinking  about
*that!*, she thought to herself.

Not that her body showed much wear and  tear  any  more  for  her
fifty-three years.  Consuela had to admit that part of her stimu-
lation came from looking at herself.  She had  been  a  withered,
drink-addled  woman,  old  before her time, now here she was with
thighs as solid as  oaken trunks.  She slapped one of  them  with
her  free  hand,  and  noticed  with pride that it didn't jiggle.
Even a week ago, it would have taken a while to stop shaking.

Her snatch was completely black  again,  like  it  was  when  she
opened  it  to receive the seed that became Mary, and she was as-
tounded at how hungry it felt,as she moved he fingers more insis-
tently  inside  it.  Panting lightly as her desire increased, the
old feelings and hungers thundered back in a great roar, and Con-
suela abandoned herself to them in the hot, needle-sharp spray of
the shower.

She undid the band holding her hair up, and noted with the  pride
the  new swell of her expanded breasts, the size of ripe mangoes.
These weren't the breasts of an old lady, she sighed.  No,  these
were  the  breasts  of  a  quinceanera* before they had ever been
touched  by a man.  Consuela had never been a buxom woman.

She never felt she had to  be.   Spanish   men  weren't  mamones*
like  the  gringoes.   They  realized that all parts of a woman's
body were crafted for pleasure.  Nevertheless, they did look very
good  indeed,  and  they added a very feminine appearance to Con-
suela's revitalized body.

Finding her swollen clitoris with the fingers of her right  hand,
Consuela  hunched  over and furiously rubbed herself inside.  Her
orgasm came in like a freight train bursting thorugh a barricade,
and  she moaned aloud as she shook the newly-fleshy cheeks of her
ass in a spasm of delight.

"-Quite a performance, Mama", came a voice from behind her.  "-Of
course, at your age, you should be ashamed of yourself."

In  horror,  Consuela realized that she had been too busy playing
with herself to hear her daughter creep on her,  and  she  hadn't
even  bothered  to  pull  the shower curtain to.  "-Hijita*", she
scolded, "-You should be the one ashamed!  Spying on  your  moth-
er!"

Mary sat down on the closed toilet, spreading her green thighs in
her khaki shorts.  Odd, Consuela thought, these  days, Mary  even
smells like an open field.

 "-I wouldn't worry too much about it, Mama", Mary laughed.  "-As
you can guess, I've been pretty frisky myself.  Now that I  can't
cradle-rape Blair's boyfriend any more..."

"-That Captain Ted is a very attractive man", commented Consuela.

"-He's never around."  Mary ran a slender green hand through  her
dark  green  hair. She had been experimenting with different cos-
metics, and had found a combination that, given her  unique  com-
plexion,  worked  extremely  well.   Her  eyes were done in light
earth tones, and her mouth  was  dark  red  with  a  fortunately-
acquired  shade of lipstick she had bought on a whim when she was
normally-colored, and had never expected to use.

"-Funny thing about being green, though, Mama", she added,  "-now
that  I'm  more  than half a vegetable, I've never wanted meat so
badly!"  Both women laughed at Mary's frank admission  of  sexual
appetite.

"-What about Bernard?", asked Consuela.

Mary  crossed  her legs, flexing the green muscles in her emerald
calves.  She no longer needed to shave, and her legs had an eerie
smoothness  and  hairlessness,  but  it was obvious in other ways
that Mary had not ceased to be a mammal.

"-He's very sweet, Mama", she replied, "-but I don't think of him
as  being a man.  He's more your age, or whatever age you used to
be.  He's kind of like an old bear shuffling and whuffling around
this  place.  He knows a lot about gardening and groves, though."

Consuela changed the subject.  For some reason now,  if  you  got
Mary  started  talking  about  plants, she'd go on about them all
day.  She levered her chest forward and displayed the new growth.
"-Look, daughter", she invited, "-I'm bigger!"

"I'll  say  you  are, Mama!", replied Mary in English.   Then she
reverted to Spanish again. "-Perhaps you got the whatever  it  is
that  makes the breasts grow.  I thought we'd both be growing out
of our shirts after Blair filled us up with her milk.  Mine  just
turned green.  I can't complain, though."

At  five-foot two, and one hundred three pounds, Mary's 34-B fig-
ure was striking, and she had never, despite working as a  dancer
in  an  exotic  club, felt any need to be larger.  When Blair and
Amanda began growing, she felt a surge of pride, but never  envy.

"-Maybe  it'll  start later with you, daughter", Consuela contin-
ued.  "-After all, I didn't turn green, and I can't talk  to  the
trees."

"-I  wish  someone  would explain to us what's going on, though",
Mary sighed.  "-This Captain Ted knows more than he lets  on  to.
Look at the way Tommy took off on out of here like a cat with his
tail on fire."

Consuela patted herself dry with a towel, then wrapped it  around
her, tucking it in just above her newly-acquired bosom.  She gave
her daughter a hug about her shapely green shoulders.  "-Lets go,
daughter.  I think Bernard's got lunch ready."

Lunch  with  Bernard  was  a  somber  affair, usually just salad,
fruit, and spring water.  The converastion was as spare, but  to-
day, Bernard appeared quite animated.  "Captain Mourassi wants me
to take the two of you into town today", he said.  "Mrs.  Cajigas
appears  to  need  new  foundational undergarments, and you, Mrs.
Quinteros, need to accustom people to your new appearance if  you
hope to continue to frequent human society."

"Town?", Mary answered.  "How're we gonna get to town?  I've nev-
er seen a car around here, besides the one Tommy drove  up  here.
And  how're  the  good people of Putnam County gonna react when a
green Cuban woman from Miami shows up in their shops?"

"We have several cars here, ma'am", Bernard  replied.   "I  shall
drive  you.   Also,  Captain  Mourassi has a carefully cultivated
reputation as an eccentric in this, ah, rather conservative  com-
munity.   Nevertheless,  he has contributed a considerable amount
of funds and time to causes that are dear to  their  hearts;  the
hospital  guild,  the Grove Owners' Society, the Daughters of the
Confederacy.  No, when word gets out that you are his guests, you
will be very well treated indeed."

Bernard  proved  to  be  as  good as his word.  An hour later, he
purred up to the house in an immaculately-maintained 1963  Volvo,
bundled the two women inside, and then headed for town.

And whatever reputation it was that Captain Mourassi so carefully
cultivated, it served Mary and Consuela well.  All the  townspeo-
ple  appeared to know Bernard, and several matrons inquired as to
Captain Mourassi's health.

More importantly, no one lifted an eyebrow at the emerald-colored
Mary  as  she  bounced into the shops.  Having decided that there
was no way to avoid stares, she put a great deal of attention in-
to  her  appearance,  selecting a white peasant blouse with loud,
jangly, hoop earrings and teased hair.   She could have left  all
her  panoply  at the house.  Once she was introduced into a place
of business by Bernard, the salespeople treated her with as  much
deference as if she were a Baptist deacon's wife.

Only one old man, sitting on the porch of a furniture store smok-
ing a corn-cob pipe, took umbrage at the salad-colored young wom-
an.   He  sat back in his chair, blew a puff of smoke at Mary and
Consuela, and began to rail at them.

"I don't know what gits inta you all young folks these days",  he
croaked.   "First,  y'all  wants  t' pierce yerselves, then y'all
wants to cut yerselves, now  yerall  paintin'  yerselves  green!"
But  when  Bernard stepped onto the porch and whispered something
into the old man's ears, he became immediately apologetic.   "Oh,
y'all  friends  to  ol'  Mr.  Mourassi, are ya, huh?  Glad to see
y'all in town.  Come back soon!"  He shook their hands and  waved
them on.  "Y'all come on back now, heah?"

Bernard stopped at a bank, a grocery store, and a ladies' garment
shoppe.  Consuela, they discovered, had grown  a  cup  size  that
morning, and now required a 34-C in place of her daughter's 34-B.
Bernard bought several, and several more of larger sizes.  "

Just to be on the safe side, ma'am", he  explained  to  Consuela.
"Captain Mourassi seems to think you both are going to be needing
more, uh, authoritative foundational garments soon."

Especially  delighted  with  her  new  figure  and   her   newly-
rejuvenated body, Consuela spent a good bit of her own money on a
new wardrobe.  Having concentrated on jeans,  tops  and  exercise
wear,  she  piled  two bags into the trunk of the Volvo, then got
back into the front seat opposite Bernard.

Noticing that Mary was slightly out of sorts, she turned  to  her
and  smiled.   "-Daughter,  isn't  this wonderful?  We were never
treated like this in Miami!"

"-How nice for you, Mama", Mary replied.  "-You aren't the  color
of a stalk of asparagus!"



















































