BETSY Smith had the biggest tits in the school.
    After all, somebody had to have the biggest tits in school. Lots of girls dream about having big tits. It's fair to assume they dream of having the biggest pair in their class. If their class happens to be the most senior, it is fair to assume that the girl with the biggest pair in the senior class would also have the biggest in the whole school.
    Betsy Smith wasn't in the most senior class, but she still had the biggest tits in the school. And that included the teachers.
    "Have you seen that Smith girl today? Disgusting display!" Miss Abelard, the French teacher, Head of the Department of Modern Languages, sniffed censoriously.
    Mr Lombank, Mathematics, lolled in the staff room's largest armchair. From here, if he leaned right back, he could almost see right up Miss Abelard's short skirt, as far as her French knickers, if she was wearing any today. Disgusting display! "What's she wearing?" he asked, rubbing his hands together with a sound like sandpaper.
    "It's a disgrace! School uniform, but it was never intended to look like this. Her skirt's up to here!" With a chopping motion of her hand, Miss Abelard indicated a point nearer the top of her thighs than her knees. "Or even up here." She revised her estimate three inches higher. Mr Lombank broke out in a sweat. "As for her chest..."
    "Her chest?"
    "Her chest." Miss Abelard didn't have a bosom to speak of, so she preferred not to talk about bosoms at all. Girls had chests, even girls with bosoms as bosomy as Betsy Smith.
    "What about her chest?" Mr Lombank's mouth had dried up.
    "It's terrible. Actually, I feel sorry for the child. It isn't fair to her, at her age. She's only just sixteen. Having such huge..."
    "Tits?"
    "Certainly not!"
    "Breasts?"
    Miss Abelard turned the colour of an Edam cheese. "Yes. Having such large chests at that age could be deeply disturbing for her in later life. What is she going to do?"
    "Be a model?"
    "A model! She is a bright, intelligent and popular girl..."
    Certainly popular, Mr Lombank reflected. You never saw Betsy Smith without at least a dozen boys slobbering all over her. He hoped against hope that Betsy might prefer older men. Many young girls did.
    Miss Abelard continued. "An intelligent girl, excellent grades..."
    Mr Lombank would have given her an A+ in tits.
    "...and always right at the forefront in class projects..."
    You could say that again, thought Mr Lombank.
    "What did you say?"
    "How about a little drink after school?"
    Miss Abelard sniffed mightily and stormed out.

As usual, after school, Betsy strolled as slowly as she could down to the bus stop. Boys swarmed round her like flies round a freshly-minted cowpat.
    "Mum says you've got to come straight home."
    "She says you've got to get the first bus."
    "She says you won't get any dinner."
    Betsy shuffled her feet nervously. Her three little sisters embarrassed her on purpose. Little buggers. She edged away.
    "Are they your sisters?" Gavin Mockridge ran a critical eye over the girls.
    "Nice tits," said Ollie Parker.
    Winston Junior Churchill surveyed them through his dark glasses. "How old are dey?"
    "Never mind them." Betsy tried to drag the boys away.
    "Don't be late," Zara nagged.
    "We're telling Mum you're hanging out with boys," said Tina, with a toss of her light-golden hair.
    "Come on, you two. It's pie." Young Pandora liked pie, whatever was in it. The three girls wobbled away, wiggling their hips as much as they thought they could get away with.
    "Little bitches." Betsy had been thrown out of her easy stride. She tried to round up the boys and get them heading in the right direction, away from the bus stop. They remained stubbornly staring after her kid sisters. "You're perverts, you three! They're only kids."
    "Yeah, but look at that little one wiggle!" Gavin surreptitiously adjusted his crotch. "Who's she?"
    "Pandora? Oh, come on! She's eleven, for Chrissakes!"
    "Look at the tits on the blonde one," said Ollie. "What's her name?"
    "It's Tina, and she's not even thirteen yet. Come on, you pervert!"
    "Dat tall one fancies me," said Winston Junior. "I c'n tell."
    Betsy clenched her fists. "Her name's Zara. And she's only thirteen."
    "Man, I ain't superstitious."
    "They've all got big tits, Bets. Do you all take after your Mum?" Ollie seemed to be a tit lover.
    "I s'pose so. Look, are we going for a walk, or what?"
    "Let's walk down by the bus stop," Gavin suggested.
    "You only want to look at my little sisters! You're all sick!"
    "You don't need to be jealous of them, Bets. They're cute kids, but you're the best girl in the whole school."
    "With the biggest tits..."
    "We'll walk down by de bus stop anyway..."

"You've got some really nice friends, Bets!"
    They had all finished their pie and chips, and Zara had won the race for the best seat in front of the TV.
    "Who's the tall black one?" she asked casually.
    "Which one's that?" Betsy asked, inspecting her nails.
    "You know the one! He's a foot taller than the other two, he wears dark glasses, and he's, like, black."
    "Oh, him. That's Winston Junior."
    "Don't tell me, then. I can find out easy enough."
    "That's his name! Winston Junior Churchill. He can't help it. That's what he's called!"
    "Zara Junior Churchill," said Zara dreamily. "Sounds cool..."
    "Who's the one with glasses?" said Tina, making subtle adjustments to her well-filled bra.
    Betsy sighed. "That's Ollie. Ollie the tit-freak."
    "Wow! Am I big enough for him?"
    "Nobody is! Even I'm not big enough for Ollie."
    "We can grow," said Tina. "I'm growing."
    Pandora practised her wiggle, parading to and fro in front of the screen. "Did the other one like me?" she asked.
    "How did you guess? His name's Gavin. And if he fancies a eleven-year-old, he's even sicker than I thought he was, even if the eleven-year-old has got a pair of hips on her like Marilyn Monroe."
    "Who's Marilyn Monroe? Is she that blonde girl in your class? I've got tits, too!" The miniature Pandora took a deep breath, but she didn't really present a challenge to her older sisters.
    "Are you kids going to leave me alone? I've got loads of homework."
    "Are you going to do it?" Zara asked. "Or tell them the dog ate it again."
    "We haven't got a dog," Pandora pointed out.
    "We don't need a dog," said Zara. "We've got Betsy."

The removal van had a long word on the side of it. It was a long van.
    "Penrhyndeudraeth. That's in Wales," Zara said importantly. "I bet they're Welsh."
    "Have you seen them yet?" Betsy peered out of the corner of the window. There were three men moving furniture into the house next door, but no sign of anyone who might be the new occupants.
    "What do you you think they'll be like, Bets?" Tina wriggled closer to the window and pressed her bust against the glass.
    "How would I know?"
    "It's a big house," said the ever-logical Zara. "As big as this one. So they've probably got children. Probably as many as us. Somebody to play with."
    Betsy snorted angrily. "Play!"
    "They might be boys," Pandora's voice rose to an excited squeak.
    "They might be Welsh," Betsy said gloomily.
    Zara twirled elegantly in front of her mirror. She didn't mind the others borrowing her bedroom to watch the neighbours arriving. They could also watch her making herself more stunningly pretty than ever. "If they don't turn up soon, it will be dark."

Mrs Smith told them in the morning. It was a Saturday.
    "They're called Jones," she said excitedly.
    "I knew it," said Betsy in tones of doom.
    "I only dropped round to say welcome to Lutricia Avenue, and see if I could borrow a cup of sugar, and she invited me in. And the amazing thing is, they've got four girls, same as us!"
    "Girls?" Zara said.
    "Like us?" Tina said.
    "Not boys?" said Pandora.
    "Girls." Mrs Smith chipped the scrambled eggs out of the pan and dropped a block of the substance on to each plate. "Breakfast, girls. Enjoy."
    "Girls like us?" said Betsy.
    "Very much like you! They're the same ages even. Let me get the names right." She ticked them off one at a time on her fingers. "Sian is eleven, like Pandora. Eirlys is thirteen, same as Tina. Then there's Angharad; she's fourteen, just like Zara. And Ceredwyn; she's nearly sixteen, like you, Betsy. There, isn't that an amazing coincidence?"
    "Wow, yeah."
    "You don't sound very excited, Betsy."
    "We'd have preferred boys," said Pandora, on behalf of her sisters throughout the world.
    "Of course, they haven't arrived yet. Their daddy's bringing them down from Wales in the car today. But Mrs Jones gave me a photo. They look ever so pretty."
    They looked at the photograph.
    This was undeniably the worst day of Betsy's life.

"If that one's Ceredwyn, that one with the glasses must be Angharad."
    "No, that's Eirlys."
    "At least, we know which one's Sian. The little one."
    "Yeah, the little one with the big tits."
    "They've all got big tits."
    "Yeah."
    The girls glumly pushed the photograph aside. The Jones girls had breasts. Not just the older ones. All of them. Really, really, really big ones.
    "Are they going to our school?"
    "Yeah."
    "Oh."
    That said it all. Not only was Betsy about to be deprived of her title of undisputedly the biggest tits in the whole school, she was going to lose her title by several inches. And Tina was about to lose her title of biggest tits in her class, by a similar margin.
    "It's not just Ceredwyn who's bigger than me," Betsy wailed. "It's all of them! Even the youngest!"
    Tina couldn't bear it. She turned the picture face down on the table.
    Pandora picked it up again and looked round at her sisters. They were each lost in their individual shrouds of gloom. Gauging her moment for maximum effect, she moaned softly. "Oh, no. Look!"
    No response. The girls were used to Pandora's attention-seeking.
    "I can't believe it!"
    "Shut it, Pandora!"
    "I just thought you'd be interested, that's all."
    Not a word.
    "Don't say I didn't tell you. See you later." Pandora got up and wiggled exaggeratedly to the door. "And don't bother looking at the back of the photograph."
    She closed the door behind her, then cautiously eased it open a few inches, to watch through the crack. Almost half a minute went by before Tina pulled the picture towards her.
    "Oh, no!"
    "Don't you start, Tina!"
    "It's not me. Pandora was right. Look at the date on the back of this picture!"

"Hello, Mrs Jones." Pandora regarded her with a level gaze. Mrs Jones was wearing some kind of swimsuit.
    "Hello!" She had a kind of singsong voice, even just with the one word. "Now, let me see, you must be ... Pandora?"
    "That's right." Pandora was impressed. She'd never met the woman before, and yet she remembered her name.
    "Come on in, lovey. The girls have all nipped down the shops for me. You'll be Sian's age. My, you're a pretty girl, isn't it?"
    Was this woman's accent for real?
    "I was just in the back garden. Come on through. You'd like a nice drink wouldn't you? Coke? Or nice cold milk?"
    "Milk, please." Pandora accepted the brimming glass and followed Mrs Jones out into the back garden. She had to walk carefully so as not to spill it. It felt funny, trying to walk without her bottom wiggling. "We were looking at the photo you gave our Mum."
    "Oh that old picture. Two years old, of course. They're all grown up now."
    Pandora waited, and sipped her milk.
    "Of course, they were all dressed up for the photo! The young ones had socks stuffed down their jumpers to give them big boobs! You know what little girls are like."
    Pandora nodded. Interesting. She knew what little girls were like. Socks down their jumpers.
    "Of course, they wouldn't need to stuff socks down their jumpers now. Not any more! Duw, no!"
    Pandora took a gulp of milk. So far, she hadn't learned anything at all.
    "We'll have to meet your sisters, though, won't we?
    Pandora agreed, although she'd already met them too many times to mention.
    "Before you all go off to school together. Get to know each other. You'll all have lots to talk about." Mrs Jones yawned and stretched, her arms above her head. Pandora's eyes opened like saucers. If Mrs Jones had been wearing a jumper, she wouldn't have needed to stuff socks down it, either. Duw, no! As it was, her bikini bra was a serious piece of kit. There wasn't much skin showing between the bra and the top of the pants, but that owed more to the dimensions of the bra than to any modesty in the design of the pants. Pandora stole a covert glance at the neighbour's backside. Pandora was particularly interested in other females' backsides.
    Mrs Jones held a hand behind one ear, as if she were starring in a silent movie. "Hark," she said, "I think they're back."
    Pandora was overjoyed. She had never heard anyone use the word 'Hark' before. She drained the last of the milk. "I ought to be going..."
    "Silly Billy! Stay and meet the girls first. They've been dying to meet you."
    "To meet me?"
    "To meet all of you. Sian's been talking about meeting you, at least."
    A door slammed in the house, then the back door opened and a face peered out. A little round face framed by dark hair.
    "Sian! Come and meet your little friend from next door. Pandora!"
    Pandora wasn't sure she ought to feel happy about being referred to as Sian's 'little friend'. Especially as Sian was not much over four feet tall. But then, Pandora realised, there were other factors to be taken into account. In a couple of ways, Pandora was very much a little friend. God, she thought. Wait until I tell Betsy about this! She got up from her chair, not wishing to be at a disadvantage. Wishing she had a few pairs of socks...
    "Hello, Pandora."
    "Hello, Sian."
    "Where's the rest of them?" Mrs Jones asked.
    "Dad took them straight down the shops." Sian's voice was musical, but not as exaggeratedly so as her mother's. "They dropped me off 'cos I needed to go to the loo. I been nearly 'aving an accident in my pants this last hour. A big accident," she elaborated.
    "Pandora doesn't want to know about that, love," said Mrs Jones. "You run along upstairs right away and have your poo."
    Pandora did want to know, as it happened. She was intrigued to know what kind of accident Sian was nearly having. If it was the same kind of accident that Bryan Connelly had had last week in his pants during Miss Gabriel's English Composition class, it would be very interesting indeed.
    "Come on upstairs, Pandora." Sian was hopping around from one foot to the other. "You can tell me about the school while I'm on the toilet."
    "Sian! Whatever next?"
    Sian sighed heavily. "Oh, all right. You'll have to stand outside the bathroom door and shout to me. Prob'ly just as well, come to think of it."

"She's been gone a long time," said Tina.
    "She's only next door," snorted Betsy. "No need to send a search party."
    "I'll go," said Zara. "Maybe the girls are there now. They must be, if Pandora's stayed all this time. They might be really nice." She stood up and examined her appearance. "Should I wear something less boyish, do you think?"
    "Boyish?" Betsy gave another snort. Zara looked endlessly tall in jeans and crop-top which revealed her painfully small waist. Painful to Betsy, that was. It made Zara's bust look even bigger than it really was. Quite unnecessarily, in Betsy's opinion. 'Boyish' wasn't the right word at all. "You're not going round there on your own," she said, pushing back her chair. "I'm coming with you."
    "So am I," said Tina. She sneaked another look at the photograph on the table and took an extra deep breath. Her shirt creaked under the strain, but the seams held. Just about.
    "You don't both have to come," Betsy sighed.
    "Yes we do," said Tina, tossing her golden locks over one shoulder. "We want to see if they're as big as us, don't we? I mean, we are pretty big girls."
    The three pretty big girls went up the path and turned right. Then they stopped.
    "Hide, quick! There's a car coming."
    "It's only a car, Bets, not a tank!"
    "But it might be them."
    "So what if it is?" said Tina. "It's them we're going to see, isn't it?"
    "Yes and no." Betsy turned back. "Let's try later."
    "Why?" Zara started forward again. "It is their car, look. It's going in the gate. Where are you two going?" She shrugged and turned round, following the car down next-door's driveway. Her strange sisters seemed to be scared of something. Zara brimmed with confidence in her appearance. She was tall, slim and elegant. A little too boyish, perhaps, but if she stuck her chest out that wasn't a problem.
    The car doors opened and a dishy, drop-dead gorgeous man stared at her frankly. Zara liked older men.
    "Hello," she simpered, fluttering her eyelashes. "I'm from next door."
    "Well, hello! You must be Mrs Smith. I've really been looking forward to meeting you!"
    Zara was almost pee-ing herself with delight. Then girls began getting out of the other seats, struggling with bags of shopping.
    "Give us girls a hand, Dad, an' stop chatting up the local talent!"
    "God, he's at it again!"
    "Look out, it's God's gift to women."
    "The lady's from next door," Mr Jones scolded them.
    "Which one are you, then?" asked the oldest of the girls, her manner direct but friendly.
    "I'm Zara. Same age as Angharad?" She guessed at the pronunciation, and evidently got it near enough right.
    "That's me." The nearest girl put down her bulging bag of groceries and straightened up. "Wow, you're tall!"
    "Umm, yeah." Zara wanted to make an appropriate comment about Angharad, but the only ones which sprang to mind were unsuitable: 'You're short' or 'you've got fucking huge tits' weren't the kind of things you said to a girl you'd only just met. They were both perfectly true, but later, perhaps, when she knew her better.
    "How tall, then? I'm only four foot ten."
    "I'm a foot taller than you."
    "Never mind," said Angharad airily. "I bet my bust is a foot bigger than yours!"
    And the rest, thought Zara. The girl bent to pick up her bags again, and her breasts, squeezed into a barely adequate T-shirt, practically exploded into the open air. Was she wearing a bra? Maybe an invisible one. A stealth bra.
    The other girls weren't any less well-equipped. That photograph hadn't been exaggerating. And they were all short. Zara towered above them. She even towered above Mr Jones, which seemed to make him most uncomfortable. It was either that he was sensitive about his lack of height or the thought that he'd been caught publicly trying to chat up the fourteen-year-old daughter of the family next door.
    She followed the three heavily laden sisters into the house. Heavily laden in both senses of the word. Strangely, Mr Jones didn't carry any of the bags. He stood aside and let Zara in at the front door, where Mrs Jones greeted her.
    "Duw! There's a tall girl, look yew? You another of those girls from next door? We got your little sister yer. She gone upstairs with our Sian."
    That was reassuring news, in a way. At least Pandora hadn't been captured and eaten alive by lions. Pity, Zara thought with a sigh, but then you can't win them all.
    "This is Zara, Mam," said Angharad. "I'd better introduce my sisters, too. This is Ceredwyn, we call her Keri; and that's Eirlys. We call her Hairy."
    "You're rotten to me!" Eirlys burst into tears and fled up the stairs.
    "Angharad! Don't be so rude. You know Eirlys can't help the way she is."
    None of them could help the way they were. The other two girls seemed to be more or less equally stacked. In fact, their busts were so staggeringly big it was hard to take in just how huge they were, as they seemed to bulge out of their clothes to such an outrageous extent. They were simply miles bigger than Betsy and Tina. Wowee! Her sisters would go absolutely ballistic when they saw this little lot!
    "Where's the poo-ey kid?" Ceredwyn asked.
    "In the bathroom."
    "Thank God for that. I dunno what she bin eating, but we've had all the car windows open. I bet she hadn't been for days. She stores it up for her weekly dump!"
    "Keri, that's not very nice," Mrs Jones objected faintly.
    "No, it's not," said Ceredwyn grimly.
    "Well, Zara," Mrs Jones made an effort. "That's two of you we've seen now. When are we going to meet the other two?"
    "They changed their minds and ran away," Zara said with a devilish giggle.
    Ceredwyn looked at her curiously. "I thought I seen three girls as we turned in at the gate. What's up with them?"
    "They're shy," Angharad grinned.
    "I'm not shy," said Zara. "But the other two are, a bit. Only with new people. They're okay at school."
    "What's the school like?" Angharad's eyes were shining. "What about the boys? Any hunky teachers?"
    "I can't listen to this," said Mrs Jones, retreating into the kitchen. "Come and help your mam, Keri."
    Angharad whispered,"She thinks I'm boy mad. I'm not really. I like older men as well."
    "Well, there are some nice boys. Betsy knows lots, but they like us, as well. But teachers, you want Mr Lombank. He does Maths."
    "Does he like figures, then?" Angharad leaned forward from the waist and wobbled her chest from side to side. The whole house seemed to shake in sympathy.
    Zara blinked. "I think he does. He's always staring at mine. But I bet he's never seen anything like yours. Or your sisters."
    "We're used to that. We're always the four biggest girls in the school, wherever we go. Me first, then Keri, then Hairy Eirlys. And even Poo-ey Sian."
    "Betsy's got the biggest. Tina's catching up with her fast. She's loads bigger than me. But you're all bigger than Betsy."
    "Maybe that's why she got shy and buggered off," said Angharad. "Like I say, we're used to that."
    "Why d'you call Eirlys Hairy?"
    Angharad giggled and spluttered down her nose. "'Cos she is! She's got a pair of black cats instead of armpits. And you should see her in the shower. Wow! Talk about the rain forests of the Amazon. Does he only do Maths?"
    "Maths?"
    "Mr What's-is-Name?"
    "Lombank. Yeah. Why, you mean you fancy him and you haven't met him yet?"
    "What's he like? His body and everything?"
    "He's not very tall. Not as tall as me. That pisses him off 'cos he can't look down my front on Fridays when we c'n wear what we like. He's kind of chunky-faced. A bit like David Beckham."
    "Beckham? For Maths? Wow! What about his hair? He's not bald yet, then?"
    "No, 'cos I can see the top of his head. He's got kind of fair hair. Kind of wavy."
    "How big's his cock?"
    Zara gasped. "How would I know?" she blushed, then went on with great daring. "Maybe it's too far down for me to reach!"
    Angharad punched Zara's shoulder. "Woo-hoo, girl! Tell you what. I'll have a feel of it and tell you, okay? It sounds okay. You tried any of the boys?"
    "Tried them?" Zara hesitated.
    "You know. Got off with them. Snogged them. Or anything else?"
    "Not really, no."
    "Stick with me, girl. With your height and my tits, we'll be able to take our pick."
    "Our Betsy might not..."
    "She's old enough to look after herself, isn't she? I don' care if we are under age, babe. Nobody ever believes I'm not at least twenty-five. And you! You fooled my dad, didn't you? He thought you were your own mother! No problem, Zar. I bet I can get you laid by Tuesday!"
    "I might not want to..."
    "Course you want to! Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

"Are we going to see them, Bets?"
    "Why can't they come and see us?" Betsy said grumpily.
    "Because they're new. We're supposed to welcome them. They must be okay. Zara hasn't come back, either. She's been nearly an hour."
    "You can go yourself if you like," Betsy sniffed. "I've got things to do."
    "I think I might," said Tina, not shifting out of her armchair.
    "Go on, then."
    "All right. I will."
    "I don't care if you go or not."
    "I'll go, then."
    "Piss off if you're going!"
    Tina went. Seconds later, she was creeping down the drive, past the car, down to the Jones's side door.
    "Hello, then?"
    A man. Looking at her chest. Let him look, see if I care. Tina crossed her arms, but there was altogether too much to hide.
    "Lookin' for your sisters, are yew?"
    "Oh, yes. I'm from next door."
    "Go right in. Mrs Jones is in the kitchen."
    She squeezed past him and ventured in the direction of the kitchen sounds.
    "You must be Tina? There, now, I'm getting good at this," Mrs Jones beamed as she looked her up and down. "Only one more of you to go and we'll have the full set. Tell you what. Our Eirlys isn't very happy, they've been calling her rude names. Go up and introduce yourself. Third door on the right, just past the bathroom."
    "Oh. Will it be all right?"
    "Sure it will. Off you go. You'll make her day."
    Tina plodded up the stairs. To her surprise, she found Pandora sitting cross-legged on the landing, picking her nose. "What are you doing down there?"
    "Sian's in the bathroom, doing another poo. That's her third."
    "Is there something the matter with her?"
    "Not really. She said she hasn't been for ages, that's all. Hey, Sis, she's got the biggest..."
    "Who is it, Panda?" the voice rang out from in the bathroom.
    "That's her. She calls me Panda." She shouted at the door in reply. "It's okay, it's only one of my sisters."
    "I won't be a minute. Although they won't be able to use this place for another hour at least. Talk about a stink..."
    "She keeps talking about shit," Pandora whispered. "The whole time."
    "Mrs Jones says I've got to see Eirlys," said Tina. "She's in this next room." She knocked lightly.
    "Who is it?"
    "It's Tina. From next door? Your mum sent me up..."
    "Hang on a minute." The door opened two inches and Tina found herself looking at a head of rich tousled black hair. She aimed a bit lower and found a red-eyed face. "Hi. You're from next door."
    "Yeah. That's what I said."
    "You'd better come in, then."
    She was wrapped in a towel. On the bed lay a pair of crumpled jeans, a stretched T-shirt and an improbably large-cupped pink bra.
    "You're not as tall as your sister," the girl said.
    "Zara? No."
    "Zara, that's it. I can't remember funny English names."
    "I can't even pronounce all yours. Mine's easier. I'm Tina."
    "I know. Mine's Eirlys, but my sisters call me something rude. It's 'cos I've got hairy armpits. Look." She raised an arm.
    "Wow!" Tina felt it wasn't quite the right thing to be saying, but it was all she could think of. Eirlys seemed to have more hair under that one arm than Tina had on her head. "Is the other one the same?"
    "'Course it is. I've got even more down yer." She pointed into the depths of the towel but didn't unveil anything. "I'm excused."
    "What do you mean?"
    "I've got a doctor's note. I'm excused PE and Games and Swimming 'cos of all my hair. The others are always mad at me 'cos they can't get excused with their tits. So they have to bounce around in PE and they hav to try and run at Games, and no way can they get their tits into a one piece school swimsuit. Nor can I, but I don' have to, 'cos I'm excused." Eirlys looked gloomily at Tina's generous bust. She was a mournful child, on the whole. "Yew're not excused, are yew?"
    "No. I can't run, though, so I never get picked for anyone's team until last."
    "It's a bummer."
    "Do you like boys?" Tina asked, after the silence had extended for several minutes. They could faintly hear Pandora's shouted conversation with Sian still being carried on through the bathroom door.
    "Never 'ad a boyfriend. They don't like me 'cos my sisters always tells them I'm so hairy, see? I ain't gonna shave, not for nobody. Shaving only makes it grow thicker. I don' care, any'ow. Boys is rotten."
    "I know some nice ones," said Tina. Poor Eirlys. Tina wondered just how hairy she was. If that armpit had been anything to go by, she was practically an ape. Hairy enough to be excused.
    "It ain't fair, you know. They ought to do something."
    "I'd better be getting back. I've got homework."
    "On a Saturday? That ain't right. It ought to be stopped."
    "I should have done it last night, really. I'll see you around, okay?"
    "Yeah. S'pose so."
    "Bye, then."
    "Yeah."

Pandora was still sitting there outside the bathroom, legs outstretched, her back against the wall. "She's stuck."
    "Stuck in the toilet?"
    "Not exactly. She says she can't do it. It hurts too bad."
    "Why doesn't she come out, then?"
    "She says she can't. She's started, so she can't come out until she's finished."
    Tina didn't feel too good. "I'm going home."
    "What's that one like?" Pandora inclined her head in the direction of Eirlys's bedroom.
    "A bit weird. And mega hairy. She's so hairy she's excused."
    "Excused what?"
    "PE and Games. And Swimming. I wouldn't mind getting excused as well, with my tits."
    "Theirs are all bigger than yours. Even hers are bigger than yours." She jerked a thumb at the bathroom door. A pained grunt came from within, followed by a protracted wail, then indescribable sounds indicating success in Sian's mission. "Bloody hell!" said Pandora. "She's gonna be pleased she got rid of that!"
    "I'm off!" Tina fled down the stairs and found herself in the kitchen.
    "You going already, Tina? Don't you want a glass of milk? Your little sister had some."
    "I've got homework to do. Sorry. I shoulda done it last night." She stopped. The eldest daughter, Ceredwyn, was perched on a stool by the worktop, her chin in her hands. A faint humming came from a machine in front of her.
    "You don't have to have it warm," said Mrs Jones. "We've got some cool in the fridge."
    "You mean...?" She approached closer, staring. Ceredwyn had both breasts out of her top, and the nipples were attached to clear plastic tubes leading to a busy little pump with a glass container on top. An inch or two of white liquid was sloshing gently around in the container. "You drink this?"
    "Of course. We don't want to waste it, do we? It's quite sweet, so we mix it fifty-fifty with cow's milk."
    Tina was speechless.
    "Try some!" Mrs Jones had already taken a jug out of the fridge and poured a glass. To Tina's surprise, it was delicious. "There, I knew you'd like it, see? Course, it's not all the girls who gets milked. Just Keri and young Sian. The other two don't. I dunno why."
    Tina closed her eyes and drained the glass. "It's nice." An image had come to her of Sian straining away in the bathroom. It wouldn't go away. "Must go, though. Thanks, Mrs Jones. I'll tell Betsy to come and see you, shall I?"
    "That would be nice, dear."

"They can't be that big," said Betsy, sitting down suddenly. "Bigger than yours?"
    "Bigger than yours, even. All of them, although I didn't see the youngest one; she was in the bathroom the whole time. Pandora's seen her, though. Ask her. That's not all, either."
    "I don't care."
    "I shan't tell you, then."
    "Good."
    Tina picked up her homework book and began doodling idly on a blank page.
    "What?" said Betsy after five minutes.
    "What do you mean, 'what'? What what?"
    "What did you mean, 'that's not all'?"
    "I thought you weren't interested."
    "I'm not. What are you drawing. Let me see."
    "Nothing. Just a bikini. I think I need a new bikini."
    "You've got one. It looks horrible."
    "It only looks horrible 'cos it's too small. I fall out of it all the time. The top half of me falls out, anyway. The bottom's too loose."
    "What's not all?"
    "I can't remember. It was ages ago ... ouch! Give me that back!"
    Betsy looked at the drawing. "This isn't you."
    "Never said it was."
    "She's got dark hair."
    "Yeah! Lots of it."
    "You've drawn hair under her arms! And round her ... oh yuck!"
    "I was just seeing what it looked like for someone to have so much hair they're excused. Anyway, I thought you wanted to know what wasn't all."
    "I thought you'd forgotten."
    "I remembered again."
    "Well?"
    "Well what?"
    Tina grinned maddeningly. "Oh, all right," she said in a hurry, seeing Betsy draw her arm back to deliver a physical blow. "Milk."
    Betsy frowned. "What about milk?"
    "The girls next door. They give milk."
    "Milk!?"
    "Not all of them." Tina was pleased with her sister's reaction. "Just the oldest and the youngest. The other two don't. You ought to go in there and see. Keri was getting milked when I was in there."
    "They milk her?"
    "In the kitchen. She milks herself with a little machine."
    In her mind, Betsy had been picturing a girl standing patiently munching hay while her mother perched herself on a little three-legged wooden stool, tugging away at her nipples with both hands. Milk was spurting into one of those stainless steel buckets. It was a curiously vivid mental image.
    "What do they do with it?"
    "Drink it, of course. It tastes okay."
    "You drank some? Milk from a girl?"
    "No, from a jug. But it was half girl. They mix it with cow's milk."
    "You're sick."
    Tina thought about it for a while. "No, I'm not," she said. "I feel okay."
    "I'm not going in there," said Betsy firmly.
    "Just 'cos they've all got bigger tits than you."
    "I don't care." Betsy got up and swept out of the room. She hurried up the stairs.

End of Chapter 1