"Where did they come from?" A just-for-fun episodic story

VIII
How many evenings had Trent spent keeping vigil outside Sarah’s doorway? Given some time alone with focus, and perhaps a calculator for good measure, there was no doubt Trent could easily sort it out. In the grand scheme of things, Trent understood that his vigil was a paltry matter – something that he would scarcely remember a few months from now, let alone years from now. Already he found the feverish intensity of his worry and concerns hard to recapture in his own mind – the memory was well on its way to becoming mundane. Yet what Trent did still recall was the manic desire to just throw open this door and see Sarah, to speak with her, and to sate his own desperate worries for her health and well-being. A goodly portion of his vigils had consisted of Trent daydreaming about throwing open Sarah’s door, and finding her gleeful at his valor rather than angry at his indiscretion. Obviously he never quite grew courageous (or perhaps desperate is the better word?) enough to act on the impulse, but that daydream persisted all the while.

‘So why am I not throwing open this door right now?’ Trent asked himself, staring blankly at the closed door – the previously molten ramen noodles cooling rapidly in his hands. His first thought was that it had simply become a habit – deeply ingrained via tenacity and resolve rather than lengthy routine. But that wasn’t the reason. Trent knew the reason. He was scared.

Part of that fear was that, despite his jubilant relief at Sarah having finally come around, Trent had absolutely no idea what he would say to her when he first went into the room. He hadn’t felt so uncertain and feeble with his words since the early stages of their budding relationship – when he felt like he needed to make her last at least once a day to hold her interest.

Another part of that fear was that the rumors he had been hearing might be true. Maybe Trent would throw open the door, all ready to celebrate and make merry, and find that even though Sarah had emerged from the thick of whatever this sickness had been, she was nonetheless changed by it. Maybe whatever had been happening to her breasts truly had gone into overdrive and her body would be ruined by it. Again, visions of The Blob danced through his head and he imagined great masses of veiny flesh enveloping Sarah’s body like tumorous growths.

But the greatest part of his fear was simply the emotion he felt underscoring all the others: wounded anger. Though Trent was elated at having received word from Sarah that she was through the worst of it, and even more ecstatic when she had bid him to come pay her a visit, he was nonetheless aware that these feelings were somewhat hollow and muddied by the frustration and resentment that had been snowballing inside of him for the long weeks of his vigil. ‘Why won’t she see me?’ ‘Why Yumi and not me?’ ‘Why doesn’t she trust me?’ ‘Why, why why…’ and so on. Trent was afraid of how he might react, despite his relief, and despite the stark realization this experience had afforded him: that he really did love this girl.

After so many days spent fantasizing about throwing open Sarah’s door and barging in like Luke Skywalker, Trent surprised himself by unconsciously opening the door on an impulse during his stormy ruminations. Suddenly he was standing, doorknob still in hand, with the threshold of Sarah’s dorm room partly opened. Then she spoke.

“Trent? Please tell me that is you.” Sarah’s voice was a bit weak, a bit raspy, and a lot quiet. But it was unmistakably her own, and Trent was relieved anew to find that it filled him with a welcome warmth and mirth.

“I am happy to say that it is.” Trent stepped into the room. Sarah reclined in her bed, bundled snugly among her blankets. Her skin was sallow, and her hair looked as though a family of canaries might have taken up residence in it.

“Oh my, look at you.” Trent surprised himself by saying this with a lilt of good humor. She smiled at him, and those fears and doubts that had briefly held him captive at her door suddenly seemed more like shadow puppets on the wall. He smiled back at her.

“Oh my, look at me.” Sarah responded, with a resigned sort of humor in her voice. She maintained eye contact, and Trent saw something burning in there.

“Do I ask how you’re feeling? I probably should have brought some topics for small talk with me.” Trent teased. Sarah’s smile widened, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

“Ask me whatever the hell you want I guess. I feel fine.” She caught the incredulous look on Trent’s face and then added, “Okay, that’s bullshit. But compared to how I was feeling, I feel incredible right now.”

“Yeeesh, was it really that bad?” Trent had intended this to be a sincere question, and only caught onto the snarky way it could be interpreted when Sarah’s eyes shot open and she gave him a good-humored look of shock.

“The stones on you, man.” Sarah said with a tone of mock indignation.

“That is not what I meant.” Trent felt his cheeks blush.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Trust me, I can FEEL what a trainwreck I look like right now. Like I’m thinking I’ll end up taking a two separate 30-minute showers – one to scrub myself clean, and then another just to untangle my hair.”

“Shit, you might need to up those to an hour honestly.” Trent said this with a grin. Sarah’s eyes narrowed in response.

“Easy now, it’s only charming when it’s on accident.”

“So sorry.” Trent raised his hands like an outlaw being arrested – his favored sign of peace. He became vacantly aware of the bitter stench permeating the dorm room.

“Well are you gonna hug my neck or what?” Sarah said, laying her head back against her pillow and spreading her arms in open invitation. Trent obliged happily enough, stooping down and wrapping his arms tightly around and clasping his own forearms behind Sarah’s back.
Lifting her slightly off the bed in the process, Trent was shocked at the unexpected twinge of pain he felt in his back. Sarah felt like dead weight in his arms – considerably heavier than he was accustomed to. A strange softness pressed slightly into his lower abdomen as he hugged Sarah against him, and for the briefest moment his mind allowed him to believe that pressure was just her wadded blanket caught between them. But then The Blob announced itself more properly in the form of a heavy shifting around the periphery of his vision. For a moment Trent could do little more than stare at the bulging shape pooled in Sarah’s lap.

“Oh no.” Sarah’s eyes were likewise locked onto her own lap, and when Trent shifted his gaze upward he found that her eyes were swimming with tears. “Oh no, oh no, what the fuck is this?”

“Is that…” Trent trailed off, his mind felt as though it was being pulled in several different directions. “Is that your, uh…” Words failed Trent, as he felt obliged to simultaneously figure out what was going on, while also sparing Sarah’s feelings as he saw that she was apparently just as shocked as he felt. Sarah seemed not to hear him either way. Her hands ripped at the blanket with feverish intensity, and in one sweeping motion, the blanket was tossed aside to the floor.

Kermit the Frog’s face was distorted into a rictus as Sarah’s night shirt stretched ponderously over the expanse of her bosom. The fabric, already threadbare with years of service, appeared to be barely holding together – perhaps more out of habit than anything else. Trent felt quite certain that it would take little more than a jostle to bust a seam or perhaps cause a tear somewhere around the over-taxed perimeter of the shirt. The hem of the shirt was pulled up and bunched as though Sarah had simply tossed and turned so much in her sleep as to make it askew, but Trent knew – could plainly see – that the shirt had not been “pulled up” by restless sleep.

Her breasts were too large for the shirt. That was all. Trent diagnosed the problem with the matter-of-fact casualness that a mechanic might diagnose a tire with worn-out treads. It was obvious by the fact that the swells of her breasts stretched the countenance of Kermit the Frog until he was hardly recognizable; by the fact that the hem of the shirt had plainly been stretched out of shape by the bulging mass of Sarah’s tits; by the fact that the fleshy orbs of said tits poured out of the bottom hem of the shirt; and very much by the fact that bottom hem of the shirt, already stretched nearly to the limit, appeared to be cutting into the swells of Sarah’s boobs as they extended out from the confines of the shirt. The result was that the lower reaches of Sarah’s bosom bulged out from the shirt like muffin tops out of a baking sheet.

‘Her uncle gave her that shirt.’ Trent’s flummoxed mind latched onto this rememberance in its desperate search for rational purchase. ‘She loves that shirt because her uncle gave it to her.’ Along with the thought came a ludicrous sense of purpose as Trent marveled at the fact that somehow the shirt had survived thus far through the bizarre ordeal, and it seemed to Trent like making sure the shirt survived all the way through was a damn noble undertaking. First Sarah placed her raised her hands, which had been laying limply at her sides, and placed them gently on top of the bulging shelf of her chest still covered by the shirt, and then she traced the bulk of each breast bringing her hands to the swells of fleshing pushing out of the confines of the shirt. ‘Jesus Christ, her hands are so small.’ Trent was stricken by the image. Then Sarah made to lift the massive breasts from their perch atop her lap, and this snapped Trent back to conscious reality.

“Whoa, don’t!” Trent darted over to Sarah’s bedside, arms outstretched cautiously.

“Oh no.” Sarah muttered again to herself in a pitiful whimper as she succeeded in doing little more than making her dainty hands nearly vanish in the softness of her bosom. Trent wondered idly if they were as heavy as they looked.

“Hey, let’s get that shirt off so it doesn’t tear or anything.” As he spoke, Trent registered how very much like a line it sounded. ‘Hey baby, why don’t you take off your clothes and stay a while?’ And yet, Trent also registered how very little like a line it felt. His mind was hazy, and it wouldn’t be until later that Trent realized that his fixation on preserving the shirt had been some sort of coping mechanism. Regardless, Sarah still didn’t seem to be hearing him at all. Instead she sat, boobs resting heavily in her lap, hands pressing lightly into each one, and a dazed expression on her face.

“Sarah. Hey. Sarah, look at me.” Trent first snapped his fingers, then clapped his hands lightly near Sarah’s ear before finally gently turning her head around to face him.

“Sarah, just look at me.” Her eyes cleared up a little and she looked into Trent’s own. “Let’s get that shirt off so it doesn’t get ruined okay? You don’t want it to get ruined.” Trent spoke solemnly, and gazed fixedly into Sarah’s eyes while he waited to see her reaction. For a moment he thought she was still tuning him out, but then she nodded. She wriggled around a little to gather up the hem of her shirt, and then made as if she were about to peel it up over her head, but then she stopped and looked up at Trent.

“Wait, you won’t, like, laugh or scream or anything?” Sarah’s eyes were still swimming in tears, but they hadn’t begun to spill quite yet.

“What the hell? No? Are you serious?” Trent barked vexed laughter despite himself. “Why in the world would I possibly laugh or scream at you?”

“Well fucking look at me! I might laugh or scream at myself!” Sarah rounded on him, genuine frustration burning in her face and her voice.

“Okay, well then shame on you. Don’t be so judgmental.” At first Sarah just glared at Trent, but then she surprised him by laughing.

“Judgmental? Are you fucking serious?” Sarah’s laughter seemed genuine, but it was tinged with a sort of mania that Trent didn’t care for. The tears finally began to run down her cheeks.

“Oh, what the fuck is happening?” She said this last with a tone of utter perplexity, and her eyes shifted back down toward her own chest.

“I don’t know what the fuck is happening. But let’s just take it one step at a time, okay?” Trent bent lower and kissed Sarah’s head.

“Let’s get that shirt off before it gets ruined. You love that shirt, and the last thing you need right now is to ruin it for no reason.” The smile Sarah yielded nearly broke Trent’s heart, though it had flashed across her face for only an instant before she resumed peeling the shirt over her head.

There was a foreboding sound of rending threads, and so Sarah was forced to painstakingly roll the hem of the shirt up and over the enormous swell of her boobs to avoid tearing it. Once the hem escaped the wider expanse of Sarah’s chest, it was easy enough to pull off the rest of the way. As Trent held the shirt up to neatly fold it and set it aside, he saw how badly stretched the lower regions of it had become. The shirt had always technically been too small, at least for as long as Trent had known Sarah. Apparently it had been a gift when Sarah was younger, and once she had grown ‘too old’ or ‘too cool’ to rock Kermit the Frog then Sarah had conscripted the shirt to serve near full-time as her designated sleeping shirt.

Turning back towards Sarah, Trent was frankly dumbstruck by what he saw. The twin bulges of Sarah’s breasts hung ponderously from her chest and pooled in a heap atop her lap. Their heavy softness was evident by the manner in which they spread wide at the points where they met the very tops of her thighs. They looked somewhat malformed, no longer bearing the pretty perkiness to which he had been accustomed, but he couldn’t readily determine if that was owed to deformity or just the effect of being pressed into her lap as they presently were. A great, rasping sob racked Sarah’s torso, and Trent tore his eyes away from the massive breasts as they began to jostle and shake in rhythm with her continued sobs.

She didn’t appear to be crying, or at least not the bawling tears that usually accompanied sobs. Though her cheeks still shined with streaks of moisture, little of it was new, and Trent felt momentarily frightened because Sarah’s sobs sounded more like choking than crying – as though she were gasping for breath after being held under water for too long. Then Trent realized that she was hyperventilating, and he sprung up, looking around madly for a bag to breath into. It had been so long since anyone had been routinely coming and going from this dorm that there was absolutely nothing on hand.

“Shit.” Trent said, raising his hand to rub his forehead. “Shit. Fuck. Shit.” This did little to remedy the problem. Then he moved back over and sat on the bed alongside Sarah, putting his arm around her. “Sarah, cup your hands and breath. See what I’m doing?” Trent cupped his hands together with his arm still wrapped around Sarah’s shoulder, so that his hands were held out just in front of Sarah’s face. “Cup together like this, and breath into your hands.” Sarah raised her hands to her mouth, cupped them together, and then began to breath raspily into them. “Good.” Trent said soothingly, now try to hold your breath for 10 seconds.” Sarah continued breathing in rapid bursts for a moment, then she took a deeper breath and held it. “Good. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Sev-“ Sarah’s gasping breath interrupted Trent’s counting. “That’s fine, hey, let’s try again.” Sarah took another deep breath. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Good, not breath out slowly.” Sarah exhaled more smoothly. “Okay, now again.”

And so they repeated a few times until Sarah had calmed down and gotten her breathing back under control. Trent kept his arm wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her close to him as they sat in silence for a while – both of their minds racing. Finally Sarah broke the silence.

“I don’t know what in the world I’m going to do.” Her voice was flat, and she kept staring vacantly toward the foot of her bed.

“You don’t have to do anything except eat.” Trent felt confident that he had never sounded more like his own mother than in that very moment.

“I mean, what in the fuck am I even going to say to people?” Sarah looked at Trent now, nonplussed. For a moment Trent considered spilling the beans that she really wouldn’t have to say much because it seemed that most everyone already knew what had happened – though they probably didn’t really believe it just yet. But then Trent thought better of it.

“You’ve got a quick wit, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He gave a wry smile, hoping against hope that it might be reciprocated. Instead, Sarah just rolled her eyes and looked over at the now-cold bowl of noodles Trent had brought with him. ‘Would’ve liked a smile better, but an eye roll is still better than the nothing I was getting’ Trent mused.

“Have you ever had cold Ramen?” Sarah asked, still staring at the bowl. Trent glanced over at the bowl as well.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” He responded. “I can make you a fresh batch if you’d like. Or I can get something else instead?”

“I dare you to eat some.” Sarah’s voice was still flat, and she continued to stare vacantly toward the bowl. Trent didn’t answer at first, instead staring at Sarah with a bewildered expression on his face. It seemed to Trent that she felt his stare, because soon her vacant expression contorted into a jeering smile.

“Uh, no. I think I’m good.” Trent responded finally.

“Pussy.” Sarah broke up after trying to keep a straight face for a few seconds, and wrapped her arms around Trent’s torso for a hug as she laughed. Trent hugged her back, and laid back against her pillows. There was a softness mashing against a shocking majority of his torso, followed by an even more shocking weight as Sarah’s right breast lay partially atop his side as she huddled up against him. Finally Sarah’s laughter died down a little.

“Sorry, I made myself laugh.” She said as she got herself back under control.

“I gathered.” Trent responded, still amused himself. Then Sarah lifted her head slightly and looked up at Trent’s face with a serious expression.

“I love you.” She spoke the words with such sincerity that it made Trent feel somewhat untethered from reality – as if he were floating.

“I love you too.” He didn’t think it sounded so sincere coming from him, but he hoped very much that she knew he meant it. “I missed you.” He added. Sarah smiled softly.

“I missed you too.” Then she turned her head to lay against his chest and hugged him tighter, the bulk of her breasts made the hug less familiar but no less endearing, and Trent returned it gratefully enough. They lay intertwined for several minutes more – they weren’t sure how long. Trent had nearly nodded off to sleep when Sarah’s voice woke him up.

“Pizza.”

Trent looked around in a daze, only partially awake.

“Um. What?” He said, reaching around her head to rub his palms against his face.

“I want pizza.” Sarah said after Trent lowered his hands and re-engaged their hug. Trent looked down at her, and smiled.

“Then let’s get pizza.”
 
IX
Had water ever felt so good? For her money, Sarah certainly didn’t believe it had. Having already thoroughly rinsed all the suds and residue from her body, Sarah remained in the shower moreso for the pleasure than the utility now. The water was delightfully warm, and the tight space of the shower stall, which had perplexed and irritated Sarah when she first arrived in Japan, now felt incredibly cozy as it stood full of steam. Though her mind reeled with half-formed pangs of dread and despair at her bizarre situation, Sarah willed those feelings to remain suppressed so that she could enjoy the simple pleasure of feeling clean and pleasantly warm. At first she was pointedly aware of the fact that she was manufacturing an “empty head,” but after a time she unconsciously lapsed into genuine calmness and her mind idly daydreamed.

Sarah wasn’t sure how much time elapsed during her fugue, but the sound of a door slamming down the hall pulled her back to reality with a harsh suddenness that put her body back on edge. All of a sudden the pleasant warmth of her steamy shower felt more like sticky heat, and she felt the discomfort particularly where the undersides of her breasts rested heavily against her torso. Then the dread returned in full force.

‘At least Trent is here’ Sarah soothed herself with the thought as she moved to shut off the water in her shower. His reaction to this strange turn of events had been remarkably placating thus far. When he first noticed the tell-tale bulges hiding within Sarah’s disheveled bedding, Trent had borne an expression of utter shock which plunged an icy stake into Sarah’s heart. She had been convinced he was repulsed at seeing the strange transformation her body had undertaken during her lengthy illness. Yet Trent had summarily altered his expression into the familiar warm concern that she had come to appreciate as a “distinctly Trent” look, and no such repulsion had clouded his face since – not even after he had helped her to climb out of her bed for the first time after their pizza had arrived.

Their conversation had meandered in their typical mindlessly entertaining fashion as Trent caught Sarah up to speed on the goings-on of their chums abroad – broken up occasionally by Trent trying to get Sarah to open up about whatever the illness she had endured had been, and the swelling it had wrought upon Sarah’s chest, but Sarah redirected the conversation each time. This wasn’t something she was ready to address head-on quite yet, even as the burden made itself plainly evident by the literal weight that tugged at her body. Soon the pizza arrived, and Sarah decided that enough was enough: it was time to assess the damage.

A useful personal skill that Sarah had adopted from her mother was that of self-motivating. Sarah had developed this internal system of processing chores, tasks, deadlines, and anything else she didn’t much care to do into a rewards system. When there was something Sarah wanted, she co-opted it into being a reward for her completing whatever pressing task lay before her that she didn’t want to complete. This had gotten her through numerous household chores, homework assignments, projects, appointments, and Sarah was struck by the notion that it would do just fine for the present issue as well. Because God damn did she want that pizza.

Thus when Trent returned with the aromatic box clutched in his hands, Sarah cut off the “who’s hungry?” he had been asking to issue a command: “Trent I need you to help me up.” For a moment, Trent merely stood gaping at her, his brow furrowed.

“Uh, I mean are you sure?” His voice betrayed his incredulity.

“I need to get out of this bed. Like now.” Sarah injected some moxie into her voice that she certainly did not feel. Trent cast his eyes to the ground for a moment.

“Okay, well are you sure that’s smart? I mean, if you need my help to get up then maybe that means you shouldn’t be getting up, right?” Trent’s expression changed and Sarah got the impression that he felt that he had just made an excellent point. This infuriated her with an unexpected ferocity.

“Trent. Damn it.” Sarah brought her palms to her forehead for a moment as if trying to literally collect her thoughts before she continued. When she looked back up at Trent, he looked fearful. ‘Good’ she thought. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I don’t mean I need your help because I’m too weak to move. I mean that I need your help because I would LIKE to have your help.” At this, Trent’s expression faltered. Sarah continued. “I don’t feel weak because my body is still sick or whatever, I feel weak because I haven’t eaten properly in weeks, and I think I’m just about waterlogged with sleep.” Sarah became conscious that she was raising her voice and stopped speaking for a moment to reign herself in. “I’m not angry. Listen…” Sarah stopped again, but this time because she was hesitant to speak the truth. That “distinctly Trent” look of concern was back on his face, and it melted Sarah’s resolve. “I need your help because I’m lethargic and obviously I’m not used to how much heavier my boobs are yet.” Sarah felt her face flush. “Please just help me, okay?”

Without a word, Trent put the pizza box down on the side table and walked over to Sarah’s bedside with his arms extended. Sarah looked up at him, and then down at the unfamiliar fleshy appendages that she still failed to recognize as her own breasts. With a grunt, Sarah shifted herself to the side of the bed, letting her feet dangle until she felt the purchase of the cold floor against her toes. Her boobs felt immensely heavy from that small movement alone, and Sarah momentarily considered calling this off, but she understood that there would be ramifications at doing so. Trent already looked about 4 seconds away from running to get Yumi or someone else to come rescue Sarah, and she understood that admitting defeat would ensure that fate. She raised her hands and clasped Trent’s forearms near the joint where they met his elbows, and then looked up at him.

“Ready?” He asked, his face impassive now.

“Ready.” Sarah replied.

“Okay. One. Two. Threee.” This last was extended into a grunt as Trent hoisted Sarah up from her waist. With Trent spotting her, Sarah was relieved to find it far less difficult to get to her feet than she had feared it would be only moments before. But then the immense heaviness settled fully on her own body as she steadied herself on her feet, and she felt it tugging uncomfortably at her back and shoulders. Trent kept his eyes firmly affixed to Sarah’s face, apparently waiting for her to collapse under her own weight. She remained steady.

“What the fuck?” Sarah muttered to herself with a joyless laugh as she felt the distinctly unpleasant sensation of her breasts resting against her bony hip bones and the bulwark of her bosom trying to pull her forward. That was when Sarah decided she needed to see a mirror to truly assess the damage. Without warning, she stepped forward and Trent narrowly managed to keep her from toppling forward.

“Whoa, geez! Sorry, I’m like off-balance now. I think I’m whoozy or something.” Sarah sounded unlike herself. Trent regarded her with an amused expression.

“Whoozy huh? You don’t think it might just be the giant tits hanging off your chest?” The bluntness of the comment first shocked, then tickled Sarah and she began to laugh despite herself – though the laugh was decidedly sparse of humor.

“Yeah, I guess that might be part of it. I’m heading to the mirror.” This sounded strange, even to Sarah’s own ears, as though she were sharing a rendezvous point with another driver in a caravan or something. Her mind was reeling and distracted and everything felt somewhat unnatural as a result.

“Alright well, let’s go then.” Trent responded amiably enough, but there was a stilted quality to his voice. Neither of them seemed adequately prepared to address the elephants in the room. To her dismay, Trent took Sarah’s arm and sidled up beside her like a boyscout aiding an elderly woman crossing the street.

“Jesus Christ, Trent, I’m not a fucking invalid.” Sarah had meant for this to come across as a light-hearted jab but it sounded rather hysterical – even a bit hostile – instead. The harshness of her tone caused Trent to recoil, and there was an awkward beat.

“Sorry, just didn’t want you to fall is all.” Trent’s voice was bumbling now, and Sarah was hating every second of this. Neither one of them seemed to know what to say next, so Sarah decided to embrace the silence.

Trying to hide just how greatly she struggled to maintain her poise and dignity, Sarah lumbered against the prodigious weight that hung in front of her. At first her steps were jerky as she sought a new equilibrium with the unfamiliar bulk, but then her body managed to adjust and settle into balance. She felt the marked curve of her spine as she leaned back against the weight of her bosom, then saw it as she came into view of the mirror that hung on the far wall of the dorm room. Sarah was reminded of her cousin Tommy trying to lug a large box into his family’s new house on their moving day several years before. They had been young – Tommy had been 11 at the time – and he was rather small for his age on top of it all. Nevertheless, Tommy had been determined to show he could lift the big stuff like his older brother, Eric, and Sarah had watched him struggle to bring that massive box from the truck to the house. Tommy’s body curved back at an odd angle to counterbalance the apparently tremendous weight of whatever was in that box, and if it hadn’t been for Tommy’s dad happening upon Tommy’s arduous path right around the front patio, Sarah was sure Tommy would have dropped it. Sarah’s body was similarly curved at an odd angle as she braced herself against her massive breasts, and she consciously straightened up a bit when she saw it, feeling a twinge in the muscles of her upper back as they took on the brunt of the weight as a result. Then she regarded her breasts themselves.

“Oh my God.” Sarah muttered to herself unconsciously. That surreality washed over he anew and her brain flatly rebelled against what her eyes were seeing. First of all, there was no way that boobs could be so big. Second of all, there was certainly no way that boobs could be so big on a body so small. And third of all, there was absolutely no way in hell that boobs so big could be on Sarah’s body. She was small-breasted – she always had been.

Each breast looked to be nearly as wide as Sarah’s torso – which, petite though she was, was far too wide for a breast to be in Sarah’s estimation. They met in the center of her chest, forming a rather deep cleavage, from their sheer bulk, and seemed to be fighting for space across Sarah’s narrow torso. As a result, the outer flanks of each tit flared out beyond the confines of Sarah’s torso, partially obscuring her arms as they law limply at her sides. What struck Sarah most of all was how fat they were. Strangely enough, Sarah realized that this notion seemed to horrify her most of all.

Sarah had borne a phobia about being fat ever since she was a child. There had been this woman who lived three doors down from her childhood home – Ms. Alldredge – who had been a shut in. Though she was sweet as could be, her diet largely consisted of foods that were equally as sweet. Ms. Alldredge was an enormous woman – the fattest that Sarah had ever seen even to this day. Her best guess was that Ms. Alldredge may have tipped the scales at around 350 pounds, and she was a rather short woman at that. Something about the shuffling way that Ms. Alldredge moved, the labored breath that seemed to literally fight its way out of her lungs, and the jiggling, rippling flesh that caked her entire body unnerved Sarah on a visceral level. Ms. Alldredge had died quite suddenly one summer day, her parents told Sarah it had been a heart attack, and Sarah had been ashamed to feel some vague sense of relief. Then the nightmares came.

Ever since, Sarah had carried a deep-seated fear of becoming like Ms. Alldredge and that fear had manifested in some borderline unhealthy exercise and dieting habits. Now Sarah stood looking at two great, wobbling tits that looked like they would be far more at home on Ms. Alldredge’s enormous body than Sarah’s own. They were dense, fleshy, and rippled and quaked with even the most minute shift. The lower lobes settled heavily on either side of Sarah’s naval, just above her hips. Sarah was struck by a sense of cosmic good luck that she had felt compelled to stock up on aloe vera and lotion to fight the burning, itchy sensation when it had first taken hold weeks ago, because she wasn’t sure how else the skin of her breasts had held up against so much apparent stretching and pressure amidst this colossal growth. The stretch marks adorning each boob were a testament to the battle each had apparently raged against whatever strange development had taken place.
Raising her hands to her boobs, Sarah lightly caressed and then squeezed as though testing to see if they were actually there. The skin was soft, the flesh was yielding, and the reality was undeniable. Sarah wasn’t small-breasted anymore. Of course, this had been the case for many months now. In fact, Sarah had graduated to large-breasted some time ago. Now she had surpassed even that qualifier – she wasn’t “large-breasted” she was something else. ‘A fucking freak’ she thought, morosely. To be sure, there was little doubt that “Sarah’s massive tits” would be her most notable feature now. That thought was surprisingly depressing to Sarah.

“I need a shower. Like bad.” Sarah spoke without much emotion. Trent looked at her with an expression of surprise, as though he had expected her to say something else. His mouth hung open, as though he were about to speak, but then he closed it and looked back toward the mirror. They made eye-contact though the glass.

“Let me just say that I love you, and you’re beautiful, and this is all gonna be okay. I promise.” Trent wrapped his arm around Sarah as he spoke and hugged her sideways, still looking at her in the mirror. Sarah was struck by how unprepared and how devastatingly touched by Trent’s sincerity she felt in that moment. Her eyes burned with tears and she turned and gave Trent a kiss.

“I love you too.” She said, feeling it very strongly. It seemed to manifest in a warmth that radiated from her core, filling her with butterflies. It burned as she disrobed in the bathroom and turned the water nozzle in the shower to let the water heat up. As she had lathered her body wash to strip away the grimey film of bed-sweat that coated her body, the tingling warmth continued to spread and she felt an itch. This itch was different than the burning itch that had racked her body during her growth spell, but no less overwhelming. Soon her mind was consumed by it, even as she worked to lather the body wash underneath and around the great circumference of each enormous boob, actually needing to replenish bodywash as she did so. This didn’t bother Sarah, as her thoughts were otherwise occupied. Had water ever felt so good? Sarah vacillated back and forth as she stood there relishing the coziness of the shower, and it wasn’t until she was in the midst of drying herself off that she found resolution: she needed Trent more strongly than she felt she ever had before. And she would have him now.
 
Your writing style is incredible. Thank you! Great depth and pacing, and the character development is so good. You write Trent to be really relatable and I love your description of Sarah's breasts as they grow.
 
I get excited every time I see an update here! This is just fantastic. I love how she doesn't really like her breasts, and is struggling with them like a normal woman... it actually reads like a real account! Not just some smut piece.
 
X
Not for the first time in their relationship, it occurred to Trent that Sarah had been in the bathroom for a long time. A distressingly long amount of time. While his brain tried to categorize the thought as “routine” given how many times he had been stuck sitting in Sarah’s bedroom waiting for her to exit the shower in the past, but Trent couldn’t quite shake the half-baked concerns that there might be something wrong. After all, she had literally just gotten up and around in earnest for the first time in weeks. A vision of Sarah lying unconscious on the floor of the bathroom refused to dissipate from his mind, and yet he couldn’t seem to form the words to call out and make sure she was alright, afraid that his concerns might prove true.

Whereas before 45 minutes had elapsed with a jarring suddenness, now Trent felt each and every second that passed as he perked up his hears for any detectable signs of life from within the bathroom. Between two checks of his watch, during which Trent had felt certain at least fifteen minutes had elapsed, he was startled to find that only three minutes had passed. Soon Trent’s mind was full to bursting with unpleasant thoughts and images, and he was literally gathering breath to call out to Sarah, when suddenly the doorknob jingled open, light pouring out briefly before being extinguished, and then Sarah’s still-damp head poked out from the within the bathroom.

She stared at Trent, a somewhat vacant expression on her face. Then her expression twisted a bit into a grimace of uncertainty before she broke the eye contact. Again, Trent pulled in air, this time to ask if something was wrong, and again he was interrupted. This time by Sarah fully opening the door and stepping outside of the bathroom. Adorned in the silky panties she had taken with her into the bathroom nearly an hour ago. Nothing else.

At first Trent could do little more than gape at Sarah, feeling a bizarre mix of shock-tinged arousal at the sight. Though he had seen Sarah’s now overabundant breast flesh before she had showered, this somehow seemed completely different. Before, he had been seeing them with distinct apprehension – feeling the shocked horror emanating from Sarah like heat from a furnace. Further, Sarah had been decidedly unkempt: her hair had been a matted rat’s nest, her skin had been sallow, and shined with an oily sheen of sweat. Now things were plainly different. Not only did Sarah look considerably healthier – her hair washed, and her skin looking far healthier – but there was a completely different energy radiating from her as well, and it caused Trent to see her anew.

Sarah’s immense breasts hung ponderously from her flushed chest, and they swayed gently with her hurried breath. It looked to Trent like they were trying to fully engulf Sarah’s lithe body as they pressed heavily against her torso. Their softness caused them to spread against contact, and their heaviness exacerbated the problem. The result was that each boob jutted out from where they lay framing her bellybutton, spreading to meet one another in the middle of her torso, and further spreading around beyond the confines as well. Suddenly Trent ached to touch Sarah’s enormous orbs, to feel their bulky softness contort against and around his own body as he and Sarah pressed desperately against one another in the throes of passion.

For a moment Trent and Sarah merely stared into each other’s eyes. A palpable tension hung suspended in the air, creating a sort of ozone that Trent could almost smell and taste. As usual, it was Trent’s resolve that broke first. Rushing across the room in 3 lengthy steps, Trent’s mouth found Sarah’s with a delirious familiarity. It seems as though nerve endings stood at attention all along Trent’s body – he felt his arms break out in goose-flesh, his knees shook, and there was a distinctly pleasant shiver that traipsed along his spine. Even his tongue seemed to tingle within his mouth, and Trent found himself shuddering as Sarah’s hands slid and groped along his back and buttocks. His every sense was heightened in ecstasy. Trent would frequently return to this memory in the years to come, dulled by the passage of time, and he would regard this encounter as a sort of high point against which all subsequent romantic encounters would be contrasted. Rarely did they even compare.

Her skin, freshly washed and still warm from the shower, was exuberantly soft and aromatic. Engulfed by the enormous swell of Sarah’s breasts, Trent was nearly overwhelmed with feeling. A radiant heat enraptured Trent, and his hands explored eagerly. Trent’s fingers spread out against the pliant flesh, and he was shocked to see that he lost sight of his hands altogether as they sank into Sarah’s breasts. Soon he began to paw at her voraciously and Sarah moved backward onto the bed. She lay before him, her breasts sliding haphazardly around her torso before Sarah managed to coral them. The jiggling flesh was mesmerizing, and the effect only strengthened when Trent finally mounted her.

As Trent slid into her, he was overcome by a feeling of such sweet satisfaction that he was nearly lost to it immediately. This was the feeling Trent would chase in all subsequent sexual encounters – it felt as though his entire body was blissfully aflame. Such was his pleasure that Trent had to squeeze his eyes shut, lest the sight of Sarah’s enormous quaking breasts push him over the edge. Tensing his body, Trent spent an agonizing 10 seconds trying to catch hold of himself. Finally Trent regained composure and began to thrust, relishing the sensations.

It was inevitable that the blissful passion couldn’t last – the nature of such pleasure is necessarily fleeting. Trent tried to savor every moment, but found himself pushed over the precipice of climax when he saw one particularly forceful thrust cause Sarah’s right breast, which she held in a huddled mass atop her torso so that she could squeeze at her own nipple, jarred free of her grip and smacked against Sarah’s face, momentarily smothering it. Trent came with such wonderful force that his breath caught in his throat and his entire body tensed up against the feeling. He left his rapidly softening member resting inside Sarah’s warmth for a few seconds longer, and gave an involuntary shudder as the still-sensitive nerve endings gave one last strong tingle when he finally slid out of her. Both Trent and Sarah were still out of breath.

Ordinarily Trent was quick to spring up and fetch a Kleenex or toilet paper for Sarah to clean up with – always paranoid about the possibility of pregnancy despite Sarah’s use of birth control. However this time Trent allowed himself to enjoy the sweet afterglow of their love-making. It had never been so wonderfully fulfilling as that before, painfully short though it had been. After a time, Trent raised his head from where it lay on the bed and looked at Sarah. She was already gazing at him with a warm smile on her face.

Trent felt love for her, a heart-breaking sort of love that seemed to emanate from depths he hadn’t known he even possessed. Though he had intended to tell her that he loved her, the feeling was so strong in that moment that words failed him altogether and so he just returned her smile and hoped that she was feeling the same way. In that moment, nothing else mattered to either of them. Not the troublesome mystery of what had prompted Sarah’s peculiar over-development, nor the forth-coming fumbling confrontations and explanations to the outside world. There would be time for all of that, but not in that moment. That moment was only for them, and Trent and Sarah shared it happily enough.
 
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XI
Over these last few weeks, Sarah had begun to regard herself as a connoisseur of muted glances. These were the furtive looks that other people shoot at those things which they find abnormal, bizarre, or otherwise noteworthy, when it would be too great a social faux pas to outright stare in frank fascination. Of course Sarah had likewise become familiar with this latter response as well, but she wasn’t able to delude herself with the notion that she was ultra-perceptive for recognizing these reactions in her peers, and thus it wasn’t fun to take stock of such reactions.

Sarah took note of the shifting eyes, the obfuscated craning necks, and the secretive nudging and pointing that seemed to follow her every where she went now. At first she had been mortified, frustrated, and downright hurt by these reactions, but she quickly found them far more tolerable when she made a game out of it. Besides, she likewise quickly found that these furtive responses were far less uncomfortable when compared to the blatant staring, pointing, or even amateur photography that she encountered otherwise.

Fancying herself as a sort of Sherlock Holmes, Sarah took stock of these furtive glances and gestures as they occurred, and then made a game out of deducing the motivations of that particular individual. Some people were horrified, others disgusted, others intrigued, and others downright fascinated – so many responses to Sarah’s swollen chest. Part of what allowed Sarah to move on from the initial frustration with the sudden uptick in attention was an innate understanding that it really wasn’t personal at all. Her body, for better or worse, had become incredibly abnormal. In fact, Sarah herself still had difficulty looking at herself from the neck-down in mirrors or other reflective surfaces because the tremendous disparity between her lithe body and enormous bosom still shocked and vaguely concerned her. Nevertheless, Sarah had staunchly refused any and all suggestions that she vacate the remainder of the study program and take a waiver back to the US for medical treatment. Troubling though these developments were, Sarah took solace in the fact that she felt great, if not burdened by the weight of her breasts and the associated lifestyle changes they imposed. Gone were all the negative symptoms, and though she was just as concerned as anyone about her development, Sarah did not think that abandoning this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity was warranted. Perhaps if the development had been a bit more debilitating, but Sarah had been rather fortunate that her growth had been sated at a tolerable level, despite being firmly out of the range of normalcy.

Yumi had come first, softly rapping on the door of Sarah’s dorm room some 20 minutes into the lingering afterglow of Sarah and Trent’s delectable tryst. At first Sarah had wanted to simply ignore Yumi’s knocking and feign slumber, but then she rode an impulse to rip the bandaid off all at once – she would have to face public scrutiny for her bizarre breast growth eventually. There had been a shocked relief when Sarah initially opened the door.

“Sarah! You’re up!” Yumi’s face was a hilarious rictus of benign surprise, it was clear that she had fully anticipated just another routine check-in. “Are you feeling better then?” Her voice broke a little on the last word, trailing off distractedly as her eyes gave Sarah the ole ‘once-over.’ Yumi’s eyes settled upon Sarah’s prodigious bosom, lingered, and then pointedly shifted back up to hold Sarah’s own gaze. Sarah made a conscious decision to ignore the obvious shift in Yumi’s expression from shocked relief to only shock.

“Back at it like I never left!” Sarah responded with a good-humored grin. She could feel Trent’s bemused reaction boring into her from where he lay across her mattress. Yumi smiled back, uncertainly, clearly not understanding Sarah’s expression. Nonetheless, she seemed to read the gist of it from Sarah’s sunny tone of voice.

“I am so happy that you are feeling better.” The thick accent made Yumi’s ‘happy’ sound like ‘hoppy,’ which Sarah continued to find just so very charming.

“I’m happy about it too. It would be a shame to waste an opportunity like this after all.” At Sarah’s reply, Yumi’s smile faltered a bit and her eyes quickly darted back down toward Sarah’s breasts, which hung heavily between the two of them. Sarah didn’t care for that flicker in Yumi’s expression one bit, as it stoked the fires of paranoia she had been painstakingly keeping at bay that Yumi and the powers-that-be within the program would unilaterally decide that it was in the best interests of Sarah’s health to send her home for medical evaluation in light of her recent developments. But then Yumi’s smile regained its luster, and then some.

“Yes, I agree. The group will be going for ice cream soon, would you like to join?” Now Yumi’s expression indicated that she fully expected Sarah to politely decline – maybe because she was still too tired, or otherwise just not quite feeling up to it. Sarah responded moreso out of indignation than anything else.

“I would LOVE to. Just let me get myself put together. When are you guys going?” Sarah saw Trent shift abruptly on the bed in the periphery of her vision. Once again Yumi’s smile faltered, and the clear look of polite surprise adorned her face instead.

“I think 30 minutes.” The words were spoken with the uncertainty of a college freshman discussing upper-level course work. They almost sounded more like a question than an answer.

“Sounds great! We will be there. Meet you in the lobby?” Again Yumi seemed a bit perplexed upon hearing Sarah’s use of ‘we,’ and then she craned her head around the doorframe and found Trent sitting on the bed. She waved enthusiastically.

“Hi Yumi.” Trent used the same saccharine tone of voice he borrowed from the movie Deadpool 2 when the titular character greets another character named Yukio. Something about the familiarity of Trent’s trademark reference-based humor washed Sarah in a wave of warm nostalgia.

“See you downstairs!” Sarah stepped back and grabbed the door handle, indicating that the conversation was over, and Yumi took the hint in stride.

“See you soon!” She replied, turning to head back down the hallway toward her own room.

That pleasant sense of nostalgia was summarily wiped out by Trent pointedly asking if Sarah thought it was a good idea for Sarah to go out so soon after recovering from her lengthy fugue. Sarah made short-work of Trent’s challenge by pointing out that he hadn’t seemed quite as concerned about her recovery when he had been “laying pipe” half an hour before. She made a habit of speaking crudely about their sex-capades, usually because she found Trent’s scandalized reactions to be quite funny, but in this particular case she had hoped it would quickly shut him up. And she was pleased to find that she was correct. Trent dropped the subject abruptly, with a mild sour expression upon his face.

Still, Sarah found the sweetness of that small victory marred considerably by the disquiet she felt at Yumi’s general reaction to Sarah’s swollen chest. Despite her own horror at seeing the extent of the damage, there had been this small kernel of irrationality wedged into Sarah’s brain that hoped that somehow this whole business would just blow over. That people would simply take in stride that Sarah had grown from certifiably flat-chested to having tits so big that they hung heavily just atop her hips, totally obscuring her entire torso, and all within a span of maybe a year? After all, people had been remarkably unphased by the growth Sarah had undertaken prior to this recent fugue. And Sarah’s boobs had most definitely been rather outside the realm of normalcy even then, hadn’t they? Particularly given her petite frame.

Yet that remote hope of casually rejoining the world-at-large was all but extinguished by the response Sarah received from Yumi. Even sweet Yumi, who nary expressed the merest trace of negativity could not hide the shock of seeing Sarah’s ridiculous breasts. That remote hope was further beaten into submission when Sarah joined her peers in the lobby for their ice cream excursion half an hour later, and then buried without even a memorial placard by the time Sarah returned to her dorm later that evening.

They had been everywhere. In the faces of her peers, the chaperones, the employee of the dairy shop when he passed Sarah her mochi, and the random passersby on the streets to and from the dairy shop. Muted glances. Shocked expressions. Morbid curiosity. Sarah had already grown resignedly accustomed to stares from other people, as they began around the time she graduated to a D-cup bra from Victoria’s Secret, and only increased in frequency and intensity as Sarah’s bust continued its aggressive campaign for expansion. Frankly Sarah had come to somewhat privately enjoy that attention, so long as it came with a certain degree of tact. Her follower numbers on Instagram had been steadily growing alongside her bra size, and though the growth had been a source of concern, Sarah couldn’t help feeling a dim and perverse sense of satisfaction at the attention.

This was different. Gone were the glints of fascination and lust, or envy. These glances were more of the variety that one might spare a burn victim, or a person with some sort of deformity. They were secretive, and strangely mournful. Sarah was reminded of her grandfather’s funeral a few years earlier – as her family lead the recession out of the church at the heel of the ceremony, Sarah had been uncomfortably aware of the sympathetic prying eyes as they watched her and her parents slowly shuffling up the center aisle. Or if there was a note of lustful fascination, it no longer felt exhilarating. The fascinated excitement was no longer conveyed through furtive glances, but in lewd prolonged staring, as if the person thought ‘well, this is my only chance to see a pair of tits this gigantic, so I might as well make it count.’ And so they did, much to Sarah’s chagrin.

Sarah’s forced dormancy on social media continued unchanged, even as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months following Sarah’s return from her fugue. Her parents voiced their concern at her having gone M.I.A. the month prior and failing to send the customary “monthly newsletter” that Sarah had routinely shared with them via email during the duration of her trip. At first she had fully intended to be transparent about what had occurred, but she lost her courage when finger tips met keyboard and she instead offered a lame explanation that the last month had been incredibly busy. Each of these best-laid plans were undone when the program uploaded pictures of their various adventures onto its official Instagram page, many of which included Sarah and her advanced bosom.

There was one photo of the group gathered in front of a famous historical monument, all posed with their hands behind their backs with wry grins upon their faces, and the immense shelf of Sarah’s boobs was plainly evident even in the purposely baggy t-shirt she had worn that day. Another was taken of only the girls, all dressed up for a special guest speaker event being held at the university, and Sarah had made the dire miscalculation that donning a cardigan over her over-taxed dress might obfuscate her situation a bit. Instead, the gargantuan forward projection of Sarah’s tits was made cartoonishly apparent by the abrupt contrast in fabric as Sarah stood in profile. Still another featured the group assembled in their summer-bests – mostly tank tops, cover ups, and the like – with the girls stooped over on the front row and the guys thrusting out their pecs in the back. The voluminous neckline of Sarah’s overlarge tank top allowed a tantalizing view into a great, fleshy cleavage that appeared every bit as deep as the cracks of dry earth one might find in the desert. The difference between Sarah’s form in her last personal post and these newer posts made by the program were stark in their quality and shocking in their content.

Sarah’s mother took notice and an email asking Sarah to return home came shortly thereafter. She tried in vain to quell her mother’s worry by insisting that it wasn’t as bad it may seem in those photos (“I have eyes, don’t I?” her mother had responded), and that it was something that could wait until the program came to its ordained conclusion (“Sarah, what if the problem gets worse before then?”), and finally that this experience was too important to Sarah to be given up, even in the face of this bizarre malady (“Sarah, your health ought to be the top priority.”). It had taken more than a week’s worth of back-and-forth, but finally Sarah’s mom seemed to step back from the edge. The email chain culminated in a specially-arranged phone call so that Sarah could speak directly to her mother. Though her voice remained frantic, and she oft-repeated the chorus that Sarah’s health was more important than this trip, by the end of the phone call her mother was considerably less adamant that Sarah return home right that instant. Sarah wanted to believe that she had given her mother some peace of mind about the situation, but she understood that it really came down to the fact that Sarah was an adult, and her mother couldn’t literally force her to return home if she did not want to.

Then came the frequent comments on Instagram. Sarah reflected on that comment made by her friend Janelle that seemed to have tipped off this whole ordeal, and her stomach felt sour. The comments appeared on her old posts, on friend’s posts, and even on the posts made by the program itself. They ranged from the humble and curt observation: “boobs,” to the wonderfully colorful “those are some healthy chest beefers.” Some insisted that she had victimized herself with horrendous plastic surgery, while others wondered why Sarah had not yet had the tumors removed. Then there were a few people making lucrative offers to model, and Sarah could do little more than laugh and pretend that she felt flattered rather than humiliated. Comments made on the program’s posts were promptly deleted, but this afforded Sarah little comfort. Instead all she could think about was whoever ran the social media on behalf of the program reading through all the various comments about the girl with the ridiculous tits.

It was only after wallowing in her humiliation and self-pity for a week or so that Sarah realized that it really didn’t do her any good either way. People weren’t going to change, and neither would her situation unless and until she obtained a breast reduction surgery. For a brief period she considered running home with her tail between her legs, as her mother had begged her to do. Just admit defeat, run home, and let some surgeon fix her right up as soon as was possible. But then Sarah realized that despite it all, she still genuinely felt like this opportunity was more important. It was incredibly unlikely, perhaps even impossible, for her to have another chance at a trip like this. Just the same way that moping did little to change Sarah’s circumstances, those circumstances did little to change the beauty of Japan, nor the excitement of their various studies, expeditions, and all the happy moments with Trent and her friends which connected it all together. Already she had lost a regrettable amount of time in her fugue, and how much more unfortunate would it be to sacrifice the rest just because she couldn’t blend into a crowd anymore? And so Sarah made a game out of it all, playing Sherlock Holmes to try and take some semblance of ownership and agency in the muted glances, outright staring, and disrespectful comments that plagued her. Sarah even felt there were moments where she was convinced that all of it rolled right off her back.
 
Loving all the detail to realism! I get super excited every time I see an update, even if there's no growth in this chapter.
 
So it's been a minute. I actually have a few more installments that I had finished before I abandoned the story. I'll post in hopes it motivates me to finish the damn story.

XII​

As he often did during his frantic morning commutes, Riku pondered what was the point of it all? Here he was, already caked in a thin veneer of sweat, trying to mask how out of breath he was, and with nothing to show for it other than he had once again managed to make the train he dreaded taking to work each morning. Unfortunately this wasn’t a particularly rare occurrence for Riku either.

Never much of a morning person, Riku still struggled to fit his morning routine into the confines of the narrow window of time he was willing to allow himself so as to sleep in as long as he possibly could. The result was that he had to breeze through the routine without any delay, lest he find himself late to the railway station. This particular morning Riku had lapsed into semi-conscious daydream in the shower and his usual 3-minute rinse had unintentionally taken 10 minutes instead. Other mornings had featured unintended ‘snoozes’ of the alarm, unexpected elevator malfunctions, or construction shutting down sidewalks, but the net result was the same: Riku huffing and puffing, either standing in a mob of bodies on the train or otherwise in a mob of bodies awaiting the next one, scripting a sympathetic excuse for his tardiness.

‘What is the point of this?’ Riku mused, feeling dejected and cranky. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to become a fisherman in some remote village. He’d still have to wake up way too early, but the commute would be considerably less harrowing. For a time, his mind lapsed into idle daydreams of standing in shallow water, casting nets, and feeling tired from honest labor rather than manic stress and anxiety.

Then Riku was stirred from his ruminations by the sound of uproarious laughter. He cast his eyes toward the source of the sound, vitriolic annoyance already brewing in his mind. It was far too early in the morning for such a sound. He found a group of foreigners, predominantly white, but there was one black kid and a couple were of medium-tone and of indeterminable ethnicity – Riku bore little insight when it came to race or ethnicity outside of those with which he was familiar.

The group was chattering away, chirping in the ropey cadence that he considered distinctly English. Many of Riku’s friends and colleagues had an affinity for the English language – it was rather fashionable at the moment – but Riku did not share the feeling. To his ear, English sounded slow, awkward, and elongated. His utter failure at even remotely learning the language over the course of his studies did little to sway that opinion. Riku simply couldn’t grasp the nuances, and that both perplexed and frustrated him deeply.

Though they weren’t in uniform, Riku was nonetheless quite sure they were students. The size of the group, paired with a few older adults with the unmistakable nervous energy of chaperones, gave off a distinct air of one of those study-abroad programs. Riku had a great deal of experience with such groups, living as close to the university as he did. They came and went, often loud and rather oafish, with regularity of the seasons. With a vague rueful interest, Riku watched the group, trying to decide if this batch came from Europe or the United States. He had a poor ear for the differences between the European dialects and the American dialects. ‘Where is a Sora when you need him?’ Riku thought, with a smile. Sora had an uncanny ability to place dialects and accents with a precision that was almost eerie.

All at once Riku became aware of how little he cared, and his interest waivered accordingly. He was just about to shift his eyes away from the group when one of the boys moved aside, opening a line of vision to the students behind him. There was a girl learning against the railing, her left arm raised to grasp one of the compartment’s slings for balance, and at first he didn’t understand what he was seeing. The contours of this girl’s physique were all wrong. Her face and the upraised arm were incredibly slender – even gaunt, Riku decided. Similarly, there were pallid twigs upon which she stood, curiously unbalanced. Yet the girl’s torso bulged oddly in shocking contrast. At first Riku considered that the girl might be pregnant, but the shape was all wrong for that. Further, Riku could see, even from across the compartment, that the bulging torso was quaking and jiggling with a fleshiness that pregnant bellies simply do not possess – at least on women so sickly thin.

Then the girl shifted a bit as one of her mates spoke to her, and Riku was shocked to see a deep, wobbling cleavage peering out of the neckline of the girl’s top. It was a sleeved-blouse made of an apparently soft fabric, and it couldn’t be more obvious how poorly the thing fit this girl, yet it did so in the oddest of ways. The sleeves were voluminous, swallowing the girl’s arms, and similarly the neckline, ordinarily rather high-cut and demure, was oversized. It was clear that this top was of a significantly larger size than the girl’s scrawny body called for, and yet the body of the blouse was pulled tight against massive, fleshy protuberances. Though it was maddeningly illogical, Riku saw that this girl’s breasts were astoundingly enormous – particularly in contrast to her sickly frame. Thus the girl had been forced to wear a blouse that was incredibly oversized in every other way, just so that it could adequately contain her bust.

Unfortunately for her, Riku could see that this still was bordering on insufficient. Yes, the blouse was pulled taught across the swell of her bosom, and there were evident swells of flesh made obvious in the harsh light of morning – illustrating with a cruel clarity the fact that whatever garment this girl had acquired to support her breasts was woefully undersized. Flesh poured out of the overtaxed cups, and stood out in sharp relief against the soft fabric of the blouse. Suddenly the shock of cleavage peering out of the neckline made a great deal of sense – the poor girl’s bra cut sharply into the flesh of her breasts, forcing the flesh on top outward and together to form a preposterous cleavage that likely would be visible in anything but a turtle-neck.

The bundled masses of flesh reciprocated each and every movement and shake of the train, and Riku found himself hypnotized by their constant movement. Yet he was not aroused by the sight. Though he enjoyed a nice pair of boobs as much as the next guy, the sight that jostled before him seemed like something else. Perhaps it was the pallor, or the rail-thin extremities, but there was something decidedly wrong with this image – something pathetic. Vague images of his hands disappearing into the boundless depths of the girl’s bosom stirred more sorrow than sexual arousal. At least in the moment. In the months to come, while Riku was lost to the throes of depravity that accompanies solitary pleasure, he would return to the image of the girl burdened by massive piles of titflesh and the memory would take on new tones to suit his desire.

Riku watched the girl, mesmerized by constantly shifting cleavage, until once again the crowd shifted and he lost sight of her. Only then did he take stock of the surrounding patrons and he realized just how many of his fellow travelers were likewise transfixed by the sight. He could still see a few people, apparently still sporting a line-of-sight, with their eyes still locked on the girl. How strange it was, such a sight.

When at least he made his way into the office, Riku still found himself dazedly reflecting on that odd girl. Her group had still been on the train when he had reached his stop, and though he had turned hoping for one last look, she had been blocked by a few of her peers. Later, during a break, Riku tried to describe the sighting to Yuuto, the closest thing he had to a friend at work, but Yuuto’s reaction clearly indicated that either he believed Riku to be exaggerating or perhaps pulling his leg altogether. This frustrated Riku in a surprisingly profound way, and he wished badly that he had a photograph to share with friends.

Instead the image only persisted in his mind, and in time Riku came to regard it as a sort of personal play thing.
 
Really looking forward to seeing this continue! :D Definitely an old favorite
 
Seriously. This and 'Overnight' are amazing. I looked up your name to see if you have a DeviantArt page, and apparently you do but no uploads? You should really upload these.
 
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