It wasn't that Doris didn't see the old man about to cross the driveway of the boutique's parking lot as she drove her Escalade over the sidewalk blocking his path. But she was in a hurry, and he clearly wasn't, hobbling along on his antique wooden staff, his hair and beard disheveled, his clothing rumpled.
She was late for Helen's poetry reading, having forgotten to buy a gift until the last moment. Besides, there was a good chance she would be on the road before the old man could even take two steps.
But then a flood of traffic seemed to come out of nowhere. Doris was trapped in the driveway, her SUV straddling the sidewalk. She bit her lower lip, looking for an entrance into the swarm of vehicles, almost forgetting the old man whose path she was blocking.
She was given an abrupt reminder of his presence as the ancient staff pounded three times on her window. She found herself staring into the intense face of the old man who seemed much taller suddenly, his eyes burning darkly.
"YOU ARE A COW!" he proclaimed, the extensive and expensive soundproofing of her vehicle completely impotent.
Doris shuddered and looked straight ahead, praying that the man wouldn't try to break her window with his staff. She hit the accelerator as soon as a tiny opening appeared in the traffic. The people she cut off honked at her, but she was away from the crazy old man.
By the time she arrived at Helen's extensive Tudor estate, Doris' fear had calmed and her ire was up. How dare he? How DARE he call her a cow? A Cow! She was Mrs. Doris Acerson! Wife of a wealthy industrialist! Noted philanthropist and community leader! She made a mental note to cancel her donation to the homeless shelter. That would show the old coot!
Having determined her revenge, Doris felt much better. The middle aged blonde woman took a deep breath to calm herself, pulled up to Helen's home, took the adorable little vase she had found at the boutique and left her Escalade with the valet.
She straightened her tasteful designer dress over her slim, fit frame and strode forward to rub elbows with the upper crust.
Helen was delightful as always and invited only the best and brightest to her poetry reading. Unfortunately, that meant that everyone there but Helen recognized that her poetry was utter drivel. But it was usually short and Helen's caterer always provided exquisite hors d'oeuvres and marvelous wines.
Helen was a Senator's wife and her friends were glad to indulge her delusions of artistry-especially since it allowed them to indulge in deliciously catty mockery while Helen was away in D.C.
Doris greeted everyone and accepted the vacuous compliments on her outfit while giving equal shallow compliments of her own. She made her way over to the caterer's table. She requested a fine Chablis and then perused the hors d'oeuvres. Most were far too fattening. Doris valued her svelte figure. She was drawn to the little celery boats filled with caviar. Caviar, Doris knew, is a nearly perfectly balanced food, with 30% protein, 16% fat, 4% minerals and the rest water. Celery was, of course, calorie neutral. She grabbed a couple and then a couple more and went to take her seat and endure Helen's odes to her navel.
Doris sat beside Mary Wilks. She liked sitting beside the doughy-faced woman as she looked even thinner beside her. She sipped her wine, then daintily put the first little celery boat into her mouth, its caviar crew resigned to their fate. Helen began gushing about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens or some other such nonsense and Doris chewed.
It was very good. The celery, not the poetry. Fresh and green inside her mouth. She didn't want to swallow. But she did want more. She put another piece in her mouth. And then another. It was really quite enjoyable. She didn't even notice how loud she was crunching or that the chewed vegetable fiber was now making a noticeable lump in her cheek.
Others were noticing, however, as she popped the fourth celery bit into her mouth and bit down nosily. Helen stopped speaking, looking very flustered, and stared resentfully at her. Everyone was staring at Doris. She looked lethargically about the room, at the shocked upper-class ladies. Doris stared back, eyes dull, jaw slack, a trickle of green juice escaping her packed mouth unnoticed by her.
Suddenly, Doris realized what she was doing and just how full her open mouth was and just how embarrassingly uncomfortable the gaze of her fellow mondaines was. Her mouth clamped shut and she strained to swallow the wad of fiber in her mouth.
"Excuse me," she said, looking down, then got up and strode to the restroom with as much dignity as she could muster.
Once locked in the confines of the bathroom, Doris allowed herself the luxury of panic. What had just happened to her? She was just sitting there, making an utter fool of herself, looking like a slack-jawed uncouth cow!
The thought sent a shudder through her. Could it be...
No. That just was an absurd thought!
Doris ran cold water from brass fixtures into the green marble sink. She splashed her face, trying to wash away the mounting terror. She was fine. Just a slip. She had let her mind wander. Let the crazy old man get into her head.
She patted her face dry and looked into the mirror, intent on convincing herself she was fine.
Big brown eyes stared back at her. Doris' eyes were blue. They had always been blue. She was a blue-eyed natural blonde, damn it!
The big, dark, wet eyes stared back at her, terrified and undeniably brown.
Doris backed away from her reflection. She felt the wall against her back. She covered her face with her hands, shuddered and let out a low moan as she slid to the floor.
This was impossible, Doris told herself. She must be hallucinating. Yes, that was it. She must be feverish. She felt her forehead and it was hot. Two points just below her hairline were positively burning.
And her chest felt hot too. Her breasts were aching, ten-times worse than her worst premenstrual syndrome. Was she going through menopause? So soon? She was only forty two!
She was sweating profusely now, probably ruining her outfit as she sat in a miserable heap on the bathroom floor.
But her suit wasn't a concern. What concerned her was her bra. The straps were cutting into her trembling flesh as if it was two sizes too small. She had to get it off! It was excruciating!
She fumbled clumsily with buttons, removing jacket and blouse and letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. Her breasts seemed to be pulsating and her bra was pressing red streaks into her pale white flesh, torturing her. She struggled to undo the clasp at the back, giving out a low moan at the seeming impossibility of it.
At last, the clasp came free and Doris tore off her tormenting undergarment and threw it across the bathroom.
She let out a slow sigh, flooded with relief. Her breasts still ached but not oppressively as they had before stripping from the waist up. It was just a dull throb now, with a slight tingle in the nipples that was almost pleasurable.
She looked down at her bare chest. Her breasts seemed to undulate and swell before her eyes. Her nipples were erect--more so than she had ever remembered them being, even as a teenager. They jutted out from her pale globes, a deep russet brown as thick and as long as her thumbs.
No, at second glance, they were as thick and as long as her husband's thumbs. And the breasts they sprouted from were larger too!
With trebling hands, Doris reached up to grasp her mammaries to confirm their veracity.
They were real. Alive, warm and growing within her hands. And touching them felt so good!
"ooooo!" she moaned lowly, her fingers caressing the smooth flesh of her swelling breasts.
"Ooooooo!" she moaned as she hefted the ever-increasing mass of flesh her bust was becoming.
"Mooooooo!" she moaned in surprise as she squeezed her elongated nipples and found herself cumming violently.
"Doris, are you all right in there?"
There was a tap at the door. Doris panicked. What was she doing? What was happening to her? Her breasts were huge!
"I... I'm not well," Doris managed. "I need to go home."
"Would you like for someone to call you a cab, dear?" came the solicitous voice. Mary, she thought it must be.
"Yes! That would be good," she said.
She couldn't drive. Not in this condition.
"Just let me get... cleaned up in here."
"All right, dear," said Mary. "You just call out if you need help. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."
Doris stared disbelieving at the throbbing cantaloupes on her chest. Nothing to be embarrassed about? This was devastating!
Doris got up, trembling, feeling the foreign weight of her growing bust. She looked in the mirror, disbelieving at the brown-eyed woman with porn-star breasts staring back at her.
There were two large pimples growing symmetrically from her forehead. Any other day and she would have found that tragic. Now she barely noticed.
She gawked, wild-eyed, at her huge tits and fought down the urge to run away from her own reflection. She wanted to just bolt and make a mad dash anywhere. But she couldn't just stampede out of Helen's house half naked, showing everyone her deformity.
She had to calm down and figure out a way to get out of there with as little embarrassment as possible. She closed her eyes, breathing, imagining a relaxing image of a meadow filled with butterflies, flowers and rich, green grass. Vibrant, verdant, delicious grass. She could almost smell it and she began to drool.
No! She slapped herself in the face. She had to focus!
.... There is more of this story ...