Chapter 3: They Just Grew!

Louise Woods had grown! It had been a week since my first visit to her house. The first time, she had a completely flat chest. Five days later, she had little tennis-ball sized breasts. Today, Monday, they were like grapefruit. I could tell they were like grapefruit because she was wearing what was arguably the skimpiest little top you ever saw. The front dipped alarmingly, revealing a disturbing cleavage. The sides were cut away low beneath the armpits, and the view was incredible. She wasn't wearing a bra. Well, I thought, when did she have an opportunity to buy one?

If she hadn't grown D cup tits and if she wasn't wearing a skimpy top, I might have noticed the abbreviated shorts she had on, and her smooth, shapely, well-muscled brown legs.

But I didn't.

Louise stood there and smiled up at me. At first, she said nothing, as if she thought I might not have noticed anything strange and she was going to get away with it. But my expression must have given away my innermost thoughts.

"You noticed my ... my..."

"You mean, your... ?"

"Yes!" she cried eagerly, "my... !"

I supposed we were talking about the same thing. "Your breasts?"

"Yes", she said, blushing deeply. "My..."

Don't let's start this again, I thought. "What happened to them?" I asked a little too abruptly.

"They just grew. Got bigger. Well not bigger, there was nothing at all a week ago, but they ... just sort of grew!" That was helpful and informative.

"They seem very swollen," I observed, "are they painful at all?"

"No, they feel ... in fact, they feel marvellous!" She hesitated. "Why don't you feel them?" she said quietly.

Well, all right! So I did. They felt marvellous, as she had said they would. It must have felt good to her as well, because she started breathing heavily and became very flushed. She drew closer to me, her breasts pushing against my chest, well, my stomach, to be precise. Then she turned her face up to mine.

"I don't understand where they've come from, or why, but I do know that ever since I've had them, every single minute since they first arrived, I have been incredibly horny," she murmured, incredibly hornily.

I was beginning to understand exactly how she felt. Gently, I took her in my arms, and she sighed as her nipples telescoped against me. I remember little of the next few minutes, which is perhaps just as well, because if I were to attempt to describe what went on, readers would become unnecessarily jealous, if not sexually aroused. We found ourselves half sitting, half lying in an armchair. It was upholstered in a sort of uncut moquette, not exactly fashionable, but comfortable. I could happily have lain there all morning. Fortunately, Louise had other ideas. Taking me by the hand, she led me to the bedroom, where she undressed completely. Those breasts stood up like there was no tomorrow. So, for that matter, did I.

Then we all lay down on the bed.

Here we go again. Readers the world over are complaining that no real, live woman would ever behave like Louise Woods has just done: that it is the sort of behaviour you expect in a cheap paperback written for sad men who need a wank in a tearing hurry. Which only goes to show that you simply cannot afford to generalise about these things. She did. I confess I was surprised at the time. Perhaps she just fancied me. Stranger things have happened.

After that experience, I was in no condition to face Linda Shoesmith. I stood on her doorstep trying to think of a suitable excuse: a headache, a pressing engagement in Glasgow, an itching sensation in the genital area. I don't think any of those would have discouraged Linda.