Chapter 1

Quite a while back ... oh, I guess it was almost 40 years ago, I was working for a mineral rights company. A big part of my job was to travel to remote parts of the country and try to convince local landowners to lease their mineral rights to my company. That way, we could drill for natural gas, mine for coal (for example) and then just pay them a percentage of the royalties based on what we found.

But after one particular trip, I decided to put down roots and retire. After I tell you what happened, you’ll probably agree that I did the right thing...

Before going forward, you should know that the spelling and grammar may seem odd to you. But I assure you, it’s conveyed here in the same way the locals speak.

It’s simply gorgeous in the southern Appalachians mountains, the Great Smokies. I had been travelling this area for a few months just trying to do my job with some measure of success. For whatever reason, the local landowners I talked with seemed to like me and that tended to lead to better contract dollars for my company (then, by extension, me). Don’t get the wrong idea, I never tried to scam my clients. They just seemed to go along with my sales pitch more often than other reps. The ladies seemed to like the way I looked (that never hurts) and the guys seemed to appreciate that I was a ‘straight shooter’; I didn’t try to promise things that couldn’t be delivered.

I hadn’t slept well in a few days (damned cheap motel beds) and had just finished with a lunchtime meeting with a prospective client when I decided I’d take the afternoon off, cruise through the mountain gap and get a motel room in the next town on the map. So I hopped in the company truck and hit the road.

Maybe an hour and half later, I happened on a town that had clearly been there for some time, but wasn’t shown in my printed atlas. No big deal, I thought, “The company probably just gave me an old set of maps. I know I can stay on this road and get to the next town ... no problem.” But what I saw on that day changed my life.

When I said it was a town, that may have been a slight exaggeration. It was really just a simple country store, a single gas station, an old, run-down church and a larger building that looked like a school. The main road (if you’d call it that) was more dirt than asphalt in most places, as if the state had built the road many decades ago and then just forgot about that part of it.

In this mid-summer, early part of the afternoon, the sun was still almost directly overhead and it blessed me with the sight of this little burg and several of the locals out and about. People ranging in age from probably mid-teens to quite elderly where in evidence ... most in tattered clothes. If you’ve got a picture of ‘hillbilly’ clothing in your head, then it’s probably accurate. Men were wearing overalls or work clothes that were no stranger to hard labor. Older women wore simple ‘shift’ dresses and the younger ones were wearing as little as their parents would allow in the heat.

But what struck me most dramatically was the size and apparent braless-ness of the breasts on every female! Teen girls with mouth-watering, firm, large globes on their slender bodies – typically contained only by a men’s sleeveless work shirt with the tails tied under their prodigious bosoms. Just as striking were those women for whom teen-dom was a memory; Their breasts were even larger and obviously heavy; Wobbling and slapping into each other with every step. I noticed two women whose jugs damn-near reached their waists!

I needed an excuse to stop and take a longer look around, so I decided to visit the gas station, even though I didn’t really need fuel. But I parked at the station and went inside to get a cup of coffee and pre-pay to top off the gas tank. As soon as I stepped in the door, the attendant started chuckling. “You ain’t never been through our town before, has ya?”

“No sir, this is my first time passing through.” I said. “I guess this town’s so small you must know everybody pretty well.”

“Well sure, there’s that.” he said. “But you got yer eyes bugged out s’far, I knowed yew ain’t from ‘round here.”

“Is it that obvious?” I asked.

“It sho’ ‘nuff is. But don’t put no mind to me. I ain’t givin’ ya trouble. Ever-body makes that same face first time they sees our womenfolk.”

“Well ... I must admit I was taken aback. All the women I’ve seen so far are ... very ... blessed.” I offered.

He chuckled again. “You call it what you want, mister. I say they just got big ol’ titties. And I ‘on’t know ‘bout you, but I likes it that-a-way. And it ain’t jus’ the ones you seen on the road neither. Ever’ girl in the holler that done past pew-burty done sprouted them big fun bags.”

My mind was reeling. “Amazing...”

“Yew work for that min’ral comp’ny don’t ya’? I seen it on yer truck there.”

“Yes, I do. My name’s Jim Summers. Here’s my card.”

He ignored the card and offered his heavily-calloused hand to shake, “Nice to meet ya’, Jim. I’m Denny Cotton. Most folks ‘round here just call me Ol’ Skeeter.” A good hand shake, firm without holding on too long. Hands that had seen their fair share of long work hours and no means to fully get the grease from under the fingernails.

“Thang is, all ‘ese women didn’t use-ta all have big tits ... only started a couple years back. Some folks reckon it’s sump’n in water but other folks figure it’s sump’n to do with Jesus. Now me, I don’t know an’ I don’ care.” He looked off in the distance, “I jus’ wish my wife was still alive when it hap’n’d. She was a dear, sweet woman, but she had almos’ no tits to speak of. Makes me sad to know how she could’a looked if she was still around. She could’a made me even happier with a big set.” He added wistfully with a smile. “But I ain’t dead yet, and that means ever-day I can get a gander at all these titties wobbling around town an’ go home ever’ night and beat my meat to a hellava memory.”

Not sure what to say, I simply said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Denny.”

“I tol’ ya’, call me Skeeter.” He smiled.

“Then Skeeter it is.” I replied.

“You drivin’ straight through to sum-ware, or are you planning to stay? They’s no motel here but some of the families will rent a room if they ain’t scared of ya’. I know the Widduh Coleman would wanna talk to ya’ if ya’ got some time. She’s the one that figures the water is causin’ all the ruckus.”

“Do you mean the tap water has changed in the last couple years? Does it look funny, smell odd or taste strange?” I asked.

“Naw. Nobody’s able the tell a differ’nce, near as I can tell. I ‘on’t even know why she got that notion that they’s sumpn wrong with the water, nothing’s changed ‘cept the ladies get more appealin’,” He chuckled. “Hell, you’d think she could just be happy ‘bout growin’ them big boobies she’s got, but she’s always been a bit of a busy-body ... gotta know what ever-body’s a-doing.”

“So, lemme get ya’ fixed up with some gas and you can be on the road. But it would be a heap-a-hep if you could talk to the Widduh Coleman ‘fore you leave town. Since you’s in the min-ral bidness, she might listen to you if you tell her the water’s fine.”

I certainly didn’t have anything better to do right away, so I gave Skeeter the money to fill my gas tank and grabbed a cup of coffee for the road. While handing me my change, he gave me directions to “Widow” Coleman’s place. “Jus’ keep a-goin’ up this road a piece, an’ turn left at where the ol’ feed store used to be.”

I smiled, “Skeeter, how would I know where something used to be? I’m not from here, remember?”

“Fair point,” he laughed, “just look for an old buildin’ with a shitload of graffiti on it. The kids like to spray paint on it sometimes. Been that way for twenty years or more. But you’ll know if you miss it, ‘cause it’s the last building on that side of the road before you leave town.”

Still smiling, I took my change and told him, “Good enough. I should be able to navigate based on that, Skeeter.” And with another hand shake, I headed to my truck, still ogling every set of breasts that jiggled by.

The ‘town’ was small enough – and the directions clear enough that I found the turn easily. Given the stereotypes, some readers may be wondering if I was ever scared driving up to strangers homes in the mountains. Truthfully, yes. There had been occasions where locals had pulled shotguns on me, fearing that I was cop or a ‘revenuer’ (tax collector). Admittedly, a significant part of the cash flow in these little towns still came from illegal whisky distilleries (moonshine). So I carried a shotgun in the truck with me just in case. But so far, I’d only needed it once. And thankfully, no shots were fired that day.

Driving up the rutted dirt road toward an old, apparently dilapidated cabin, I was reminded of something I’d learned from an older colleague, months ago. When I’d mentioned that it was sad that people lived this way, he told me firmly, “These are fine, hard-working people. They are proud of their families and refuse to move from land their parents left to them. Don’t ever feel sorry for them. You should just treat them with respect, like you would anyone else.”

A woman sat on the covered front porch in a beat-up rocking chair. She eyed me carefully as I parked my truck and got out to introduce myself. “Hello, I’m Jim Summers. I work for [company name redacted] in mineral rights and I was told by “Skeeter” that a Mrs. Coleman might want to speak with me about the local water supply. Is she available?”

She stayed seated, but extended her hand, “I’m Mrs. Coleman, but you can call me Gladys.”

I climbed the porch steps and accepted her hand shake. She looked to be well under 40 years of age. With chestnut brown hair, greenish-hazel eyes and a kind face. Though hard to tell while she sat in that rocking chair, her body seemed to be in fine shape. Nothing about her looked ‘fat’ but she obviously had a lot of extra weight on her chest. So much that her gigantic breasts almost touched her lap. “I’m sorry, Gladys, when Skeeter said “widow” I was expecting someone a bit older.”

“I reckon a city slicker like you would be surprised that I done buried a husband las’ year, seein’s I’m only 33. But us folk do thangs differn’t than yew. Hell, my husband was jus’ a couple year older ‘n me, but his ol’ heart couldn’t take the ever-day fuckin’ after I grew these ta-tas. He seen these big ol’ thangs slappin’ ‘round on my chest and jus’ couldn’t hep hisself ... all the way t’ the end, he was getting’ hard jus’ lookin’ at me. That dear sweet man o’ mine.”

Once again, I recited the only words I knew for the situation. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Gladys.”

“Well, it ain’t like he had a big dick or nothin’. But I shore did love him and we was tryin’ to have some young-uns. You know, start a real fam’ly? But no matter how much my titties turned him on and got him to fuckin’ me, his baby juice jus’ wouldn’t take. He’d shoot in me three, four times a day, but I never got preggers.”

Admittedly, the conversation had my full attention. And as uncomfortable as I might have been on any other day, I was fully rapt today. Her casual way of talking about her sex life had my cock stirring. But the equally casual talk about her huge breasts had me working overtime trying to maintain eye contact. She seemed to catch on...

“It’s alright, Jim, yew can look at ‘em if ya’ want.”

Flustered, I replied, “ ... wha?”

“My tits. Yew can check ‘em out if ya’ like. But I ain’t takin’ my dress off. So you’ll hafta get yer jollies by imaginin’. Here, lemme give ‘em a shake fer ya’.” And she moved her shoulders back and forth a few times, setting her breasts in motion. They moved heavily, with just a barely audible slapping sound when they hit one another. My cock was no longer stirring, it was stiffening.

“Gladys, I’m ... just ... wow.”

“Judgin’ by what I see yer pants doin’, I’d say you like my big ol’ titties. Ain’t that right, Jim?”

I just nodded dumbly, my eyes still riveted to her knockers.

She stopped shaking her shoulders and said, “Much as I like the tent in your trousers, Jim, I shore don’t want another man t’ die on top o’ me. So let’s get down t’ what I wanna talk t’ yew ‘bout, ‘kay?”

I continued to nod wordlessly.

“Here’s the thing, Jim, ‘bout two years back, a few thangs happ’n’d: One: All the girls’ titties started growing. Well, not ALL the girls, mind yew. The young-uns that ain’t got to pew-burty stayed pert-much the same. But all the girls who done had their monthly time ... well, we all popped out like crazy! I was a regular C cup before that! And in less than a month, I grew these big bazoombas. All the old ladies seemed eemune too. Them that’s already gone through ‘the change’. You know, men-o-paws? Their titties didn’t change neither.”

“Two: Us girls all got REAL worked up. I mean it felt like we needed dick more ‘n we needed food, almos’. Them that had a man at home couldn’t get enough of ‘im. And them that didn’t, well they found ways to make their pussies stop itchin’ so bad.”

“And the last thang that changed was that there ain’t been no babies made in this whole time! All us girls have huge tits and cain’t get enough dick, so the men was happy as larks. But no matter how much we got ‘em to shoot inside us, ain’t no women wi’ a bun in the oven.”

Dumbfounded, I tried to formulate some questions. “And you believe these changes have something to do with the groundwater supply?”

“Hell, it’s the only thang that makes any sense! Them ladies at the church think it’s ‘cause o’ Jesus. But that’s a bunch of malarky. The Bible says ‘be fruitful and multiply’, why would Jesus want to us keep fuckin’ all day and not make babies?”

“Fair point”, I replied.

“Were there any other physical changes that anyone noticed, or what is only breast enlargement? And are the women still experiencing changes?”

“That’s ‘nuther thang, Jim”, she answered, “all us ladies keep jokin’ that this new change gave us all huge titties, but the men still got the same ol’ reg’lar dicks. Us girls got jipped on that bargain.” She laughed. “And all the girls seem to be done growing, ‘cept the ones who is jus’ now gettin’ their period. Them girls is just startin’ to b’loon up still. It only lasts ‘bout a month, though. Then their boobies stop growing, no matter how big they are.”

She continued, “I tried to get the state to come over and test the water. But I don’t wanna sound crazy in a letter to the gubment, so I just said they’s sumpn wrong with the water. And since we ain’t even a proper incorporated town, they won’t spend no money to do no tests or nothin’”, she fumed.

“Well, Gladys, I must say that it all sounds fanciful. But based on what I’ve seen and heard today, I agree that something unusual has happened. I’ll be happy to take some samples and run the field tests. Though I’m not sure we’ll find anything, I’m happy to check.”

She rose carefully from her chair, setting her wobbling breasts in motion again, crossing the porch with her arms outstretched, “Thank you, Jim. That’d be so neighborly of yew t’ put my mind at ease.” With that, she embraced me and I felt her breasts against my abdomen. My god! They were simply enormous! My erection was showing no signs of relenting, but I angled a bit away from her, hoping to avoid embarrassing either of us and hoping she wouldn’t pay too much attention to it. But as she ended the hug and stepped back, she immediately looked down toward my crotch. And a little smile crossed her lips.

“Is it okay if I run the tests here? I’ll just need a small table for my kit”, I asked.

“Fine with me. I’m just relaxin’ today anyway. Yew ain’t gonna be in my way.”

So I got my commercial water test kit from the truck and she led me inside to a small wooden table. “Gladys, do you get your water from a well or just from the tap in the kitchen?”

“We got ‘lectric, but ain’t nobody ‘round here has runnin’ water in the house. Only some o’ them bidnesses down by the road got runnin’ water”, she said. “I get mine from down t’ the crick. But some folks has a well on their propur-tee.”

“Okay, then I’ll need a sample from the place where you get yours. Later today, I’ll try to sample a few other places in town.”

“Okay, it’s down this-a-way. I gotta go down there anyways. You can hep me carry some water back up the hill”, she grinned.

“Happy to help”, I replied.

Over the next couple hours, I ran every water purity test I knew – and a couple I didn’t even know the equipment could run. All tests returned the same result: pure mountain spring water, no issues with potability whatsoever.

I gathered new samples. Same result. Gladys got in the truck with me and we went further upstream. Gathered new samples there. Same result.

We decided that I would drop her back at her cabin. On the return drive, as the sun was beginning to drop below the tree line, I noticed an old mining company sign in the roadside ditch. “When was [company name redacted] here? I didn’t know any companies except mine had been up here.”

“That was a long time ago”, said Gladys. “They came in, dug out all the coal they could get to easy, then just pulled up stakes and left.”

It occurred to me that I might have been testing for the wrong things. “I wonder...”, I mused. “Gladys, when we get back to your place, I’d like to run a few more tests, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine with me, sugar. I’m jus’ gonna warm up some vittles for supper. You can join me, if ya’ like. Hell, you can even spend the night. But no hanky-panky, you hear me? I’ll throw a couple-a quilts on the floor and you can sleep there, if ya’ want.”

“That’s very nice of you, Gladys. I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Gladys made a fresh batch of biscuits and sausage gravy. And though I’d only had it for breakfast a few times in my life, it was a wonderfully simple, tasty and filling supper. She was funny, inquisitive and seemed to quickly grasp concepts far beyond her limited formal education. “I quit schoolin’ when I was done with 6th grade. Ma and Pa needed hep ‘round this place and I was the oldest, so I jus’ did what any-ol’-body ‘round here would do ... I quit school and chipped in to hep.”

The years of manual labor and very few amenities had been very kind to her. While she was cooking, I stole glances at her figure and marveled. Maybe 5’7” or a little less, lithe and slender in every way except where those huge boobs existed. I didn’t know how her back could handle that much strain everyday.

The more I looked at her face, the more I liked it. Warm, full smiles that used her whole face and made her nose crinkle up like a much younger girl. And those tits! Jesus Honkin’ Christ!

After the meal, I setup to run the tests again. This time, specifically looking for mineral and chemical levels, not just the drinkability of the water. And bingo! What I found was a higher-than-normal level of [redacted] AND [redacted]. Neither of which is harmful, even when combined. But these levels were much greater than I had ever seen. The field manual for the testing kit only showed a graph of possible levels of [redacted] parts-per-million. These levels were at least 30% higher. Based on this finding, I made an assumption that the ‘one month of growth’ could POSSIBLY be explained by the timing of the young woman’s menstrual cycle and the her own body’s ability to inure itself to bio-chemical changes over a few weeks. So her body would slowly get used to the higher [redacted] combination as it absorbed into her blood, muscle and tissue fibers, then, the changes would stop being outwardly evident.