FAIR EXCHANGE
by Vicente
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many stories in this genre feature fairly trite and predictable
plot devices, such as "Gypsy curses", to evade the central reality that people
do not typically shrink longitudinally. The fact that this modest effort is no
exception to the rule should not be construed either as a lack of respect for
the Romany and Sinti peoples or as a casual attitude toward their history and
culture, which predate the 12th century reign of Richard ll and, thus, the
foundation of modern Anglo-American concepts of law and society. The fact that,
again like many stories in this genre, this one ends in the words "to be
continued" is likewise not to be construed as a suggestion that it has come to a
final conclusion (in midplot, if not in midparagraph). Of course the standard
disclaimers hold: adult content, adult themes, adult sexual explicitness, in
short (as it were) ADULTS ONLY (no minors need apply). That said, enjoy.
PROLOGUE: FIRST ANNIVERSARY
June 21st. Their first anniversary. Giancarlo's Italian restaurant, scene
of their very first date 22 months earlier.
Chris Blalock gazed long and longingly at Shawn, his wife of one year. Tall
and leggy at 5'8"; lean and taut at 120 lbs. (or would be, as soon as she
regained her pre-pregnancy figure); long, soft, gently flowing chestnut-brown
hair; a face to die for and a personality to live and grow old with. She had
just turned 19 last week; he, 27 last month. She was still, as far as he was
concerned, his new bride. And the love of his life--along with Caitlin, their
new daughter, 20 days old and staying with Shawn's mother for the new parents'
first evening away from the house since they'd left the hospital.
Who says you can't have it all? Chris thought, less smugly than gratefully.
A gorgeous wife, a beautiful baby girl, an incisive mind that had led him to
co-found a software company that had propelled him and his partner--Chris Hallam,
or "Chris ll"--through a highly successful IPO to a present net worth in excess
of $30 million each. If you can't have it all, he mused, I must be living in
the Matrix. It seemed real enough to him.
What seemed almost unreal to him at this moment was the view afforded him by
Shawn's low-cut dress. She was nursing Caitlin, and her newly engorged breasts
were almost average in size--she actually wore a B-cup bra these days, where
before her pregnancy she only half-filled an A-cup. It was the one physical
characteristic of Shawn he'd have changed if he could. No, he thought, put that
out of your mind RIGHT NOW. She's absolutely perfect the way she is--and she
always will be. As if in punctuation of that point, Chris felt his own newly
engorged member swell against the crotch of his pants.
Shawn Blalock gazed long and longingly at Chris, her husband of one year.
Handsome, black-haired, green-eyed, tall and lean and built like a middleweight
contender--6'1", 160 lbs. Actually she considered him almost an identical twin
of the late actor Brandon Lee (or maybe it was just that the couple had watched
"The Crow" on video that night of their first date--after dining right here at
Giancarlo's--and had watched it maybe a dozen times since). She was 17 then,
about to start her senior year of high school, had just spent the summer
clerking for C & C Software Development, and was already by that time head over
heels over heartstrings in love with her boss. She told herself that looks
weren't important, that the body was just a shell, but she couldn't help it--she
loved, absolutely LOVED, the feeling of being in his arms and of looking up to
meet his gaze even when she was wearing 3" heels (as she was tonight).
A year had gone by since they were married. And tonight she could feel from
his gaze--aimed unabashedly at her chest--that he was trying just as hard to
persuade himself that looks weren't important, and that his efforts were meeting
with just as little success, since what he was seeing was stretching his jockey
briefs to the limit. She stifled a grin--and then thought, somewhat wistfully,
that this part of the evening at least was but a temporary thing. She wouldn't
be nursing Caitlin forever, and once that was a done deal her breasts would
revert to their previous sub-A-cup nothingness. Shit. She'd considered
implants, but Chris had talked her out of it. Better a natural A-cup than a
make-believe DD, he'd said--and he'd meant it. She knew he had a thing about
big breasts--but they had to be big natural breasts, or forget it. He'd
convinced her.
She sighed. Just be thankful you're with him and he's all yours, she told
herself--and she meant it.
That night they watched "The Crow" and then made love. And they meant every
damn bit of it.
CHAPTER ONE: SECOND ANNIVERSARY
June 21st again. Giancarlo's Italian Restaurant again (now an annual
tradition). The end of a typically excellent meal.
Chris and Shawn still gazed at each other, still long and longingly--but
Shawn sensed that Chris' gaze was just the merest scintilla less intense than it
had been a year ago. And she knew why.
Chris looked exactly as he had last year. As for her, she had her figure
back--a tall and leggy 5'8", a lean and taut 120 lbs. And--regrettably--a
micromastic sub-A-cup once again.
"Something wrong, babe?"
Chris had noticed her half-frowning reverie. She decided honesty was the
best policy.
"Nothing, really, except that--well, I was just thinking how I filled this
dress out last year."
"Filled it out? Shawn, you had just had a baby! You've dropped nearly 20
lbs. since Caitlin was born. You weigh the same as you did in high school.
Most women would be happy at that thought."
"I should be. I am. Yeah, I am, I just..." She stopped, hesitated,
started to say something, stopped again, chose her words carefully. "It's just
that I wish I could be exactly what you want, Chris. The way you're exactly
what I want."
Chris started to say something, stopped, hesitated over the lump he felt in
his throat and the unexpected wave of--something (love, that must be it)--he'd
just felt for his gorgeous, loving wife. "Shawn, there is nothing--absolutely
nothing--I'd change about you if I could. The way you fill a dress, a suit, a
tank top & shorts, a bikini--it's all perfect. You're perfect. And I'm
perfectly lucky you chose to spend your life with me. And, in particular, that
you're choosing to spend tonight with me."
He smiled. She smiled back, tipped her wineglass and emptied it, wiped her
mouth, pushed her chair back.
"Let's get out of here. I feel like a walk tonight. It's the coolest June
I can remember."
Chris nodded. "Perfect end to a perfect meal. But not to the evening. I
still have big plans on that score." Again he smiled. Again she smiled back.
The restaurant was on the edge of a quiet upper middle class residential
neighborhood, one of the older developments in that part of the city. Chris and
Shawn each thought what a good idea this had been: it was indeed unseasonably
cool for the first day of summer (and longest day of the year), but it was now
almost 9:30 and even such heat as there had been earlier had faded with
twilight. Now it was quiet, peaceful, and comforting to be strolling past the
houses so similar to the ones in which each of them had grown up--and so
dissimilar to the six-bedroom, almost one million dollar "mansion" (in Shawn's
mind) that was their house now.
Chris was thinking of their dinner conversation. He hadn't lied to her, not
really. He loved her more than words could say, and thought her more beautiful
than words could mean. He knew, though, that she had been referring to his big
breast fetish. That was OK. Both of them understood that, as fetishes go, it
was a fairly normal and innocuous one. It was one of only two fetishes Chris
had. He was glad she would never, ever know about the other one: the one that
caused him to want not only to be smaller than Shawn, to be tiny in fact, but
for it to be a process that happened very gradually over time, so that he could
see her gradually becoming more and more dominant over him, both physically and
psychologically, but (of course) for it to be a process that did nothing to
quell her sexual ardor for him, or his for her.
Never. Ever. And just as well.
They had reached the end of the block and what looked like the end of the
development, each lost in his or her own thoughts. On their left was an empty
lot--no, not empty, "unimproved". The term "empty" didn't seem to square with
the massive oak that occupied its center, and whose gnarled limbs actually
spread over the street in a pattern that struck both of them as inarticulably
strange, and not a little spooky. Adjacent to the lot--at the point of the
cul-de-sac where the street ended--was the last home in the neighborhood, a
moderate size two-storey frame house. It looked old and quaint, with a gambrel
roof that seemed out of place not only in this neighborhood (or almost anywhere
outside New England) but somehow on the house itself, as if it were the product
of an architect who had forgotten the rules--or who just chose not to live and
work by them.
Or, perhaps, who had read too much Lovecraft.
The couple exchanged glances, suddenly realizing that they had been gazing
silently at the house for several minutes, almost in a trance. They both
chuckled, a bit nervously.
"Spooky, huh?" Shawn smiled.
"What, the tree or the house?" Chris smiled back.
"You're right--it's both." Chris and Shawn instantly jerked their heads
back toward the house, shocked to see a dark-haired woman standing on the
porch--a porch which both of them were certain had been, just five seconds
before, unoccupied.
She was tall, taller than Shawn, slightly fleshier, attractive--and, Chris
noted instantly, vastly more bosomy. Shawn, vaguely uneasy, noted this as well.
The woman had spoken with an accent unfamiliar either to Chris or to Shawn.
She spoke again. "I'm sorry if I startled you. Every house in this half of the
block is empty, except mine, and I don't get much company."
Chris, a little more at ease now, replied. "Not a problem. It's we who
should apologize for disturbing you. You say all these houses are unoccupied?"
The couple now noticed a few realtor signs in some of the yards.
"Everyone seems to be leaving. The exodus started just a few months ago,
and now the whole block seems to be emptying out."
"Why?" Shawn asked.
"I'm afraid I haven't a clue. Unless"--a hint of a smile touching her
lips--"unless it's that people have started to realize I'm Romany."
"Romany?" asked Chris.
"Gypsy."
The vague unease Shawn had experienced a minute ago now became sharper, more
defined. It evolved almost instantly to a form closely akin to that of fear.
She could not have said why, but she could have said clearly that she wanted
nothing more than to take Chris by the arm, turn him gently 180 degrees, and
proceed with him at a brisk pace back up the street whence they'd come. The
only problem with that plan was that it involved turning her back on the house
and the woman.
Chris, in contrast, seemed utterly--if not udderly--entranced. "Really?
That's fascinating. Are you like, practicing or whatever?" Shawn's disquiet
began to give way to disgust at her bedazzled, tongue-tied mate. Why didn't he
feel the revulsion she did?
The woman laughed. "As in sorceress? Shape-shifter? Hardly." She turned
toward the front door. "But you're both welcome to visit my so-called lair.
I've just brewed some hot spiced tea. My name's Anya, by the way."
Chris couldn't help noticing her breasts as she turned--nor could Shawn help
noticing him noticing. She was wearing a long-skirted eastern European peasant
style outfit which obviously did not include a bra. The assertive swell of her
breasts was all natural, without enhancement. Chris recalled how he had said to
Shawn, better a natural A than an artificial DD. Anya was clearly beyond a
natural DD, and probably beyond a natural F as well.
Both Chris and Shawn silently pondered, just for the briefest moment, the
wisdom of walking into the home of this woman they had never even seen five
minutes ago. Then they were climbing the porch steps and heading toward the
front door. As Anya passed through the door she turned to face them and said,
with a half-smile, "Oops--almost forgot the most important part. Welcome to my
home; enter freely and of your own will, and all that jazz."
Chris and Shawn smiled, a little nervously, and walked into the house.
The interior was neat, tidy, decorated with Old World charm. Anya invited
them to have a seat on the living room sofa and poured tea from a silver service
that was already in place, as if guests had been expected.
Chris remarked, "I'm sorry to hear everyone's leaving, Anya. I take it you
live here alone?"
"Oh yes. Alone is just the way I like it." She smiled widely at him. Shawn
wondered if her incisors were just slightly more prominent and pointed than
average. Even so, they were nowhere near as off-the-chart as her breasts, she
thought dejectedly.
Anya continued. "So then. I volunteered that I'm a Gypsy, and I suppose I
should follow up on that. I do tarot readings, minor love spells, the odd
seance on occasion for those stupid enough to believe that the dead have
anything convivial to say to the living. Is any of that your pleasure?"
Shawn smiled. "We'd hate to put you out. I'm sure it's long past your
usual business hours."
"No, no, you don't understand. I don't do any of that stuff for a living.
It's strictly a hobby for me. I don't actually work--don't have to, I'm rich."
Chris was interested. "Really?"
"Of course, Mr. Blalock. And I have you to thank for it."
Both Chris and Shawn almost spilled their tea. "Uh, excuse me, Anya, but
how do you know who I am?"
"You look exactly like your picture in Forbes from this past spring. I
invested practically everything to my name in your company's IPO last year. It
paid off very, very well."
Chris, flattered, relaxed a bit; Shawn did not.
"So", Anya continued, "the occult flimflammery is just something I do to
entertain friends and guests. Need any wishes granted?" She smiled still, her
left eyebrow arching slightly.
Four years later it would all come back to her, suddenly, shockingly, in a
gush. Looking back on that moment four years later, as she sat at their table at
Giancarlo's and tearfully said goodbye to her dwindling little husband, Shawn
could not remember just what it was that caused her to blurt out those fateful,
fatal six words. Maybe the "spice" in the tea was something more than that.
Maybe she was trying to dispel her growing uneasiness with a show of blustery
bravado. Maybe she was envious of Anya's huge endowments. Maybe this, maybe
that, maybe something else entirely. At any rate, while Anya clearly had
directed the question to Chris, it was Shawn who answered it.
"I wish my boobs were bigger."
Shawn had a sense that time froze, for just a moment. There was no reaction
from Anya, and none from Chris. After a moment Anya started to smile--but then
her face assumed a pensive look.
"That's interesting, Shawn. Do you think it will enhance Chris' love for
you? Or enhance your own self-esteem, your own happiness?" Another point Shawn
would recall in four years--she had never been mentioned by name in the Forbes
article.
"None of the above. But since this is only a game anyway, why not?" Chris
looked at her, puzzled.
Anya, however, threw her head back and almost shouted with glee. "That's
the spirit! A game! Absolutely right it is. That's what I like to see. We
can always suspend our disbelief as long as it's all in the name of fun and
fantasy, right?"
Before either had a chance to respond she continued, mimicking Jim Carrey.
"Allllll Righty then. In that spirit I am pleased to announce, big boobs it
is! But now I should explain just a little bit about how this works. It has to
be something he really wants, too. Do you, Chris?"
Shawn was now uncomfortable again. This was getting entirely too personal.
What can of worms had she just opened?
Chris, though, seemed to be "in the spirit". "That's great. I'd be just
delighted for you to work your magic, Anya", he said, turning and winking at
Shawn.
"Of course, Chris. That's, uh, one of the things you'd like, right?"
Chris, a bit puzzled again, nodded. "Sure, why not?"
"Good", said Anya. "Because there's always a fair exchange in this sort of
thing, and the exchange needs to be agreeable too. So there we are."
Shawn, smiling, asked, "OK, Anya, so just how big are my boobs going to
get?" She looked at Chris and returned his wink.
Anya smiled--her widest yet. "Big, Shawn. Very big. Oh, not enough to
fill a room or anything. But a lot bigger than you'd expect. And you won't
have to wait very long for it to happen."
"So then", asked Shawn, "are you going to wave a magic wand?"
"No need. It's already done, as of right--about--NOW."
Chris and Shawn at first noticed only a mild lightheadedness. Quickly,
however, they began to experience a dizziness. Then they remembered nothing
more, until--
"Chris? Are you all right?" Shawn felt far from "all right" herself, but
her first thought was of her husband.
"I'm OK. What about you?"
Both were feeling vaguely dizzy, vaguely nauseous, and strongly disoriented
as to time and place. They were no longer in Anya's house, no longer on Anya's
block--in fact they were within a few minutes' walk of the parking lot at
Giancarlo's, where their Lexus appeared to be the last car remaining on the
lot. Shawn looked at her watch. It should have been between 10:15 and 10:30.
Instead it was right at midnight.
"Chris, what the HELL just happened to us?"
"I don't know, babe. Let's get in the car, because I mean to find out."
The drive home was quiet, each feeling apprehensive. After nearly half an
hour of searching they realized they were unable to find the street on which
they'd reached Anya's house a couple of hours before. After another 20 minutes
or so they could no longer remember anything that had happened in Anya's house.
Another ten minutes, and they could no longer remember Anya.
They drove home, feeling that something wasn't quite right, but neither of
them really able to express the feeling. Both had felt a little--dizzy?-- right
after the meal, but it couldn't have been anything too serious, certainly not
enough to sour them on Giancarlo's. And so neither mentioned any feeling of
apprehension to the other.
Normally Chris got up at 5:30 for an early morning workout at the gym. That
would be out of the question in the morning, since it would only allow about
four hours or so of sleep by the time they got home and were in bed. Still, you
only had one second anniversay--and the evening, after all, had been a lovely
one.
Both of them felt sleepy by the time they reached the house. Married two
years now, Chris thought, and already getting to the sex-every-other-night
phase, leaving sex-every-night behind. But having someone like Shawn to cuddle
up to every night made him happy just the same, thank you.
Just before he nodded off he thought he heard Shawn mumble something in her
sleep, something about a "fair exchange."
CHAPTER TWO:
DISCREPANCIES
Chris woke up to the sound, and smell, of sizzling bacon wafting up from the
kitchen and through the open door of the bedroom. Bacon, eggs, cinnamon
rolls--usually, of course, they breakfasted more healthfully than that, but this
was a once a week indulgence they both enjoyed.
He looked at his watch. Christ, almost 9:30--whatever it was that had
happened last night must have spent them and drained them; no wonder they hadn't
felt like sex. He thought Shawn must have shaken off that dizzy spell first, as
she was the first out of bed. He went to the kitchen to join her.
"Morning, babe", he called.
"Feeling all right?" she asked as he sat at the table, before a plate
already set. "I thought I'd let you sleep in this morning--I hope you don't
mind that I turned off the alarm."
"Not at all--I needed it. Chris 2 can handle the office this morning, I
don't care if I catch hell about it when I get in."
Shawn laughed. "The only hell you catch is the hell you invite into your
office. Given that you and she are equal plurality shareholders, it can't very
well be any other way--at least according to my arithmetic."
Chris smiled back. "Now, now, let's not go there again. The company would
be a lot harder to manage without Chris 2 around, and that's a fact. But how
are you feeling this morning--really?"
"I'm great. In fact I don't know when I've felt this good. Maybe it's the
extra rest. Anyway, whatever it was that was making us dizzy last night
probably wasn't the food--that meal was probably the best I've ever had at
Giancarlo's."
Chris looked relieved. "We can probably dispense with the notion of seeing
the doctor, then."
Shawn smiled wickedly. "Too bad--I guess I'll have to get my fantasy fix by
seeing a Tom Cruise movie instead of a visit to Dr. Alan."
Their family physician--Alan Esterhase, M.D., internal medicine--bore a very
slight resemblance to the actor, except in height. Alan was 6'2" and a lean 180
lbs., and Shawn sometimes kidded Chris that the good doctor would have been her
second choice if Chris had rejected her. Chris took it in good-natured stride,
knowing full well he was firmly at the helm of Shawn's heart.
"C'est la vie sometimes, my dear. Delicious, by the way, but I've got to
get dressed and get going. I know you're trying to hit the books to get ready
for going back to classes in January, and I'm for it all the way--"
Just then a high-spirited and high-volume wail from Caitlin's room announced
that she was ready to start the day, and that she definitely expected to be in
on breakfast.
Shawn finished his thought. "Only it's an on-again off-again thing. That
reminds me, we need to get serious about finding a nanny for the fall."
"You bet. I'm going to start setting up interviews through the agency
today. Let me kiss the little tyke bye-bye and I'm off."
Shawn, holding Caitlin in her arms as she returned to the kitchen, held her
up for Chris. The toddler gurgled happily as she was kissed, seemingly already
trying to form words.
As Chris hurried back upstairs to dress, Shawn noticed he'd only finished
half his plate. Unusual. Putting it out of her mind, she put the baby in her
high chair and put a small portion of scrambled eggs on her plate.
Chris had no sooner seated himself behind his desk than his ubiquitous
namesake appeared, as always, in his office doorway--unannounced, uninvited, and
usually (as today) unwelcome. Christina, aka Chris 2--a year his junior, but in
all respects his equal in technological and business savvy. And of course his
partner and co-manager of the business.
And, he mused, startlingly close to him physically as well. An inch
shorter, ten lbs. lighter, same jet-black hair (hers cut short in a shag style),
looking somewhat like a very young Joan Jett. In fact they looked almost like
siblings, though they were unrelated.
Chris got up to meet her, knowing what the first words out of her mouth
would be and determined to beat her to the punch.
"No, I have not reconsidered; yes, I am still very much of a mind to
continue managing the company; and no, I do not think it would be a good idea
right now for the company to cash me out of my shares, as much as I could use
the cash infusion. That answer your questions?"
Chris 2 smiled. Chris noticed she was wearing her 3" heels. She made it a
point to do that every time she approached him on this particular subject, which
is how Chris had anticipated her line. With her heels at 3" and his Johnston &
Murphy's at maybe 1" or less, she stood at least an inch taller than him--and
she seemed to like the feeling of authority it gave her. Of course she would
never know--because Chris would never tell her--that he liked it even more.
And it didn't hurt--it never hurt--that she had a more ample bosom than
Shawn.
"Can't blame a girl for trying. There's always next week," she purred. She
turned and walked out toward her own equally large office at the end of the
eighth floor hallway, her perfect bitch-goddess ass accentuated by her snug, but
not too tight, Levi's.
That's distracting, thought Chris. Too damn distracting. We're going to
have to do something about casual Fridays around this place.
That night he and Shawn made love. They held each other afterward for a
long time, Chris cupping Shawn's breast in his hand. He couldn't shake the
feeling, just before he fell asleep, that it seemed slightly fuller.
CHAPTER THREE: CONCERN
Several days passed.
The next time they made love Chris knew it was not his imagination. Shawn's
breasts were slightly, but noticeably, larger. The time after that his
knowledge was reinforced. It was only a matter of time before she mentioned it.
He didn't have to wait long. It was the evening of June 26th, five days
after their anniversary. A productive day: Chris had returned from work after
making progress on a promising new program design, just in time to join Shawn in
interviewing Josie Narvaez, easily their most promising candidate for a live-in
nanny. The interview went well, and both Chris and Shawn knew they wouldn't
have to look any further. They were getting ready for bed. It was Shawn who
broached the subject.
"Honey, there's something I think I'd better mention."
Chris looked at her, eyebrow arched.
"I know you've always said I'm perfect the way I am, so I hope this doesn't
come as a disappointment--particularly after that conversation we were having at
Giancarlo's the other night." She looked both apprehensive and excited.
"Your breasts?" he asked.
She nodded. "I thought you might have noticed. A week ago I was just what
I was as a senior in high school--midway between nothing and an A-cup. Right
now that A-cup is not only filled up, it's actually feeling tight on me. And
it's not the bra band, that still fits perfectly. I wonder if I should go to
the doctor after all?"
"It might not hurt to be on the safe side. But do you think it could have
anything to do with your period?"
"It's possible, I guess. It never used to have any effect, but pregnancy
and childbirth can change the body chemistry around a bit. It's been close to a
year since my last physical anyway--Caitlin was just a few months old."
Chris nodded. "That's on your calendar for tomorrow, then. But you might
better let me check this out a bit more closely to be sure."
"You think so?" Shawn took off her pajama blouse. There was no question
they were bigger--bigger by close to a cup size. "Can you tell?"
"Yes, but come here. I need to examine them a bit more thoroughly." He
began to feel them, running his hands over the fleshy hills in comprehensive
fashion. As he did so he got a raging hard-on, and got Shawn hot as well. This
time they didn't make love--they fucked like beasts.
Afterward they cuddled, as always, Chris with his right hand cupped over
Shawn's left breast. Shawn thought, they're going to keep getting bigger. I
don't know how or why, but they are. She felt Chris stiffen again, this time
right against her butt, and she turned to face him. The night got young again.
"Dr. Alan" gave her a clean bill of health. Her vitals were fine, CBC fine,
and the sudden breast size increase could easily be explained as a slight
post-pregnancy adjustment--not all that common, but not odd or abnormal either;
just let him know if they continue to grow or if there is any pain, hardening or
unusual discharge.
Her breasts did indeed continue, very gradually, to grow. She did not call
Dr. Esterhase.
On the last day of June Shawn joined Chris at their pool. Shawn was wearing
a new and skimpy string bikini she had just bought. She'd realized she would
have to buy a new one, since the top to her old one was now a bit too revealing.
She was now a perfect B-cup--larger even than she'd been while nursing
Caitlin.
It got Chris' attention immediately. He got up from his lounge chair and
walked toward the patio to meet her. His arms went around her rib cage, his
mouth to her lips.
"You know what I said before about how perfect you are?"
"Yes?"
"I meant every word of it. But--"
"But?"
"You're even more perfect now. And it looks like you're getting
increasingly perfect all the time." He kissed her again, a longer, slower kiss.
Shawn smiled languidly. "Well, I'm glad the extra pound went to the right
place."
"Extra pound? I didn't notice it."
"That's what I mean. I'm hoping it's all in the bustline. I'm still
wearing the same bra band size, it's only the cup that's bigger."
Chris smiled. "It looks like it runneth over. So what are you, 121 now?"
"Exactly. Really packing it on. You're still looking trim and fit,
though," Shawn said approvingly.
"Actually I've dropped a pound. 159 this morning. Maybe I need to get my
hormones checked too." He winked as he walked her to the lounge chair next to
his. She smiled as she noticed how his stride was affected by the tent-like
bulge in his swim trunks. "I'd say your hormones are doing just fine."
Another nine days passed. Shawn gained another pound, about another
one-and-a-half inches of bustline, another cup size. She was now a perfect C.
Her breasts were still taut and firm, but she knew that couldn't last much
longer at the rate they were growing. It was now necessary for her to buy more
than just a new swimsuit and new bras--she needed several new outfits and tops
to accommodate her swelling bustline.
Chris, for his part, now seemed to have a more or less permanent erection
whenever he was around her. Their sex life had become almost unbelievable. He
would have an explosive orgasm almost as soon as he entered her--once it
happened during foreplay, and when she wasn't even touching him--but far from
spoiling the evening, he'd be hard again in ten minutes....and then he'd last a
very, very long time. The previous evening Shawn had come three times during
that long "bonus round" session.
She'd gone to see the doctor once again, and Alan had ordered a mammogram.
He discussed the results with her.
"Shawn, I won't lie to you. It's unusual, to be sure, this much of a change
this fast. But it's not unheard of. And again, I can't locate a single thing
physically wrong. Mammogram, blood chemistry, hormone levels--everything, and I
mean everything, checks out normal. You seem to have the healthiest breasts on
record. Obviously if the situation continues you'll want to start thinking
about breast reduction surgery, but right now there's not much I can tell you.
The growth needs to stabilize first. Is it causing you any physical discomfort,
any back pain?"
"Not at all." She started to say something else, hesitated, thought better
of it.
"Yes?" asked the doctor.
"The fact is I....we, that is, Chris and I....well, I sort of like this.
Speaking as someone who's been flat-chested all her life, that is. To tell you
the truth it's done wonders for our sex life over the past few weeks."
Alan smiled. "Well, then....there it is. Don't fix what ain't broken, says
I."
"What did he say?" asked Chris, slightly apprehensive.
"Clean bill of health. Perfect health, in fact."
Chris exhaled gratefully and hugged Shawn. "I knew that would be the
verdict. You know, while you were gone I had the perfect idea for our vacation
this summer."
"Vacation?" Shawn asked.
"Vacation. We couldn't take one last summer. In fact we haven't actually
had a vacation since our honeymoon. But next month I figure--to paraphrase
Lauren Bacall--we've got some Royal Caribbean coming."
Shawn's face lit up. "A cruise?"
"You got it." This time Shawn hugged Chris, tightly.
"It's what I've always wanted to do," she said.
"I've kind of wanted to do it myself. There's a week and a half cruise of
the Caribbean at the end of August that's perfect. The agent says a couple just
cancelled on the presidential suite of the flagship of one of the major cruise
lines--it's ours if we confirm today."
"Just do it!" Shawn squealed, hugging him again.
"You got it."
Shawn frowned, very slightly. She had just noticed something that seemed a
little--off. "Chris, are you--I don't know, losing weight or something?"
"No, not really. I was 158 this morning, but that's nothing major. Why?"
"I don't know, something just felt a little--I don't know--different?" She
was puzzled; she couldn't really put it into words herself.
"Well, just to be on the safe side I plan on getting a checkup myself before
the cruise. I'm not too worried, though. I still feel a little--oh, I don't
know--vigorous?" He winked lasciviously; she winked back. He took her hand as
he walked toward the stairway to the bedroom, his now omnipresent erection
leading the way.
Did her hand seem just the slightest bit larger for some reason?
Impossible, of course. But still, he asked himself, why deny a perfectly good
fantasy--especially since Shawn would never know about it anyway? His hard-on
once again answered that question for him.
CHAPTER FOUR: REAL FEAR
Several more weeks passed. The late-August cruise date drew nearer. Josie
was settling into her new job as Caitlin's live-in nanny (and part-time cook and
housekeeper), quickly becoming one of the family.
And Shawn's breasts were growing, and growing....and growing.
Chris had a doctor's appointment tomorrow, but for now they had decided to
go to the beach to get "warmed up" for the Caribbean. Shawn was wearing a
brand-new bikini top--one she had bought the previous weekend, and which was
already tight. She now weighed 127 lbs. and it was clear the entirety of the
extra seven pounds had gone to her bustline. The F-cup top she had so recently
bought left noticeable quantities of breast flesh spilling out, over and
beyond. She was now finding it hard to believe she had ever been flat-chested--and
looking at the perpetual pup-tent in Chris' trunks, she mused, he was just
finding it hard, period.
At least she was still lean and taut everywhere else--as was Chris. She
smiled. It was just a matter of adjusting her exercise routine to devote a
little more to the back muscles, and she found she was able to handle the extra
weight easily enough.
Chris, though aroused as always at the sight of Shawn's breasts, had
actually had other things on his mind the past couple of days. He was losing
weight, his appetite was decreasing, and he didn't know why. He even forced
himself to eat more than he wanted, and it didn't make any difference--the
weight seemed to be coming off at a fairly steady rate of about a pound every
nine or so days. He was at 153, down from 160 only about two months ago.
Oddly enough, he looked just the same--same build, same musculature. Why
didn't he look skinnier? He had noticed his clothes starting to feel just a bit
looser, but it wasn't just at the waistband. His shirt cuffs seemed to extend
ever so slightly further down his wrists; the trouser cuffs hung just a bit
lower, he thought. But no, that wasn't possible. As Chris considered this,
however, the unreality of shrinking didn't stop his dick from stiffening even
beyond the effects of Shawn's now wildly extravagant bustline.
And did she seem the slightest bit taller now than she used to? Again
impossible, he thought--the only thing about her that's getting bigger, from
anyone's perspective, is her bust.
"....right, Chris?"
"Huh?" He suddenly nodded back out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, Shawn,
what?"
"I said, you are going to be keeping that doctor's appointment tomorrow,
right?"
"Sure I am. It's the last opportunity before we fly to Miami for the
cruise."
"Good. Because I can't shake the feeling that something about you is
different." She paused, and smiled. "Though obviously not as pronounced as the
difference in me."
"I should hope not. An analogous change in my endowments would have me
looking like John Holmes." He bent to kiss her, and it turned into a longer and
more passionate embrace than either had intended. Shawn wrapped her arms around
his neck and held him tightly, eyes closed.
All at once, though, she seemed to stiffen slightly; she opened her eyes and
stepped back. "Chris, this is going to sound really stupid, but...."
"Yes?"
"You've always been 6'1" exactly, right?"
"Ever since around the time I graduated from high school. Why?" His heart
began racing--she was noticing this too.
"Just--look, just have Alan check your height especially carefully tomorrow,
OK?"
She had been thinking along the same lines, all right--but the look in her
eyes did not match Chris' feeling of arousal. It was a look of genuine
concern--even of fear.
Chris stood on the scales in the doctor's office, in his briefs only--as he
always weighed.
"You're sure, doc?"
"The scales don't lie, Chris--152, down eight pounds from your last visit.
And you say no change at all in your regular routine, other than decreased
appetite?"
"None."
"I'd like to do some blood work, but nothing to get alarmed about. You seem
perfectly healthy and fit, no wasting, none of the warning signs. Just a
precaution."
"Thanks--I know Shawn will feel better if I can show her the same clean bill
of health she got last month. Say, Alan--could you do me a favor and check my
height?"
"No problem, though I don't think we'll see any movement in either direction
on that," Alan smiled. He brought the flat-edged measuring rod of the scale
down flush on Chris' scalp. Chris stood up straight as he had always done as a
growing boy, eager to capture every tiny fraction of an inch of height to call
his own. If anything, Chris was standing even straighter and taller now.
Dr. Esterhase looked at the number and frowned.
"Chris, are you sure you were standing up straight just now?"
"Of course I was." Chris knew what was coming, and his heart was
hammering. "Why? What does it say?"
"Last year's checkup I had you measured at 6'1". This shows you exactly
5'11" and a half."
Chris stepped off the scale and looked directly at the doctor. Sure
enough--usually he could look the 6'2" Alan Esterhase almost in the eye; now he
was looking up, into a face of confusion and concern.
"What--what the hell's happening here? What am I, shrinking?"
"I don't see how. I mean, that's just not possible. As you get older you
tend to lose a slight amount of height due to thinning of the cartilage pads
between the vertebrae, but not an inch and a half--and not at your age. Look,
it's possible you were mismeasured last time."
"No, doc--I've been 6'1" since I was 18, and no mistake. Something's
happening here."
"Look, I'll run the bloodwork as I said. But people don't just
shrink--there's a perfectly logical explanation. If anything, the weight loss
should be more of a cause for concern, but I'm not even particularly worried
about that. You and Shawn relax and get some rest before you start your cruise,
and I'll call you in the morning with your lab results--I'm sure they'll be
perfectly normal, Chris."
"Thanks Alan. Maybe you're right. I mean, it's impossible, isn't it?"
But as Chris left the office he realized it was not only possible, it was
happening. And in the back of his mind there was something--some nudge, some
hint--that everything that was happening to him and Shawn had something to do
with that anniversary night at Giancarlo's. He just wished he knew what it was.
"Shawn, there's something I want you to do for me." Chris looked down into
her eyes, and in that moment realized clearly--just as she did--that he wasn't
looking down as far as he used to.
"Sure, honey. Did everything go OK at Alan's office?" She was concerned,
and it showed.
"Fine, babe. Could you do this for me--could you take off your clothes--"
She managed a slight grin. "This early?"
"No, Shawn, I mean, take off your clothes and go weigh yourself.
Carefully--I need an exact weight."
Shawn's look of concern deepened. "There was bad news, wasn't there?"
"No, not at all, babe. Everything's fine. I just need to know what you
weigh."
Shawn, now frightened, slowly took off her clothes, down to her bra and
panties in which she usually weighed. Her immense breasts quivered slightly;
she was shaking. She stepped on the scales, waited for the digital display,
and stepped off. She looked at Chris: "128."
Chris stared at her, his face blank and bloodless. He understood what was
happening, even if not why: a pound for a pound. One pound of his total body
mass, going directly to Shawn's breasts--they grew exactly as he shrank.
One pound about every nine days. At that rate he'd be gone in four years,
while her breasts would weigh 80 lbs. each.
Stop it, he told himself. It's impossible, besides which Shawn will pick up
on your fear and you'll just scare her more. But it was happening. He knew it
just as surely as he knew that it would continue to happen no matter what--no
matter his diet, or hers, or if she decided to have breast reduction surgery, or
anything else.
But what shocked him more than anything right now was the fact that he was
aroused. Knowing all this, he was fully, massively aroused. The sight of his
gorgeous Shawn standing in front of him half-nude, her huge breasts, and the
knowledge of what was happening to them both--it was real, not fantasy; it was
threatening his life; and it was actually turning him on!
"Chris, take off your shoes."
"What?"
"Please."
Chris understood perfectly--she had to know, just as he'd had to know. He
took off his shoes and walked over to take her hands. No mistake--they felt
larger than two months ago. It hit Shawn instantly. Before, she could tell
herself she was imagining it. No longer.
Shawn's lip was trembling. "Honey, what's happening?"
Chris tried to relax, to appear calm. "It's--" He stopped. What could he
say? That something had somehow caused two of their deepest fantasies--her
playful one, and his darker, secret one--to become real? That Shawn was fated
to grow breasts that would be beyond huge, while he gradually shrank away to
nothing? And what was causing it--had they run afoul of some Gypsy curse
somewhere? For God's sake this was 21st century America, not 15th century
Transylvania. His own doctor had just told him that shrinking was impossible.
They were going on a cruise, and they were going to enjoy it.
"It's nothing, babe, really. Alan isn't a bit concerned. I've lost a
little weight, but he ran some blood tests and everything is going to come out
fine."
The look of concern would not leave Shawn's face. She hugged him, more
tightly now. "I know you're fine. We both are. And this is going to be our
best damn vacation ever!"
FAIR EXCHANGE
(cont.)
by Vicente
CHAPTER FIVE: DENIAL
Alan phoned in the news the next morning. As expected, the lab work was
normal. Chris, like Shawn, was the very picture of health, as befitted two
fitness-conscious, food-conscious, affluent young adults.
They flew to Miami that afternoon, spending a night of fun and frolic at the
Fountainbleau. The next morning they checked aboard ship to begin the cruise.
Chris and Shawn were delighted to make new friends among the couples with
whom they had been assigned at table for evening dining throughout the cruise.
One very happy couple, they noticed--Chris with perhaps more interest than
Shawn--featured a wife several inches taller than her 5'8" husband. Whereas
before the cruise Chris, given his predilections, would have viewed that concept
as purely erotic, he now found it both stimulating and, in some sense,
comforting. He mentally filed away for future reference the observation that it
was possible for a woman to love a smaller man.
Whenever they were alone in their luxury stateroom, however, the wondrous
sex life of which Shawn had only hinted to Dr. Esterhase was in full force, and
comfort gave way entirely to lust. Chris was both insatiable and inexhaustible;
Shawn's soft, massive, gently undulant breasts--now a perfect G-cup--were the
most potent aphrodisiac he could have taken, and take them he did. His reach,
of course, exceeded his grasp--he could no more have taken one of those monsters
fully in his mouth than he could have cupped one in his hand--but he had fun
trying, and Shawn had fun letting him try. She still believed that they were
responsible for 100% of his enhanced sex drive (or sex overdrive), rather than
only 90%. Chris saw no need to speak with her at this point about the other
10%--it was enough for her to deal with just knowing that he was slowly
shrinking, without making her deal with the fact that some part of him (the
8-inch recreational part) actually enjoyed it. Correction--now just slightly
less than 8 inches.
When they left the ship at Cozumel with the tour groups, Alan in his swim
trunks and Shawn in her bikini, every male eye in the vicinity was nailed to
Shawn's unbelievable body. It was that of a drop-dead gorgeous 20-year-old
fashion model, but with giant natural breasts that would, almost literally, make
a dead man come. It was not unusual on that cruise for living men to come in
their pants from looking at her too long (i.e., over a minute). Chris took all
this in with a sense of awe; it was worth it, he thought, to give up a little
height in exchange. His penis voiced its enthusiastic agreement.
Or it did until late in the cruise, on the night of the formal dance. Chris
would remember it as the first point at which reality-driven apprehension began
to eclipse his lurid fetishistic fantasies of being a shrinking man with a
balloon-breasted wife. By this time he was down to 151 lbs. (despite partaking
liberally of the gourmet food so freely available on board), and a tiny fraction
over 5'11". Shawn, for the first time since the process had started, was
wearing 3" heels--nothing else would do for a formal dress. Chris' own 1" heels
left him barely an inch taller than Shawn as they slow-danced, cheek to cheek.
A few months ago, in the same footwear, there would have been a 3" difference in
their heights.
Shawn just looked at him lovingly, almost eye-to-eye, and pretended not to
wonder where those two precious inches had gone. This was bothering her more
and more. Like Chris she had some vague notion that, not only was this process
an unnatural thing for which there was no scientific or medical explanation, but
that it somehow had something to do with that anniversary dinner at Giancarlo's
where they had been talking about her breasts. She loved Chris dearly and
always would, and for now his truly incredible libido--which never failed to
satisfy her sexually--outweighed that slightly odd feeling she was starting to
get over the fact that she didn't have to look up as far, that her arms went
around him with a little more room to spare, and (this just in the last night or
two) that his penis felt ever so slightly less filling (she smiled to
herself--but great taste?)
They enjoyed the rest of their vacation. The Caribbean cruise, like the
anniversary dinner at Giancarlo's, was to become an annual event--for the next
three years. It would never again be as happy as this interlude.
The official story, among friends, relatives, and the C&C quasi-"family",
was that Shawn was suffering from a rare (but not unheard-of) condition
described as non-virginal hypertrophic bilateral gigantomastia of unknown
etiology. Suddenly and inexplicably huge breasts, in layman's terms. Alan
could think of nothing more plausible to call it. Rare but, again, not
unheard-of.
He was damned if he could think of anything to call Chris' condition, as he
confided to Chris on their next office visit. Shrinking man syndrome, perhaps.
The tape and the scale didn't lie. Nor did the lab work, which continued to
announce vibrant good health--for Shawn as well as for Chris. It was now early
November, and Chris was at 145 lbs., standing 5'10". It wasn't quite at the
point of being noticeable to the outside world; most of those who knew them were
too busy marveling at the miracle of Shawn's breasts to notice what was
happening to Chris, and he had taken to wearing fake-heeled "elevator shoes"
most places to give himself an extra couple of inches of height. But at this
rate it couldn't be much longer. Chris was adamant with Alan about not bringing
the medical community in on this. He would not risk unwanted notoriety, and
Alan respected his wishes.
But even Josie--at a petite 5'3"--could see that something was happening
with Chris as well as, more obviously, with Shawn. She would not assault his
privacy by mentioning it, but Chris knew that she knew.
It was at this point that Shawn determined on a course of action that
finally confirmed, well beyond either of their capacities for denial, that
something unscientific, unknown, and unknowable was affecting them. She was now
beyond a JJ-cup--beyond huge. She was still able to carry herself with no
difficulty, thanks to a combination of aggressive exercise, yoga, pilates, and
high-protein muscle enhancing diet that gave her spinal column the fortitude it
needed to deal with the situation. But enough was enough. After all, she would
be going back to college in January to resume work toward her computer science
degree. She had Alan make her a referral to a plastic surgeon for reduction
surgery.
She and Chris talked it over and, reluctantly, he came around. He agreed
that it was the only thing that made sense, but he had to wonder whether it
could really be as easy as this to deal with the whole thing.
By the middle of November she was prepped and ready. Her surgeon was one of
the finest in the state. He sculpted her down to a perfect D-cup (Chris'
suggestion, of course); her chest was the proverbial artist's canvas, and the
scarring, for such a massive reduction, was so minimal as to be hardly
noticeable. She was out of the hospital shortly, and Josie insisted on waiting
on her with almost as much attention as was paid to Caitlin.
She continued to feel better as the days went by. Chris, though, continued
shrinking. He was now at 143. Gorging or starving, it seemed to make no
difference. Where, then, was his weight going?
The answer, when it arrived, was a shock. Shawn had been out of the
hospital less than a week when she began to feel an unfamiliar sensation of heat
in her breasts--not unpleasant, but different. Then they began to grow again.
This time, however, it was faster--much, much faster. No longer was she gaining
a cup size a week--this was a cup size a day. At last, three weeks after the
surgery, the abnormal growth stopped--that is, it abated to the less abnormal
growth rate of the past five months. Her breasts were larger than they had been
before the surgery, though. They were in fact exactly the size they would have
been had the surgery never been done.
Shawn and Chris didn't really want to talk about it, but they couldn't
really not talk about it either.
"Honey, I don't think there's anything that can be done about this", Shawn
said, her lower lip quivering slightly. "When will it end?"
"It's OK, babe. It's going to be all right. As long as we have each
other--and we always will--we've got it all. We're perfectly healthy,
fabulously so, and we'll stay that way. This will have to stop sometime." Of
course he and Shawn both knew that it had to stop sometime, but they also knew
that "sometime" might well coincide with the point at which Chris dwindled
literally to nothing.
Shawn, tears streaming down her face, held her husband; he held her right
back.
Almost Christmas--December 21st. Josie had taken a holiday break to visit
relatives out of state, and the ever-more-ambulatory Caitlin was at last sound
asleep for the night. Chris and Shawn sipped heavily liquored eggnog before a
blazing fireplace.
The couple had reached a point of intersection at which both weighed 140
lbs. Never again, they knew, would Chris be the bigger of them. And, thought
Chris, at 5'9" he was rapidly approaching the point at which never again would
he be the taller of them.
"Happy Holidays babe", he toasted, as they clinked goblets. It was an
unusually restful time for them--48 hours had gone by without their customary
once or twice daily romp, even though Shawn wasn't having her period and they
had finished all their Christmas shopping, and the attendant bustle, a week
before. Perhaps they were just getting introspective in their "old age." " I
think I'll go into the office for just a few hours tomorrow to wrap up some
projects before Christmas day."
"Don't forget your "special" shoes; even though it's a Sunday right before
Christmas somebody could be in."
Chris smiled. "Right now that's hardly likely. But I won't forget."
He forgot.
The next morning he was in his office, happily tidying up end-of-the-year
business. It was going to turn out to be a profitable year, he knew, and as
much as he had grown to dislike talking to the smug, smirking Chris 2 about
anything, he knew they'd soon be talking about the joyful prospect of a 2-for-1
stock split.
A cup of java would go well about now--mastery of the coffee-making
equipment was something he'd taught himself early on, and so he was on his way
down the hall to the kitchen area as soon as the thought hit. He didn't hear
the lock turning in the reception area door as he scooped coffee into the paper
filter and slid the plastic container above the pot--nor did he hear the door to
the kitchen open as he hit the "brew" button and waited for the coffee to
trickle through.
He did, however, hear a sudden gasp--from a female throat. It was Chris 2.
She crossed the room quickly and stood directly before him--towering over him by
3", without her 3" heels. Chris had a sinking feeling as he realized he'd
forgotten to wear his cheaters. He looked up at Chris 2--up higher than he'd
ever looked at her, with the highest heels she'd ever worn. And right now she
was wearing sneakers, just like him.
Chris 2 looked down at him. She smiled.
"So the rumors are true. Excellent. I think it's time for us to negotiate,
little man", she said.
CHAPTER SIX: ANGER
"Baby! Your face! What happened?"
Chris hated to lie to his wife, but there was absolutely no
way--not right now, at any rate--that he could tell her what had just
happened to him at the office. There might come a time, and that
time might be all too soon, when she would understand. But not now,
and not when there were other things he had to discuss.
"It's nothing, babe. I'm OK. I had stopped at the
drive-in
grocery to pick up some beer and I got slugged in the face by some
guy who had just tried to rob the place and was running out the door
just as I was walking into it. Talk about being at the wrong place
at the wrong time." It sounded lame, but for now it sounded
more plausible than the truth.
"I'm so sorry, honey. Let me get an ice pack to put on
that." Shawn went to the kitchen and quickly returned with some
ice cubes in a baggie.
Chris sat on the sofa, trying to relax with the cold pack on
his
face. The swelling was already going down, but the eye would be
discolored for a much longer time. He relived mentally the last few
hours, as part of the few minutes he spent trying to select the words
with which he would broach the subject with Shawn.
Chris 2 had taken him completely by surprise at the office.
He
had left his elevator shoes, his "cheaters", at home. The
leggy six-foot brunette towered over his dwindling, now 5'9"
frame; she had always had a tendency to dominate him psychologically
with little ploys such as wearing high heels around him at the
office, but there was no need for such tricks now. Not anymore.
"We're going to negotiate, little man," she said
ominously.
He was nervous, and it showed. "What are you talking
about?"
"What I've been talking with you about, on and off, since
not long after the IPO. You're a hardworking guy, Chris, you've got
a family now, your stock's worth just as much as mine--a shitload,
right now--and I think you've earned an early retirement. The
company has a big fat cash reserve; sell the stock and let me take
over sole management. This is an especially good time for you to be
shedding yourself of unneeded and burdensome responsibilities, what
with Shawn's titty explosion, and your--well, your apparent 'little
problem', I guess you'd call it," she smirked.
Chris' face reddened. The bitch had gone too
far. "That's
pretty goddamn presumptious. And if I say no?"
Her response was swift, unexpected, and painful. In
retrospect
it was a response she must have been planning, against the day she
caught him somewhere alone. The word "no" had barely left
his lips before Chris 2's fist shot out like a missile and caught him
just below his eye, knocking him flat on his ass. He looked up from
the floor, more shocked than hurt--the full quantum of pain hadn't
started to set in--and for a moment was simply speechless.
Chris 2 was still smirking. "Don't misunderstand.
That's
not what happens if you say "no"--that's just a little
reality check to sort of punctuate for you some of the unfortunate
effects of your unfortunate situation, one of which is that I can now
kick your ass pretty much at will, and unless I miss my guess it's
going to get easier for me to do so as time goes by. Actually, what
happens if you say "no" is that the office, your circle of
friends, the software community, the medical profession, the
media--print, broadcast, electronic, you name it--and the public in
general are informed of the existence of a wondrous freak of nature,
an incredible shrinking man, right here in River City as it
were." She smiled. She knew she had him.
Chris was angry. Very angry. Everything that had
been happening
to him and to Shawn--it was just too fucking much. It wasn't fair.
They didn't deserve it, didn't even know why it was happening. And
now this? No, no, NO!
He shot up off the floor and charged her. He almost
reached her.
It must have been the damn Tae Bo classes she attended three times a
week--her right foot caught him hard, REALLY hard, in the solar
plexus. This time he went down and stayed down. He was very angry;
he was not very stupid.
He grimaced in pain. Chris 2 bent down toward his face.
"Talk to the little bra-buster about it. I'm sure
she'll
see the wisdom in this plan, just as you've come to see it in these
last few educational seconds. Your stock's worth about 30 mil right
now, mas o menos. A nice, big cash infusion. Even at today's
interest rates, which will have to improve eventually, you could
still live very comfortably for life without ever touching the
principal and without too much financial risk. It's the only thing
that makes sense for you, you poor little guy." Her face
assumed an expression of mock concern as she caressed his face--a
touch that Chris found more repulsive than either of the two earlier
blows.
"You know if my project works it could double the market
capitalization of this company. You're talking highway
robbery."
"Call it what you will, just do it. I want that stock
on
the books by the end of the quarter, and that's only about a week
away."
Chris got slowly and somewhat painfully to his feet. As
he did,
he became aware of a shocking fact--his body had actually responded
to this woman's assault as if she had seduced him. What the hell was
happening to him?
Chris 2 reacted with glee. "Why Mr. Blalock, it
seems
you're of the 'just lie back and enjoy it' school of thought--only as
the 'lie-or' rather than 'lie-ee'. Who would have thunk it?"
Chris' face turned an even darker crimson, in contrast to the
now
purpling eye. "Yeah, well, I'll think about it." He
turned to leave. She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
"Just remember this, little man. Right now I can kick
your
ass. Soon I'll be able to disrobe it, bend it over my lap, and spank
it till it's raw--right in front of the office, if I please.
Nobody's going to challenge one boss' prerogative to do that to
another boss, particularly when the victim belongs to a gender that
doesn't enjoy a high success rate in sexual harassment lawsuits.
The only question is, what will be more embarassing for you--the fact
that I can spank you like a child, or the fact that everyone will see
your little prick get hard when I do it?"
Chris returned to the present. He knew he had no
choice; he had
to get this over with.
"Babe, I need to talk to you about something."
"Yes?"
He swallowed. "You know, what with everything that's
been
happening to us, I've been thinking. We're liable to be spending a
lot of time dealing with this situation, plus you're about to go back
to school. And me--well, I'd like to spend more time at the house.
Caitlin's starting to get big now, and"--he hesitated, his voice
starting to crack--"if it turns out that I don't have much time
left, I want to spend it--"
"STOP IT! DON'T SAY THAT!" Her vehemence shocked
him.
"I'm sorry", she continued more gently, "I just can't
stand the thought of--of that. You said yourself everything's going
to be all right, and I believe it is. We're good people, we go to
church, all of that. I know this is going to work out OK." She
could almost believe it, and she could almost make Chris believe she
believed it--just not quite.
He smiled anyway. "I know it is. Just think,
babe--30
million dollars. What better time to cash out of a business as
volatile as this one? And for this kind of money? We can even start
up a new smaller business of our own--ALL our own. Wouldn't it be
great?"
She smiled back. "You know I'd trust any decision you make.
If it feels right to you, then it feels right to me."
At 3:00 a.m. Shawn still hadn't been able to fall asleep.
Chris
seemed comfortably asleep beside her. He'd been eager for a
late-night holiday "session" with her, black eye or no, but
she'd lied and said she felt as if she had some indigestion. She
thought about that now.
She still loved Chris dearly, and she still wanted him
sexually.
But she couldn't lie to herself--something felt different now when
they had sex, and it wasn't just the physical feel of his smaller
body, or of her own weightier "attributes".
She had been attracted to Chris by his kindness, his
intellect,
his wit, his good humor--the entire package. But part of that
package--maybe a larger part than she had realized, up until now--had
been his physical presence, his height, his strength. Soon Chris
would be no taller than her. Soon after that, she knew, he would
actually be smaller than her. And he would keep getting smaller.
For how long? Until--what he'd hinted at this evening? She didn't
know, didn't want to know. She just wanted this whole nightmare to
be over. But she couldn't make herself wake up.
She had taken to wearing very bulky and loose-fitting clothes
anytime she left the house, to ward off lecherous stares and catcalls
from men. She wasn't sure which type was worse--the uninhibited
hardhat type who had no compunctions about making her feel
uncomfortable about her breasts, or the "shy" type who'd
never say a word to her out loud--but who'd stare gawkily at her and
make her feel at least as uncomfortable. It was getting to where she
couldn't stand to be around any man other than Chris. It wasn't too
bad if she dressed to disguise her breasts, which were now so large
that any effective disguise had to include an overcoat.
But it wouldn't be winter forever.
She turned on her left side, trying to find a position of
comfort--no small task these nights, given the difficulty of trying
to figure out how and where to position a pair of breasts that were
taking up a large and growing amount of bed space. At least she was
starting, finally, to feel a little drowsy.
For some reason her last thoughts before sleep were of Dr.
Alan
Esterhase, and of how he really didn't look so much like Tom Cruise
as like--whom? Matt Damon, perhaps. A slightly TALLER version of
Matt Damon.
TO BE CONTINUED