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People always want what they can’t have which is probably why everyone wanted Heather Vance. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her. A flower, a snowcapped mountain, the beach on a sunny day; those things are beautiful. Heather was a perfect sunset shining on a unicorn prancing through a field of flowers… or something. The point is that she was one-of-a-kind gorgeous and completely out of reach.


Looking back I can’t remember if she was an early bloomer, but puberty didn’t just start for Heather, it kicked down the damn door. By the end of the 7th grade she had bigger breasts than any of her classmates and by the end of eighth grade she had the biggest breasts in school, including teachers. And I had it on good authority that Mrs. Robinson was packing F-cups.


While Heather’s overdeveloped tits led the way both figuratively and literally, the rest of her was quick to follow. The only thing more intimidating than a high school freshman with cantaloupe-sized breasts was one that could stick them under the nose of most of her peers. She must have been around 5’8” by freshman year, but of course that didn’t last long. She grew. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I watched those long legs bounce her into class and, believe me, she was equally pleasant to watch coming as going. Her ass was a ripe, ever-expanding peach that strained seams and necks every time she passed. If Heather had carried her weight differently she might have been considered a bit chubby. Instead, she was simply wet-dream-inducingly voluptuous.


Throughout high school Heather continued to develop, maybe a bit less dramatically than those first couple years, but enough to spur near constant speculation over her height and cup size. There was just one problem: a certain aspect of Heather that grew along with her body and made her almost completely unbearable: her ego. Some girls I knew became social butterflies after puberty did them a solid. Others became shy or reclusive. This one girl, Janine, I think she came from a rich family. Anyway, she grew big tits in high school and during senior year she had her parents pay for a reduction. A real shame, because she was nice and I’d finally worked up the courage to ask her to prom when the operation came and kept her out of school.


Of course Heather was at prom. The undisputed queen bee of Sedgwick High School would never miss an opportunity to be fawned over by her peers. She had grown a little over an inch a year from a 5’8” Freshman to a 5’9” Sophomore then an inch and half or so to 5’11” Junior. Each year seemed to bring a new opportunity for scandalous displays of “fashion”. Plaid skirts that showed off acres of creamy thigh gave way to skin tight jumpsuits that squashed her overripe breasts into cavernous cleavage.


The worst, or best- depending on who you ask, was when she would borrow clothing from friends. It happened so often there was no way she wasn’t doing it on purpose. Heather would flounce into school wearing a shirt knotted beneath her huge breasts, baring midriff. The makeshift tops were invariably from someone smaller that she wanted to humiliate. The setup was predictable: Heather would call attention to the borrowed clothing; offering thanks while bent over to display her massive assets or offer a coy apology after she’d popped a button with her ridiculous curves. Seeing the other girls sour with envy wasn’t so bad, but the ones that would get really quiet and look sad… I felt for them. As much as we all loved to look at Heather there was no doubt that she was a grade-A bitch. Which brings us back to prom.


Our school does this thing where all the clubs announce the ‘best in class’ leading up the crowning of the Prom King and Queen. It’s supposed to be an opportunity for everyone to feel good about themselves or maybe a close friend. Unfortunately for my senior year; that didn’t happen. The winner for best dressed was announced first, and to no one’s surprise, Heather won. Then things started getting weird.


Photo Club usually nominated whoever took the best photo but instead they switched the category to ‘most photogenic’. Heather won. Then track and field had a category for ‘longest stride’. Of course Heather won. At 6’1” tall, and leggy she edged out her 6’2” male counterpart, whose name I forget. After that the announcements kept coming in similar fashion. Heather didn’t sweep every category but she might as well have. By the time the announcements were over she had won over a dozen accolades, more than the rest of the school combined.


The typically noisy dance floor was deathly quiet. You could feel the envy and hate pouring out of the girls. As for the boys, well… To be honest I think most of us were probably happy to have an excuse to stare at Heather for twenty minutes straight. In any case between sexual tension and good ole regular tension; the atmosphere was far from comfortable. When Heather was crowned Prom Queen you could have heard a pin drop. No cheering, no clapping. Nothing. I think some guy tried to start a slow clap, but it didn’t catch. Heather took that moment to surprise us.


Standing on stage resplendent in a silvery dress that was equal parts regal and scandalous she announced, “Thanks everyone for everything. It’s been really great. I know there have been a lot of rumors going around that I would be attending Yale or maybe Harvard but I’ve had so much fun with all of you these last few years that I really can’t stand the thought of leaving. That is why starting next year,” she paused for dramatic effect. Then shrilled, “I’ll be staying right here in Middleton! I hope to see you all at Middleton State University next semester! Mwah!” She blew everyone a kiss.

The response was a collective groan, though I think the boys and girls may have been groaning for entirely different reasons. My groan, if I’m being honest, was a bit sexual.




I haven’t really told you anything about myself, probably because there isn’t much to tell. I am a pretty average guy: average grades, average build, average intelligence, outlier penis size. Just kidding. Seriously though if there is anything about myself worth mentioning it’s that I like to crack jokes. Maybe I’m not the life of the party, but I’m usually good for a few laughs. Hopefully my MSU peers think so too, otherwise it’s going to be a rough four years. Which brings us to today. Orientation.


I must have slept walk through my first couple classes because when I woke up I was in the cafeteria nursing a cup of coffee. It was either Heather’s voice or the caffeine that snapped me out of my daze; smart money was on Heather. She was at a table kitty-corner to mine with a group of freshman girls.


“So when the zipper on my sweater broke I totally, like, freaked,” she was saying to the group. “Brittany saved me with this cute little thing.” Heather gestured to a sheer blue blouse that was practically painted onto her bust. Little gaps were showing between the buttons and it pulled up to reveal her navel when she moved.

“Please be careful, Heather,” A girl who I assumed must have been Brittany said. She had an average build, which left her a good half foot shorter than Heather“That’s my favorite shirt.”


“You have a yellow one that is just like it, don’t you?” Heather replied.


“They don’t sell that shirt anymore and blue is my favorite color.” Brittany said defensively.


“Well, it’s a good thing it’s designer and not some bargain bin trash. Because something cheap could never contain these babies.” Heather shook her chest provocatively, sending her barely-restrained breasts bouncing to and fro. I swear I could hear the stitches groan. Brittany paled. “Anyway,” Heather said, “I hope photography is more interesting than civics or I’m gonna need another venti latte just to make it through the day.” She emphasized this with a yawn and a dramatic stretch. Time seemed to slow as I watched her arm raise over head while her other hand moved up to stifle the yawn- the blouse stretching tighter and tighter against her enormous rack. The strain was too much.


The first button succumbed, firing from Heather’s cleavage like a bullet and catching Brittany between the eyes. Stunned, she could only watch the rest of the massacre unfold. Heather’s tits, having had a taste of freedom, surged forward and sent another button soaring upward. They sloshed and wobbled like water balloons. A single button remained, tenuously supporting the jiggling weight of Heather’s prodigious charms- a duty it promptly failed. The last button shot down at the table and collided with Brittany’s cup.


The drink teetered precariously and then it spilled iced coffee, drenching her owner’s lap.Heather snickered then clapped her hands over her mouth, although I could see from her eyes that she was hiding a grin. “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” she said. Brittany was in tears. She stood up as her empty cup rolled off the table and clattered to the floor. Her skirt was soaked.


My heart went out to her and I spoke without thinking. “Looks like someone needs to cut back on the lattes.” Heather turned to look at me and my heart skipped a beat. Why did I say that? Brittany gave me a quick, unreadable glance before dashing away- tears streaming down her face. Another girl muttered something about not wanting to get wet. As though on cue the rest of the crowd around Heather and I dispersed. Coffee dripped from the edge of the table.


Like a deer in the headlights I watched Heather casually extract a scarf from her bag and drape it so that it covered her cleavage. It did nothing to hide the creamy swells of breast flesh that overflowed the edges of Brittany’s ruined blouse or hide the massive lacy black bra beneath. I watched her from the corner of my eye, unable to face her but also unwilling to miss a golden opportunity to see her legendary chest on display.


“That was funny.” Heather said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hah, yeah well. You know.” I said lamely.


“You know,” Heather mused, “You look familiar.”


“Yeah?” I said. “Guess I’ve got one of those faces.”


“No,” Heather said, tapping her plush lips thoughtfully. “I’ve seen you before. Did you go to Sedgwick?”


“Heh, yeah.”

“Oh my god! I knew it!” Heather gushed and moved to sit across from me. “Why didn’t you come say hi?”


“We uhh, never really ran in the same circles.”


“Oh please, I knew everyone at Sedgwick.”

“Well I wasn’t really anybody.” It was taking every ounce of effort I could muster not to stare at her chest. The scarf was like sealing a levee with a bright piece of twine; it only called attention to the problem.


“Oh come on, a cute guy like you, I’m sure you were popular.” Heather said conspiratorially.    


“Th-thanks, but really I don’t think I did anything worth remembering.”

“Nuh-uh mister.” Heather said, and leaned forward and her breasts to spread against the table between us. “You’re not getting off that easy. You were the one that shouted that joke at the homecoming game, right?” I can’t believe she actually remembered that and I couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of pride. She continued, “What was it again? Something about having a ball?”


“I said they ‘had more ball possession giving each other reach arounds.’ … or something like that.”


Heather laughed and I felt my spark of confidence catch fire. “Yeah that was it,” she said. “So…”


“Mike,” I offered my name.

“Mike. As you can see I’m having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction.” She gestured to the exploded blouse and it’s swollen cargo. I accepted her invitation to look without thinking. It was an animal reaction and some part of me immediately regretted it. In a way I was enjoying someone’s misfortune, or at least the opportunity their misfortune had afforded me. I couldn’t help it. Heather’s tits had gravity and my eyes were drawn to their porcelain perfection via inescapable laws of nature. “Would it be too much to ask to borrow your jacket?”


Some people say there are an infinite number of universes playing out an infinite number of scenarios. I am reasonably sure that in every reality where Heather Vance asks me to lend her my jacket, I say yes.

“Yeah, sure.” I said, shrugging it off one shoulder. “I think we have the same class.”



“Yeah, I overheard that you’re taking photography. So am I.”


“Oh, perfect!” Heather said, flashing her brilliant white teeth at me. Her breathtakingly beautiful face was probably the only thing keeping me from staring openly at her chest if I’m being honest. She wrapped my jacket around her shoulders and stood up. I followed her lead and hefted my backpack, preparing to leave. “Hey wait,” she said, even though I had yet to take a step. She was trying in vain to peer over her chest while fiddling with the zipper of my jacket. “Could you help me with this?”


“Uhh, sure.”


We moved forward at the same time and in the moment before we collided I had a realization. Heather was much, much taller than me. Her bust collided with my neck and while I’d like to say the collision caused a shortness of breath it was probably something else entirely. Her firm breasts squished against me for one electric moment before we stumbled away from each other. I caught a devious look that was gone so quickly I wasn’t certain it had been there at all. “Whoops!” she said. “These are always bumping into things.”


“Yeah, I bet.” I replied.


Heather waited for me to approach and I did so slowly, feeling a bit intimidated by her size. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… most of the time,” she smiled.


“Hah,” I laughed nervously.


“Thanks for your help by the way, I really appreciate it.”


“No problem, that zipper gets stuck all the time…” I managed to pull the zipper past the first few troublesome teeth and said, “You just have to know the trick.” I started to step away when Heather’s hand caught mine, pressing it to her midsection.

“Keep going,” she said.


My mouth went dry and I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My hands felt clammy against the cold metal of the zipper. Heather’s hand was hot against my wrist. She let go and I started to pull the zipper up, having to lean back so that I could mark its progress beneath the shelf of her bust. Finally the tiny metal clasp reached the promised land, the base of her bust. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my pants felt suddenly and uncomfortably tight. The first few teeth clicked together. Heather straightened and the progress I’d made was lost as her bust forced the zipper back down. I pulled the zipper up sharply, reclaiming lost ground- then it caught. Just before the widest part of Heather’s chest the zipper wouldn’t budge. I struggled for a moment before Heather said, “Let me help.”


Her hands cupped her breasts beside mine, forcing her tits together and causing cleavage to explode upwards toward her chin. With the sudden slack available one hard tug drew the zipper nearly to her chin in a single, cleavage-eclipsing moment. I stepped away without a word, simultaneously swinging my bag in front of my crotch under the guise of searching for a book. The raging boner that had developed while getting my jacket zipped over Heather’s gigantic tits was not the ideal first impression. My jacket, which I’d bought a size too large because I liked it loose, barely reached her waist. I was certain that if she stretched it would be up at her navel in an instant.


“Not really my style,” Heather sighed, “But it will have to do.”

I made an excuse to hang back and tried not to watch Heather’s backside sway out of sight. The last thing I needed was to be seen sporting wood on the first day. It took quite a while to settle down enough to head to class.



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