I Was A Human Penis! And My Boobs Were Giant Testicles!

Chapter 2.

Nothing happened at first. She took one pill a night like Dr. Brock had prescribed, and he had urged her to be patient and to focus on her studies. She kept thinking she felt something, but of course she didn’t really.

After two weeks, she woke up feeling a little sore on her chest, and she was so excited that she threw up in the toilet. Her mother knocked on the door and asked if she was alright, and she said it was just the sloppy joes from the school cafeteria coming back to haunt her. She stood up straight and studied herself in the mirror and bid “Au revoir, skinny kid’s body!”

After a month, she had two actual lumps. They were hard and a little sensitive. And she was so proud of them that she went to the mall and purchased a size ‘A’ bra.

It didn’t last her for long. The process began to accelerate, and for the next few months she would need to buy new underwear every few weeks or so. It didn’t go unnoticed at school, either. Kendra and Sonya began to give her the time of day again, and even started being a little nice. And the boys by the dumpster, dumbfounded at her rapid changes, could only hoot and whistle. “So that’s what sexual harassment feels like,” giggled Grassy to herself as she walked past them, her back straight. “Enjoy the view, because you’ll never touch.”

She assumed her new curves were so sensitive because of the speed with which they were developing. “All breasts are tender when they grow,” she told herself as she felt her new puppies. “Mine are especially sensitive because of the faster pace that they’re coming in.” She also was surprised at how hard they were. In novels she had read, bosoms were often described as cushiony and soft. Pillowy. She wondered if maybe they ripened with age. She had no sisters and had never felt another girl’s body.

After about three months, she began to worry that things had gone too far. The largest bra that the mall’s lingerie store offered, the ‘Triple D,’ was beginning to chafe her, and she had to order an ‘E’ on the internet. It was too late to stop the progression, for she had completed the full course of the liquid gel pills. But her chest did not stop growing. “I never should have demanded Dr. Brock's strongest cocktail!” she began to regret.

Even her parents showed some concern. Her father, who would never have said anything about her body before, asked her if she was feeling okay. “Must be my grandmother’s Russian genes,” he said to himself at breakfast one morning. Grassy was mortified.

She wanted to go to Dr. Brock and ask if there was something she could take to slow down or reverse the process. But he had barely spoken to her for months, never making eye contact in class or calling on her. Their school relationship had become strictly professional, colder than it ever was before.

One morning when she was examining herself in the mirror, she was horrified to discover that the tiny hairs which were normally all over her body had begun to grow especially thick on her new breasts. “Oh my God!!” she freaked out. “I’ve got hairy boobs! Is that normal?” She tried to Google it, and found all sorts of grotesque pictures. When she asked questions online if she should shave or wax her chest, she found websites warning that it would just grow back thicker. “Well, I guess the window during which I could wear pretty dresses has closed for good,” she sadly reflected. She started wearing black undershirts and several layers of sweatshirts to keep it mysterious what was happening under her clothes. Since autumn was turning into winter, she could get away with thicker clothes, but she was already dreading the spring.

They were huge, hard, hairy, and so, so sensitive. If she banged into them by accident, it would cause such a profound, brain-breaking pain that she would have to curl up clutching them until she came back to her senses. “That can’t be good,” she worried.

Her back had also begun to hurt, but it was a strange pain. It was more like an aching, even a longing. She wanted to go to a professional masseuse, but she didn’t have the money - and anyway, she worried what they would think of her unusual bosom. “Lots of naturally endowed women experience back pain,” she consoled herself, trying to reach her back with her own hands. “It’s just my cross to bear.”

By Thanksgiving break, she had outgrown all of the “Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders” she had ordered online. She thought her breasts were unusually firm for being so gigantic, staying erect on their own, defying gravity. So she stopped wearing bras, which were breaking her bank account anyway.

But her girls couldn’t defy gravity much longer. They had gotten heavier and heavier, and as she was walking home alone through the wintry woods one afternoon, she felt a huge shift beneath her shirt. Her breasts had dropped, like weighty ship’s anchors. She felt them under her jacket, concerned. Where they used to be high and tight on her chest, jutting out into space, they now fell down and rested comfortably on her stomach. “What the fuck!” she yelled out to no one. “I’m fourteen years old and I look like a Babushka!”

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