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I am an 18-year-old female with long, wavy brown hair and a 36-24-35 figure. It takes a lot to turn me on, so I’m just friends with the guys in my neighborhood, but I like to dress in sexy outfits for the pleasure of their stares. A month ago, a new family moved in down the street, and I decided to welcome my new neighbors and get acquainted with them. They had a very attractive daughter my age named Kay, and it wasn’t long before we were good friends.

One day after Kay’s family had settled in, I went over to pick her up to go shopping. As I pulled into the driveway, I saw the most handsome guy imaginable shooting baskets. He was my height with long, black, spiked hair and an incredible body — all the more evident because he wore only a pair of jams. I was mesmerized by his beauty. Kay came out, and I eagerly asked her who the hunk was. “My brother,” she replied. “Isn’t he cute!” I soon found out that Kay’s parents had adopted Vin as a child. “Do you like him?” Kay asked.

“He’s hot!!” I replied with a big smile. We both walked up the driveway, and Kay introduced us. I looked Vin over from head to toe, and the sight of the sweat pouring down his body made my panties randy with excitement. I could tell that Vin was also impressed by my assets –accentuated by a white cotton halter top and tight black jogging shorts. Kay and I decided to shoot some hoops with Vin, and the three of us frolicked for a while. At one point, as I went in for a lay-up, Vin shocked me by accidentally grabbing my breast as I dribbled past him.

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Foul!” Kay laughed. “I think we’ve all had enough,” she added.

As Kay led me to the house, I stared longingly at Vin. I hoped that he could see how aroused I was by his touch — my [tag]nipples[/tag] were so hard that they could be seen through the fabric of my top. Once inside, we drank some iced tea, but it did not cool the lust I felt for Vin. Soon he came in, and we sat around talking for a long time, forgetting that I had come to go shopping with Kay. I flirted with Vin by deliberately sticking my chest out and curving my body toward him. When I caught him staring, I got embarrassed. I’m kind of awkward in these situations, and I hoped I wasn’t fouling up.

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The skinny girl, the one with the bony hips and the tits that looked like they got stuck on afterwards with modeling clay, just read you a list of your faults – I mean, like a list written on one of those long sheets of yellow paper with the blue and red lines for Pete’s sake – and you tell her to go to hell, as politely as possible. And as you walk down her stairway and out her front walk and start up your car, you realize that the big girl you met at your old friend Fred’s the other night, the one with the incredible green eyes and the big bouncy boobs and the little green shoes that looked like slippers, has been walking around in your brain, and now and then one of those little green shoes twangs the nerve that runs from your head to your dick. Laurie. Like a damn fool you didn’t get her phone number.

On the way home you drop by Fred’s place. Fred looks like a large bear. His house looks like where you’d expect a large bear to live. Stringy furniture. Not very much light. Books everywhere. Longnecks empty of home brew. Peanut shells on the floor (or are they acorn hulls?). Fred must have one of every computer Apple ever made. He does something with cars and computers for a living. You and Fred pop a couple of home brews. They say PHREDZ BIG BEAR BRAU in sort of fake German letters, done with a computer. You never forget your first Phredz. If you survive it, anyhow. “Yeah, Laurie’s something else. Teaches high school. Phone number.” He does something with a computer and her name and address and phone number eventually pop up on a screen. While the computer disks whir, your mind wanders back to Fred’s party the other night. Fred loves to roll back the peanut shells and turn on the old time rock and roll. You boogied with Laurie and watched her feet move in those little green shoes that looked like slippers. She wore a soft purple sweater and when her huge boobs bounced to the music her big nipples showed right through her bra and poked the backs of your hands. The skinny girl glared. The backs of your hands are still burning.

The computer prints out Laurie’s address and phone number. You gulp down the rest of the longneck. You go home and call Laurie. You feel like a high school kid. Even her voice has big boobs. Sure she’d like to have dinner at your place tomorrow evening. Her voice bounces “bye” and you put the phone down not quite believing it. You’ve got a date with Laurie. You fall into bed worn out. Suddenly your dick’s as hard as the nozzle on a fire hose. You think about those crazy nipples on the backs of your hands and you cry out “Laurie, Laurie, Laurie” when you cum. That’s all you remember.

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Sarah dressed as the doctor left the room. She couldn’t believe it! That bikini shoot in Malaysia had given her a rare tropical disease. At first she was afraid she would die from it, but the doctor said it was easily curable, but when he told her the cure and it’s side effects, she wished she could die. The cure was simple enough. A small incision into her neck and remove the infected portion of her pituitary gland and she would be almost as good as new. The ‘almost’ part was the killer. With part of the gland missing, her metabolism would slow down and she would gain weight — A LOT of weight. This wouldn’t do for a model. Actually, she was now a former model since the medication had already put 13 pounds on her. She rubbed the soft belly that had once rippled with muscle. The surgery was tomorrow. Soon this barely noticeable tummy would balloon into a basketball of pure flab. A tear slid down her cheek.

Sarah came to a groggy consciousness after the surgery. She could feel the bandage on her neck. Oh no! as groggy as she was, just moments after major surgery, she was hungry! RAVENOUSLY HUNGRY! Sarah stayed in the hospital for only 2 days. As expected her metabolic rate was slowing rapidly. She found she was sleeping more, but also she had this delightful feeling of peace, and inner calmness she hadn’t known since she was 13 and had begun her career as a model. She went home concerned, but oddly hopeful of her future. She was glad to be off the medication but she had still put on 5 more pounds in the 2 days since the surgery. Her clothes were tight; too tight. On the way home she stopped in a mall to get some new things. Sarah was shocked. The only things that fit were size 8! She had been a petite 6 only a month before! Even more surprising was the fact her bra was now too small. She needed a 36B. The off the rack clothes and the added fullness in her hips, chest and face totally changed her look. She was still pretty, of course, even beautiful, but that ‘something special,’ call it glamour, that makes a top model was gone. In an instant, she knew what she had to do. She went to a beauty shop and had her hair re-styled and returned to its natural color. The effect was astonishing. Gone was Sarah Lane, model. In her place was Ann DeMarco, her real name.

It felt good to be Ann again. Her last stop was the supermarket. She filled her kitchen with all of the sights and smells of an Italian kitchen, that she had known and loved since she was a child. She prepared Veal Picante with pasta she made herself. The meal was a transitional experience for her. She had no financial worries, she had only had this lose of power that came with leaving modeling, but she would find a new way — a new life that would be more fulfilling than the old one. She looked around. This was a big house and she was determined to fill it with love and children.

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She always wore a black leather jacket, tight pants, and a hard ass expression on her face that could make a seasoned war veteran cringe. She was one of those bull dyke lesbian chicks, complete with short cropped hair, a nose and brow piercing, a thin metal chain dangling about her wide goddess hips, and an attitude towards men that screamed, “Don’t even think about it, bitch.” She was completely hands off to anyone with a penis. But I didn’t care. I lusted after her something fierce, all the same.

I’d try to hide my unrelenting desire to ravish her naked body in plain site by flirting with her like I would everything that walked on two legs. Which basically meant I’d push things as far as I could get away with… then I’d push just a tiny bit more.

Don’t get me wrong, I always believed her when she said she was exclusive to pussy… I’d seen her kiss and grope other girls with a genuine passion too many times not to. She just didn’t seem to mind my outrageous and superficial advances.

“What are you doing?” she mocked, almost indicating a shock response as my dexterous hands quickly wrapped themselves around her plump breasts.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I seem to have lost my boobs, and I noticed yours look very familiar. They’re just so beautiful I had to make sure they weren’t mine.”

“Uh… I’m pretty fucking sure…”

“Shh… I’m concentrating,” I whispered, eyes closed, while my thumb and index fingers searched for her nipples – which became much easier when they decided to peak through her shirt, nice and erect.

“Oh, no… these aren’t mine. When your erect nipples come to attention they’re far more pretty then mine. Sorry for the mix up.” I smiled sweet, pulled my hands away, and patted her on the butt.

“Thank you?” she said, with one poignantly thin eye-brow raised.

“Any time,” I said, before I winked at her, and continued to talk about whatever non-sense was on my mind at the time.

They really were beautiful breasts. I can’t think of a more delicious pair of big juggies then the busty fun bags on my hardcore bull dyke. Especially when she wore low-cut white under-shirts, without a bra, that let her bosom practically fall out. Her’s were breasts worth fantasizing about – worthy of lazy afternoons filled with lotion covered hands and an active erotic imagination. But then, the forbidden fruit always does seem tastier then what’s in the picnic basket, eh?

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We’ve gone over to Jon’s one evening. Susan is out of town, and we decided to keep Jon company. He made dinner for us, and we brought some good German beer. I’ve had a few glasses of wine with dinner. After dinner, we’re sitting in the living room, just talking, some about art, some about people you and Jon know. It was a long week for all of us and it’s nice to chat with friends and relax. Everyone feels very calm, although you suspect there is some undercurrent of sexual tension. You had teased me before we left home, and now, after dinner, you notice my nipples through my shirt. I’m a little flushed, but it could be from the wine.

I’m sitting at your feet and your hand is on the back of my neck, sometimes stroking my head, almost petting me. I am drifting off a little as you and Jon start to talk about some esoteric part of history that doesn’t interest me too much. I am content to let my mind meander and not worry. I lean back, now, between your legs, and put my head on your thigh. As you lean forward, you reach down and stroke one of my breasts very gently.

At first it is very natural and not conspicuous. Jon may not even notice because he is very intent on the discussion at hand. But as time goes on, you become more and more purposeful, obvious about what you are doing. Your fingers occasionally stray over my [tag]nipples[/tag], even pinching the right nipple, once. I close my eyes to concentrate on the feelings, so I am pretty unaware of how much Jon is noticing. You start fiddling with the buttons on my shirt, and almost casually undo the first three or four. Reaching into the opened shirt, through my bra, you take hold of my ring firmly and suddenly.

“Jon, Alice’s breasts are really very beautiful” you say, almost quietly.

Jon looks confused for a moment about Alice, but then realizes. You or I must have told him that Alice is my bottom name, and your signal that we are playing. It clicks in his head with what you have been doing for the last ten minutes.

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