9

The bed was empty. The woman and her clothing were gone. The only trace of her was the rumpled bed and the deflated rubber on the floor. Once again I stretched my memories for clues. The dress? It was a black dress laying the floor. Shifting through the litter of memory fragments didn’t help, most of the women were wearing black dresses at the wake. Which of the girls I had been talking to came back after everybody else had left? As hard as I tried to make one up, I knew that no one had come back. I began to shake; my nerves were kicking in as I realized that whoever she was, she must be related to me.I got dressed slowly, not wanting to go down stairs for two reasons. The first was the change of altitude, it would compress my head even more and the second would be walking around with the rest of my family. One of my female relatives had been with me in bed and I didn’t know which one. Whoever she was, I doubted sincerely she would welcome me with a kiss and a smile and that bugged. I complained that I ached all over, especially my breasts. Shegot me some cream, and told me to gently massage it into my skinat night. Once I used it, I was hooked. Gawd it felt great tomassage myself. Soon I found I could come, once, by giving myselfa long and sensual massage.As my chest grew, so did the number of boys pestering me. Then mybottom bloomed, and my hips got wider, I loved my new look, andfigured the boys were like flies; they followed anything sweetand edible.In tenth grade I met Joyce. By now I was six-one, and measured38-25-38 with a big chest and firm B-cup breasts. And lots oflean muscles. Mom wouldn't let me do any competitive sports,saying my extra parts would get me in a lot of trouble. But therewere aerobics classes after school, and when the weather was goodI ran cross-country and swam. So my great legs got even better. Jiggling hurt, so I had to invest in several squash-em-flatsports bras. Which still didn't deter the boys.Joyce was athletic like me, but in.
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