I put my hands on my stomach and moved them upward. I could not see them except directly down my chest and I had to cock my head to do that. I felt the curve of my belly and the bottom of my rib cage. I felt one rib and then the curve of flesh. There was no wrinkle and no sag below my breasts. I ran my hands under them both — out and out and out. My elbows were at my sides when I felt the upward curve. I followed it to my nipples, which had been stretched out over the ends. They still stuck out half an inch or so past my areolas, which felt like they were the size of coasters, only puffier.
I looked at Mrs. Reynolds. She held up the bra that she had peeled off of me and let me read the tag. It said 34H. The band size was the same, but the cup size was one I had never seen before. I didn't even know how many sizes I had grown.
"I think you are an HH, now." She said. "You might go up another size by Monday. We'll see."
There was a full-length mirror under a cloth in the corner. She pulled off the cloth and turned it so I could look. I was speechless. My breasts were magnificent. I kept touching them. I could not take my hands off my body. I turned this way and that, admiring my new shape. I was deliriously happy.
Mrs. Reynolds took off her own blouse and stood beside me. We were quite the pair. Or a pair of pairs. We could not both get in the reflection at the same time. I looked at her and then at me and then back at her. My breasts were bigger, much bigger.
"I'm an FF," she said. "I couldn't take the pain as long as you did. I kept cheating on the timer, so I did not get stretched as much. You amazed me. When you did your cheerleader routine I knew you would be bigger. When you did it the second time, I knew you deserved to be bigger. You earned it."
She went to the cabinet and took out the green bottle. She held it up to the light from the window. There were just a few drops left in the bottom.
"My husband used half of it on me. I used the rest of it on you. It's all gone now. It was an experimental batch that came from a lab that was destroyed in a fire. The records went up in flames and the man who developed the formula died in the fire. They were never able to reproduce it. I kept the bottle all this time, wondering it I would ever get a chance to use it. Then you came along. I decided to use it on you."
"Not me. You didn't know me. You used it on Yvette's daughter."
She looked at me like my mother had the night before. It was the same, "Do I know you?" look.
"You know! What do you know?" she asked.
"I know my mother still loves you."
She looked out the window for a moment. When she looked back at me her eyes had teared up.
"I will always love her, too. But I am bi and she is gay. I wanted a husband and family. All she wanted was me. From her point of view I betrayed her for a man. To her, I'm a traitor... and a pervert." She sighed. I waited. She would tell it in her own time.
"She's as queer as a three-dollar bill and she got married and had a child and I'm the pervert!" She took a few deep breaths. I watched her magnificent breasts rise and fall. I looked in the mirror again. I was magnificent, too.
"I was willing to keep seeing her after I got married. My husband knew, of course. He thought it was erotic, the randy bastard, being married to someone who liked women, too. He liked to hear about the women I seduced. God, I miss him!"
I saw a tear roll down her cheek. I knew she had loved him deeply.
"She refused. It was him or her, no having it both ways. She stopped talking to me. Months of silence. Then I heard that she had got married too. I did not understand what she was trying to prove. That she was straight? That was absurd. I had known her too long to believe that."
I said, "She wanted to be like you. You had it all. The great husband. The child. The house. And you could still see women. She envied you. She tried to copy you. It was doomed from the start. They should have divorced after a few months. But there was a small problem. She got pregnant. Probably happened on her wedding night. She was stuck. She could not back out. She had to live with her mistake. Me." Now I was crying too. "She's a terrible mother, you know. No talent for it. And she is incapable of dealing with the idea of me with a boy. The idea that I might want to be with a member of the male sex scares her to death. The idea that I might get pregnant makes her psychotic. It sounds to her like I might make the same horrible mistake she did, and she wants to prevent that at any cost, even the cost of any relationship I might have with her. I'm her cross. I'm her albatross. I'm her burden."
Mrs. Reynolds said, "So she sends you to me. Out of the blue, she calls and asks me to take care of her daughter in the afternoons after school. What was I going to say? 'No'? You are the living, breathing, walking, talking embodiment of my lover's self-crucifixion over my betrayal of her. I owed you. I owed you more than I could ever repay. If I had not left her, you would never have been born. In an odd way, I am as much your mother as she is."
"It was mostly about sex. She knew she could not relate to me. To her, I'm even more of a pervert than you are. She thinks I'm straight. She knew she could not help me. Her bias, her reactions, her attitudes were all wrong. You had succeeded where she had failed. She thought you could teach me."