Synopsis: Rick is stunned when his accidental wish comes true, leaving him in an awkward position physically. Kari's photos show his steady progression from butch to brazen. How does he explain the blue coin to his wife and co-workers?

 

The Blue Coin

by Trainmaster

 

There I was, rooting around a bin of miscellaneous stuff at Value Village, looking for ... well, I forgot what I was looking for. And the reason I forgot was a magnificent pair of tits, right at eye level, stared back at me. They easily transcended grapefruit, edging firmly toward well-ripened cantaloupe. The moment I locked eyes on them, I knew I was in serious ... trouble.

Now, I was going on 23 years of marriage and thought myself as monogamous and faithful. But some of the original "spirit" had gone out of the marriage partnership. I certainly didn't want a divorce -- I still love my wife, Janet. But she didn't seem work as hard anymore at her figure and looks to keep my interests at home. My eyes wandered a little those days, although I was always careful not to leer when she was around.

All my life, I've admired tits. Been a student of them -- in a ... well ... detached "scholarly fashion," so to speak. You understand? Stared at enough of 'em since adolescence.

I guess my tastes had changed, too, because of late the boobs I craved had to be bigger and bouncier, with more jiggle to keep me happy. Firm and fresh and full, that's what I watched for. There was plenty enough of it walking around to enjoy. And I started having a fantasy obsession. I dreamed more often of wanting my hands around well-endowed chestfuls of tit-flesh, like the ones in front of me.

I raised my eyes to meet the eyes of the huge pair's owner. She was a statuesque blonde with a perfect peaches-and-cream complexion. She wore a bright yellow dress with a calico scarf that enhanced her features, yet in no way distracted from her impressive physical presence. I can't honestly say I remember much else about her. I swirled my hands around the bin as an excuse to lower my eyes back down to her outstanding rack.

There was a "plink" near my hand in the bin of junk. "There," said the blonde, edging away with disgust dripping from her voice. "That'll give you a chance to get up close and personal."

Wait, I almost shouted. I haven't drunk in enough of their ... your beauty. I haven't fully luxuriated in their illustrious proximity. Come back. But her rear side and the swinging of her arms hide her impressive charms as she kept walking. My heart sank as she disappeared beyond the cashier in a final flash of yellow.

I found the source of the plink easily enough. It was an odd, dull blue coin with markings mostly obliterated from years of use. As I picked it up, I took another look to see if the blonde might miraculously reappear. But alas, blast it, no luck. "Sure wish I could get my hands on a pair like that," I moaned dejectedly.

I put the blue coin in my pocket and went outside. There was no sign of the blonde in the parking lot. Heck, yes, I drove every lane hoping for a glimpse of her. With a sigh, I put her out of my mind and drove home.

My family probably wondered why I didn't remember what I went to get -- they didn't know I was trying to forget the tremendous frontage strutted by the blonde. Truth was, she haunted my dreams all night. I didn't sleep well. Even in my sleep, her condescending sneer of derision stung deeply.

I was trying to keep my bleary eyes open at work the next day, when at lunch my officemate, Eddie, wanted to hit the sidewalk cafeteria. Hungry and craving a break from my chores, I went with him, dragging wearily down the steps past the waterfall. It was one of those gorgeous early spring days when the sun shines but it's still quite chilly, so I wore the leather jacket my mother sent me for Christmas.

Eddie started chatting with several of the young women sitting beside the pool at the foot of the waterfall, while I shivered, waiting to go inside. "Take my picture," requested one of them suddenly. I perked up a little and took her camera, and got a picture of her and her friends. Then Eddie wanted to be in the picture, so I snapped that, too. Then the girl with the camera wanted a picture of me by the waterfall.

Everyone swapped positions so I could sit by myself on the rocks. The other girls started talking about making wishes in the pool. Eddie remarked in his good-natured, smart-alecky way that it wasn't a magic wishing well but they all got out coins and tossed them in anyway. As I sat down, all I could hear was "splash, splash, splash," and the girls giggling about their wishes.

The girl with the camera cried out, "Wait, I've got a penny, too," and rushed over to the pool. I figured we were being foolish but since the camera girl was obviously making more than just eyes at me, I didn't want to be a stick-in-the-mud. The only coin I had was the blue one, so I ostentatiously tossed it in -- half with anger toward the blonde with the stupendous tits and half to exorcise her from my mind.

As the blue coin sank into the pool, I felt a painful tug at the front of my shirt. I put my hand on my chest to see what was being pinched. Under my sweater, I could feel flesh shifting around uncomfortably. I tugged my clothes to rearrange, since the fabric was getting awfully tight. The girl with the camera asked me (twice) to put my hands down so she could take the picture.

That night I was miserable. My whole upper body really ached. My wife told me I had the flu and put me to bed with a hot poultice. In the middle of the night, I woke up with a full bladder. On my way to the toilet, my chest ... jiggled. After I peed, I turned on the light. And Screamed!

Janet woke up with a snort. She took one look at me and started to laugh. "Looks like your wretched viewing habits finally caught up with you," she gasped between paroxysms (and I thought I was being discrete when she was with me). "What'd you do, make a wish or something?" And she gave my naked new tits a fondle. They weren't very large -- but, wow, were they ever responsive, my nipples stiffened right up. She dragged me by the tits back to bed but not to sleep.

For some reason, afterwards, I didn't want to fall asleep like I usually do. I loved being her squeezy toy. I wanted to talk ... about her feelings, about the emotions she was so free to show, about what's it's like doing things as a woman, about the differences between men and women, and her and me, about what she wanted from our marriage. I wondered what she really thought of my new "equipment", why having them fondled felt so-o-o-o good, and what I should do to hide the affliction.

In the dark, listening to Janet's gentle breathing, I ponder the meaning of life -- what it meant that I'd grown a pair of female breasts. As far as I knew, nothing like this had ever been documented before, so it had to be some magical occurrence. But what magic? A spell by the blonde? My unfortunate, badly phrased wish? The waterfall's pool? The collective wishes of the work gang? The blue coin?

I was almost sure it was the coin that did this to me. But I didn't understand why or how. And if it was the coin's doing, the blonde had to be either a willing accomplice or the perpetrator. So why did she single me out for her revenge? All I did was look up at the wrong moment and give in to natural male tendencies. With her looks, surely hundreds of other men had behaved the same toward her.

I finally decided that I'd activated the blue coin with my impulsive wish and it harbored my rash, ill-spoken words until it was triggered by immersion in the cold water. Whether the pool was magic or not, somehow the coin had back-handedly granted my most desired fantasy -- now my worst nightmare. I never expected, or wanted, to be their owner, but now I had a real set of tits of my own to fondle, just like I'd wished.

And worse -- the next morning, my tits ached where they hung from my ribs. They'd had grown absolutely huge during the night, every bit as monstrous as the blonde's. They were much, much larger than my wife's. Even laying on my back in bed, I could tell they were absolutely mountains of flesh. Obviously, whatever magic I'd triggered with the stupid blue coin was working some serious overtime.

When I greeted Janet with a good-morning peck on her cheek, she replied with a little frost in her voice and a stiff elbow pushing me aside. I realized she was jealous. I didn't know how to respond, I was concentrating hard just to walk a straight line. I staggered around trying to get use to the way those hummers pulled me off balance. Fortunately, they offered sufficient padding that I didn't hurt myself when I lurched into the walls.

I tried on several of my biggest shirts but couldn't even get the buttons over to the buttonholes. Even my biggest T-shirts didn't fit -- they stopped stretching before I could wrestle them over my mammoth boobs with their gargantuan areola and positively bovine nipples.

My feelings toward them were decidedly mixed. On the one hand, during the night Janet had shown me how wonderful they were to play with, how close my fantasy infatuation was to being right on the mark. I kept putting my hands under them and lifting them up, weighing the pros and cons (and getting the hefty of them physically, too).

And on the other hand, they couldn't be hidden -- no amount of wrapping or extra clothing would disguise what they were. They were heavy -- I never realized that before. All those times I stared at women with tremendous chests, it never dawned on me until now they might be in physical discomfort. No matter how carefully I walked, they bounced against my stomach and arms.

Yet, I was enjoying them. Really. They kept me in a state of constant ... well ... eagerness was the only word that I could think of. Yeah, eagerness -- to have them fondled, to have someone suck on them, to feel the caress of appreciative hands, to press them deeply against someone loving and warm. They had a mind of their own -- telling me what they wanted most was ... ehhmmm ... sex.

I wondered out loud how I would ever explain them at work. What kind of queer would people take me to be? What kind of man has huge tits and nipples? What kind of pervert would they think me, with these embarrassing things flopping around my front every time I moved more than an inch?

Janet finally warmed up and came to my aid. None of her brassieres came anywhere close to fitting, unfortunately, but she tied two bandanas together and looped them around me to give some frontal support. Then she dug down in her drawer and found the ugliest blouse I've ever seen. It was stretched out of shape, she didn't say how, and it just barely fit my chest. Under the fabric, my nipples were bunched up inside the bandanas.

By the time I got to work, I had overcome the initial balance problem and was faced with the larger issue of how I could keep others from ridiculing me. Eddie, thank heavens, had a day of vacation. I didn't go anywhere in the building and skipped an important meeting. I posted a "do not disturb" sign outside my office and kept the door closed. As I ate my sandwich in solitary, the girl with the camera suddenly popped open the door. She wanted to give me the picture from her camera the day before.

Her eyes got as big as saucers. "Oh m-my gawd," she stammered, staring down at my chest. "It ... it IS a magic p-pool!"

My response was, "Huh?"

"The w-waterfall," she said, taking a deep breath. "Excuse me, I- ... I'm struggling to overcome the shock. I-I've never had a wish come true before. The p-pool -- it has to be the water that was magic. Oh my gawd, oh my gawd ... what have I done to you?"

I realized she didn't know about the blonde's coin and my wish, so I told her about my stupid mistake at the bargain store.

"I thought I caused this," she said, giving me a squeeze through the blouse (what is it with women squeezing other people's tits?) "I thought you were so cute, even though you're older, that I wished I could see how you looked as a woman. Oh my gawd, I never expected it would happen!" She was, by turns, giddy about what my modifications meant to her and upset that she'd caused the obscenities hanging from my chest.

So, my secret was out. But her consternation at herself for causing it (or thinking she'd caused it) helped ease my transition a bit. We chatted for a long time and I learned about her secret. Turns out she's bi and has a thing for "mature" women (think "ample").

She insisted we go back to the waterfall and take another picture for comparison. Don't ask me why I agreed; it had something to do with the batting eyelashes -- and maybe the soothing fingers on my "melons." It was a moment to die and go to heaven for.

That night, my daughter, Helen, came over for a visit with her newborn twins. I thought she'd never stop laughing after she took a long look at my new bazoombas. "Grampa is going to be a better babysitter than I expected," she told the babies, "especially when you get hungry."

We stood side by side, so Janet could eyeball us in comparison. Then, chuckling together, they got a sewing tape measure and checked the facts -- Janet was a 38C, Helen was a 40D (and nursing, of course, which added a size or two) and ... and ... I came out as a 44D. Or a 44E -- they looked at two charts, which didn't quite agree. It came as a complete shock to discover that I felt tremendous pride in having the biggest jugs in the family. But it's true, and it continues to be a tremendous rush.

Helen informed me that since I had a midriff, I was going to show it off to good advantage. I protested until my wife agreed. Helen loaned me one of her bras and a cute, short T-shirt that fit -- if just barely. Unfortunately, all the next day I felt like my boobs were on fire. Whew, by the end of work, my abdomen really ached under my tits.

Janet unhooked the bra for me when I got home and showed me why. There was some kind of stiff wire inside the bra and it poked through the fabric, stabbing into my boobs. I took some aspirin, rubbed the painful red welt, and went to bed. I figured I wasn't cut out to be a young "hotty!" but what a knockout Helen's outfit made me.

My ladies took me shopping the next night. "If you're going to look like this the rest of your life," Janet insisted, "you're going to have to dress to fit the part." They made me buy several bras -- I can't tell you how much relief a bra can give that fits properly. Believe me, I would go back and let myself be fitted any time. I think the woman who did it was dumbfounded that I'm really a guy but Janet convinced her I came by these magnificent attributes naturally and not through re-assignment hormones.

My ladies made me buy apparel that made my tits look good. One was a blue and white striped sports top that really enhanced my cleavage. We also bought some other clothes but I haven't worn them all yet. They're all blouses and tops. Janet suggested a dress or two but I'm still 100% male below my waist and the idea upset me. So we stuck to things that would go with my trousers.

I was surprised when they took me to Victoria's Secret and encouraged me to get some really girly things, quite different from anything I've ever considered and a lot more daring. Shameless, stunning flimsy, see-through things, too cute for words, too wicked to pass up.

I don't know what made me feel good wearing women's upper garments and foundations, 'cause I've never, ever been attracted to cross-dressing and -- apart from this -- still do not like the idea.

The peculiar thing is -- one of the items I enjoy most is a pure white 1970s string bikini Janet wore before Helen was born. She hasn't the figure for it anymore but I DO! It doesn't offer much support but it really shows off the fullness of my bosom.

"That doesn't fit," Janet told me when I first tried on her bikini.

"Yeah. I know," I smiled back. "It's depraved, isn't it?" I gave it a tug, adjusting it so it flowed a little more smoothly around my tits.

She looked confused as she shook her head. "That really doesn't bother you?"

"Should it? But why?"

She shot a look of astonishment at me. "Well, it's too small. It doesn't even hide your areola. Jeez, Rick, your nipples stick out like traffic cones."

"I think you mean I look bad." I'd felt a warm glow inside as she said it, a feeling that made me desire more such compliments. "Is that what you think?" I shivered in anticipation and my boobs jiggled.

"N-no, that's not what ... well, yes, it is. You look so bad you're a ... you ... you look like a hooker. My husband, the bombshell, menace to a decent society."

It occurred to me she might be jealous again. "I didn't grow these to make you upset." I smiled and ran my fingers along her cheek. "Fact is, I didn't plan to grow them at all. But I can't change what happened, can I?"

"I guess not," she said, putting her hand over mine, pinning my fingers against her face. "I just don't understand why you're not angry. This isn't like you. Growing breasts would have made my Rick furious. Pounding the walls. Throwing things."

She's right, I though with a frown. A week ago, maybe even a couple days ago, this would have been so devastating that I'd have wanted to hurt myself. I'd have been filled with intense self-loathing. And yet, there I was, wearing so little that I wasn't even legal -- and enjoying it. It didn't seem to matter that I looked like a beach bimbo. Not one bit.

"Rick?" wondered Janet. "Is it ...?" She hesitated and I could see her struggle with her question. "Is it ... possible that ... that maybe the magic is also, well, suppressing your true feelings? Making you believe this is natural ... when it isn't? Or shouldn't be?"

I thought about that for a minute. "If some kind of magic is causing me to feel good about myself ... would it matter? Would it change who I am? Change how I look?"

"No, I suppose not," she admitted.

"Which way do you like me better? Ramming my fist through walls, screaming furiously about my bad luck? Or making the most of life and enjoying what the gods gave me?" I cupped my free hand around my tit and savored the feeling.

"Rick," she whispered, "I'm glad if the magic helps you accept this," cupping my other boob with her free hand. "I like you this way, too."

So, for grins, I wore the skimpy white bikini to work the next day. There were several eyes rolled at my brazen excess and some tittering, and I later heard that management wasn't keen on my appearance. But people left me alone, at least to my face. I suppose I should have been more discrete, especially since Janet was right about my areola showing too much. But at the moment I didn't care.

The bisexual girl with the camera, Kari, came back to my office. "I hope you don't mind," she pleaded. "I had this in my office and I'd really like to see how it looks on you. It's a fantasy for me. Please?" She held it up -- it was a short leopard-patterned wrap-around sari, like they wear in India.

"Okay," I agreed. My heart started to pound, I was so excited. I started to wrap the sari around my chest. She tugged it away and whispered for me to take off the bikini. Then she helped me rewrap the sari so it showed "the most of me" that it could -- and really made me look like a femme fatalé.

While we were taking a photo by the waterfall, the afternoon wind whipped around and suddenly blew part of the sari off. I couldn't move or I'd tip backwards into the pool, as it exposed my left tit and gave everyone an eyeful of nipple just as Kari snapped the picture. She came running over and gave me a great big hug and a giant kiss! "Oh gawd, you are so-o-o sexy!" she breathed huskily.

I enthusiastically tore off the sari completely and demanded Kari take one last photo. I looked great with my new knockers hanging out like that -- I discovered the right one even has a sexy brown mole. I realized that I have to wear a bra most of the time but I liked the freedom that going bra-less gave me. My tits were so sensitive even a tiny breeze made my nipples stiffen.

People stared at me and I heard a few mirthless chuckles. I could tell they were going to stare at me anyway, no matter what. With my huge fleshy chest pillows hard to disguise and impossible to hide, I was either going to be a laughing stock or a sensation. I didn't want to hide them, although before the blue coin came into my life I'd have denied it vehemently.

So, here's the biggest laugh -- I hung my exposed, unadorned tits out for shock value by going topless in the office for the rest of the day. I figured, after all, what did I have to lose? Yeah, what did I have to lose? It's a question that I've asked myself dozens of times a day ever since.

At Janet's request, I visited a lady doctor ... I mean a doctor who sees ladies for patients -- a gynecologist. She mashed on my tits and made sure there were no lumps inside. She listened to them with her stethoscope, though I can't figure out what sound they'd make. She tested my reactions and asked a lot of embarrassing questions about female stuff, like giving birth and menopause. She gave me a mammogram, just in case. She stuck a needle in each boob just behind my nipples, for tissue cultures, and took more samples where my boobs are attached to my chest. And she took blood.

A week later, the doctor called and gave me good news to share with Janet. My tits are healthy. There are no infections or other medical problems. My milk glands and ducts are in perfect working order, which means I probably could -- in a pinch (and with the right stimulus) -- nurse Helen's babies.

There is also no likelihood of cancer. I have none of the early warning signs and doubt there will ever be any. The magic is too adaptive. I can't believe an enchantment that caused me to look like this ... would allow me to suffer anything that might provide a doctor justifiable cause to hack into my tits.

Except for the actual tits themselves, everything else about me is ... well, male ... according to the doctor. My hormones and endocrine levels are completely normal for a male. She reaffirmed that mentally I'm male, based on my answers to her questions -- except for my "enhanced appreciation" of some kinds of female clothing. And sexually, she said, I'm male.

Janet and I already knew that -- our sex life is fantastic. For a while before, we were down to once a month -- if that often. Now, she wants me in bed at least three or four nights a week. Janet loves to suck on my nipples. She can't keep her hands off my tits any more than I can. She leaves me tingling, begging for more, while she gasps for breath and cuddles deep in my arms with her fingers gently caressing circles around my areola. Whew! I may be pushing 48 chronologically but I definitely feel more like 28 physically.

Kari still gives my tits a squeeze whenever she sees me. She calls me "her girl" to everyone -- and whispers, "we have a lifetime to get something going, sweetie." People wink at me all the time thinking I'm getting more than they really see. We say, let 'em think, it adds to the mystique and intrigue that Kari's determined to stir up.

I borrowed her camera one weekend. We carried all my new clothes to the office, then Janet took my picture wearing them one at a time beside the waterfall. We had so much fun. We giggled and tickled each other, and got absolutely giddy in ways we haven't enjoyed -- or shared -- since high school.

Between my affinity for being ... well, risqué ... and the number of people who pilgrimaged past my office, my department head got upset. She had a meeting with me and ordered me to stop going topless in the office. I can't even show my cleavage anymore. If I do, she's ordered my supervisor to move me offsite so I won't be a workplace distraction. She told me she won't fire me for this, since the physical change was beyond my control -- but she promised to make my working life miserable.

Eddie stopped going to the cafeteria with us. At first, I was sorry. We had a lot of great times together, talking about guy stuff. But now I'd rather be with the rest of the ladies, talking girl stuff and giggling about everything that comes along. I don't think any of the gang considers it unusual anymore that I'm only female from the waist to the neck.

Have you ever listened to a bunch of girls chatting together drinking lattés? It's a way to establish where they are in the order of things, how well they blend into the environment, how the protective coloration of the female is working, how far out of (or in) style they get.

I get to hear my friends critique other women, which I used to think was incredibly catty. Some women are tacky and lame, and we giggle in pity for them. Some are sharper than we are and we resolve to improve ourselves by learning from the outfits they model.

The other day, Kari pointed out a stunning blonde toying with a fresh salad a couple tables away. The other girls oowed-and-awed for a minute, she apparently was that spectacular. I turned around to look at her and realized with a shock that it was the beauty queen from the Value Village, the one who dropped the blue coin -- the one who damned me to look like this the rest of my life.

Time seemed to stand still as she glanced up and winked at me. She pointedly adjusted her tits and bra under her blouse. With a wave of her hand, she sent me a signal that she knew -- SHE KNEW! It's easy to see from the company I keep that I'm not the chauvinistic, boob-leering pig I was before the blue coin. I think I'm a better, more compassionate person for her little "joke" and I believe she had that in mind. I looked down at my monumental mammaries, then looked back at her and mouthed, "thank you." She smiled and winked again.

One of the other girls pointed out someone else for the group to chat about and I looked away, too. When I looked back, the gorgeous blonde was gone again, just like the other time. To the last, she was hot stuff.

Funny thing is, men seem to think I'm hot stuff, too. They come staring past my office all day long. They stop me in stores and on the street. Kari and I think it's cute that they feel with me they can ogle legitimately but aren't comfortable being so brazen with real women. I like the attention, and since there's nothing that can come out of it, I enjoy their company.

And other women relate to me better. I've always been a good listener but now, they seek me out for intimate conversations. I've turned into the big sister everyone seems to want. What a difference in my popularity the blue coin made, just because I made a mistake and my wish came true.

  

  

  

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