Female Inflation

(or, "Tricks, and Definitely a Treat")

I stepped out of the changing room in my blue and yellow one-piece bathing suit. Over one shoulder was draped my big beach blanket and over my other shoulder was draped my cloth bag containing my beach visit essentials: suntan oil, a bottle of mineral water, two sandwiches and a bag of fat-free chips. A beach umbrella stuck under my right arm, resting atop the swell of my right breast. The boys stopped and stared, as did the girls, as I walked through the little brick pavilion. My 68 inch bosoms heaved and quaked in my bathing suit like two gigantic waterballoons.

Bzzzt, bzzzt. The Mike’s mobile phone vibrated. The call display showed his home number.

“Hey there Mandy baby, what’s up?”

“Are you still at the office? You know today’s your birthday.” Mandy sounded like she was a little put out.

“I just had some files that needed a few minutes of extra work before I left. Do I hear a hissing noise in the background?”

“I was going to surprise you. You know that thing we did last month? You know, for my birthday?” Mandy cooed.