Connie's Weed Pt. 01

Connie's Weed, Part 1 — Blooming Bosoms

A four part tale, laced heavily with lesbian encounters and strange transformations.

~

A word of warning, before you even start reading: A lot of what happens in this story focuses on the rather weird fetish of Breast Expansion (BE) -- from A to D, and occasionally up to and ultimately beyond the size depicted in Woody Allen's "Giant Breast" skit in "Everything you always wanted to know about sex" (the 1972 movie). If you thought that was hilarious, or unsettlingly arousing, you're more than welcome to continue reading. Of course this tale has action, tension and fighting (in short, "conventional" storytelling), too.

However, if you are put off by the sheer offbeat weird impossible flight of fancy that is BE, you probably shouldn't bother with this tale.

Thank you.

~

Biology student Cornelia "Connie" Prince rediscovers an old secret, and Marge, her feisty kinda-sorta BFF, soon learns that the shy, bookish girl carries quite a lot of baggage...

Proof-reading: kindly provided by Apple (not the company!)

Obscure musical reference:

"Your poison / running through my veins ..." — Alice Cooper, Poison

Altaerna – a world, where the laws of reality may become mere guidelines at any given time, where magic and machinery are intertwined, where all those things creeping in the shadows of fantasy may step forward onto the mind's stage.

Apart from that, it's not so different from ours. This story unfolds in a time close to our own.

~~~

Chapter 1: Prelude

~~~

The subdued clearing of a female throat reverberated through the silence in the tall biology hall of the university's museum and made the attendant at the desk raise his head. The girl's posture was as meek and uneasy as her voice sounded.

"Uh, Mister, sorry, didn't want to disturb you, but don't you think that showcase is too small for the plant over there? It seems pretty fragile, and I was just wondering..."

He measured up the nervous young woman in the worn jeans and oversized sweater that hung like a wet blanket on her slim and tall frame. She obviously had strayed from the small flock of students gathering around the new exhibit. He sighed, lifted his considerable weight from his office chair, and followed her over. Even a cursory glance revealed that the glass box and its contents hadn't changed since his shift had started. He looked at the girl with a total lack of comprehension.

"I'm sorry? It's got plenty room."

"But the blossom is all but squeezed against the glass, there, don't you see?" she insisted uneasily, clutching her notepad to the vague possibility of breasts on her chest while brushing her long, straight, ash-blond hair from her face.

"Blossom? What bloss—" He stooped to check again, but moments later straightened up and looked at the whole group of twenty-something students. "Oh right. Har har. Miss, aren't you too old to pull a childish trick like that? Seriously." He shook his head and walked back to his desk, muttering under his breath.

"What the hell, Connie?" Pearl slapped the back of the gal's head with her flat hand and sent Cornelia's strawy, blond hair flying. "You high or what? Gosh, you're such an embarrassment! Get yourself a pair of glasses, blind mole." She angrily readjusted her clothes around her own impressive rack. The sudden move and subsequent swinging had caused undue wrinkles in the cloth and disturbed her flawless appearance, and that was something she tolerated about just as well as being seen with embarrassing people.

"But it's — wait, you can't see it either?"

"You can't see it either?" the curvy, tall brunette mocked her while she reflexively pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her palm clean of any traces of nerd she might've caught from Connie. She leaned in and hissed, "See what? That stupid weed? If I didn't need these last few points to make it, I wouldn't be bumming around here at all! Some of us have to work hard to earn their grades and don't have time to play pranks, you dweeb!"

The other girls hesitated but for a moment, then they slowly sided with their undeclared leader and cast equally annoyed glances at Connie. Even Marge, the closest thing to a best friend that she had, just shrugged and shook her head. Connie gulped, then she put her arms akimbo and straightened up, spitting the words of her frustration boiling over straight into Pearl's shocked face:

"Yeah, right. That's rich, coming from someone whose weekly coiffeur bill could pay my groceries for a whole month, you arrogant, self-righteous bitch! I've earned my marks, I don't get them because daddy's a big donor! I'm not the one with a personal career coach or a cozy board member seat waiting in daddy's company! I'm not the one who just plays the student in between executive breakfast and dinner party! You know you'll make the grade, it's just a matter of A or B, right? Would it kill you if for once you'd be less than perfect?" She grabbed the sleeve of Pearl's twin set. "Ooh, I'm so sorry for being an eyesore to you. Not! Look at you! You're the only one here whose duds cost more than the tuition fee! You think I'm an embarrassment? Well, I get sick every time I see you in another of your 'street chic girl student' performances!"

At least that's what Connie wished she'd said and done, later on, in the solitude of her bed. In reality, she once again did what she did best: she blushed and fell silent.

When the study group left the room, she looked back over her shoulder. There it was, a fragile stem carrying a flower with bright white, almost glowing petals. She saw it, plain as day.

~~~

"Connie! Hey, Connie! Over here! Hurry up!"

Marge waited by the tall wooden doors in the museum's lobby and waved to her. The rest of the group had dispersed already. The short raven laid her arm around Connie's narrow shoulders, gave her a quick shake and smiled.

"You okay? Haven't seen Popular Pearl snap into instant asshat mode like that for quite a while. Then again, you gotta admit you've been acting a little weird in there."

A shy smile crept on Connie's face. Marge's blunt talk always managed to lighten her mood.

"I didn't act weird. I guess she was envious," was her mumbled reply.

Marge laughed. "Suuuure. Lemme check where you've got an advantage: Money? Errrt. Smashing looks? Errrt. Car? Horse? House? Rich daddy? Ert. Errt. Errrt. Errrrt. Brains? Ding! Hey, score one, but she's got hooters where you've got straight A's, so: Errrt. Sorry, Connie. No rich bitch society darling cookie for you. You're stuck with me.

"Oh come on, could be worse. Want me to punch her on the nose next time I see her? I could totally deck her for you."

"Marge! This isn't Kindergarten any more. She'd probably sue your ass off. You can't afford any more trouble with the law, and you know it."

~~~

As they stepped outside into the chilly spring air and walked down the large marble steps towards the park, Marge pulled up the reluctant zipper on her old leather jacket. Chrome studs and sewn-on badges with obscure band names covered that last remainder of her high school punk chick days. She was two years older than Connie, yet they had finished high school together. Marge's considerable record of misconduct had something to do with that. How exactly the odd day-and-night couple had ended up being friends, none of them could say. It had started a few years ago when Connie the mousy, bookish beanstalk earned a little pocket money by giving extra lessons for failing students. One of them was a round-faced, spike-haired, spunky raven with an attitude, with too much eye shadow, too little cloth and too much leather to her clothes and too loud a taste in music. The girl wasn't stupid, Connie quickly learned, she just got bored too fast. They gradually had hooked up, one complementing the other's defects. Connie, literate, shy and the type of blonde destined to end up as the non-sexy librarian, with her gray hair in a bun and sharing her overly tidy flat with a bunch of cats, always looked up to Marge, envying the girl's up-'n-at-it demeanor while vicariously enjoying the things Marge did for real, like boys, booze, and partying. And Marge had finally found someone she could patronize, and who tried to talk some sense into her when more threatened to become too much.

They had survived high school, and, for whatever reasons, they ended up with an overlapping schedule of courses at the same university. Now they were in their second year, and, predictably, it was Marge failing all over again and Connie being there for the rescue. Connie hadn't managed a lot of socializing with any of the other students, sticking to her books and raking in the A+'s instead. Marge, on the other hand, hung around with the easy crowd. On the few occasions where Marge had coaxed Connie into joining their regular bar-hopping, it was Connie who ended up either as the designated driver or the awkward, quiet wallflower, or both.

Connie secretly suspected that Marge saw studying as nothing more than an annoying thing that came as the price for the fun-filled weekends. Marge could easily afford her lifestyle because her parents lived under the delusion that their dog-collar-and-eyeshadow-wearing daughter was some kind of rebellious prodigy, and their purses made sure their brat had a small but nice rented condo of her own. They still sent Connie a paycheck for tutoring Marge, too, and it really helped to keep her above the waterline. Her tiny kitchen, bed- and bathroom flat at the nearby student's hostel would've comfortably fit into Marge's living room.

~~~

Connie stopped Marge, pushing her flat hand against her friend's slight paunch. Even though Marge still worked out and kept in shape, she had no inclination to overly chasten herself. Her body had moved towards "somewhat curved".

"Hey, watch it. Don't step into that mess of berries."

"Thanks, didn't notice at —"

Marge looked down, then raised her head again and stared at her friend.

"— Hey, what are you talking about?"

"Oh come on," sighed Connie. "I don't need that now. It was bad enough that Pearl made me feel like a freak, don't rub it in!"

"Popular Pearl? Forget about her. There are what, a couple o' thousand students at this university? At least half of them are worse freaks than you, you're not standing out. But seriously, Earth to Connie. What. Are. You. Talking. About?"

Connie knelt down, grabbed a handful of the pearly white berries and cupped the little pile in her palm. "Here! Gods, have you gone blind or what?" She picked a soft, plump one with thumb and forefinger and held it in front of Marge's face.

Her study mate had the uneasy frozen smile of someone recognizing sudden lunacy in their counterpart. "Connie? Are you practicing for a pantomime? Come on, you're supposed to be the sane one. You're starting to worry me. What berries?"

Connie's stomach shrunk to a ball of ice. "S—seriously? Here, hold out your hand, tell me you can feel that." She dropped them into Marge's palm. One or two rolled over the edge of her hand and fell to the ground.

"Feel? I don't feel a thing!"

Connie grabbed her hand and forced it close. Gelatinous glowing ooze squeezed out between Marge's fingers.

"Uh-huh? You feel that, don't you?"

Marge opened her hand. Her palm was now dripping with the luminiferous juice, but she showed no sign of noticing it. She didn't even wipe it off. Instead, she put her hands to her hips and stained her denims with glowing drops and lumps that slowly crawled down over the fabric. Connie just stared in disbelief. Marge shook her head.

"Sorry, should I play along or what? You've got to tell me if you're practicing method acting, girl. It's unnerving if you don't let me in on the joke. Hey, listen, Danny's going to pick me up at seven." She winked and rocked her hips back and forth. "He's ripe now, I'm a-gonna do some serious Unnh-unnh tonight, y'know? So, could we move our catch-up learning to this afternoon now, you've got time for the biolo—"

"It's no joke!" howled Connie, grabbed another handful of the berries and mashed them into Marge's face. Backing away, Marge coughed and flailed at her. Stooping and wiping her face, she spat out.

"A-hah!" Connie triumphantly declared. "Now you—"

"You crazy piece of shit!" hollered Marge and slapped her hard. Connie stumbled to the floor. "That's too much! Are you completely mad now? Feeding me dirt?! Calm down and snap out of it, or I'll call your family and tell them that the finals have you going bonkers! Fine, I'm going to study alone, you nutcase! Your fault if I flunk again!"

"No, Marge, I—," Connie began, holding her throbbing cheek, but her friend already stomped away. A few passers-by in the distance looked in her direction. She clambered to her feet, trembling in shock at Marge's outburst and embarrassment over the scene she had caused.

Am I seeing things? Am I really going nuts? But they're — they're real! They're all around here, they've fallen from that bush.

She reached out for the branches, but they withered and melted into dispersing wisps of fog at the touch of her hand. Berries rained down, suddenly devoid of support.

Oh gods, I'm hallucinating!

Panic grabbed her. Her breath raced, and her fingers started to tingle.

Calm down. Calm down! Don't freak! Don't faint! Don't make more of a scene! Breathe into something.

She threw frantic glances around, pressing her splayed cold fingers on her mouth.

Plastic bag, anything —

~~~

Chapter 2: The Mystery

~~~

"Marge, listen to me."

Connie leaned against the door frame and stooped towards the grill of the inter phone. Her fingers fidgeted with her coat's zipper. The reply from the cheap speaker was distorted, both by electronics and by quite some residual anger in Marge's voice.

"Unless you came to apologize, I'm not listening!"

"Marge, please. I'm sorry, all right? I shouldn't have rubbed your face into those ... oh please, let me in. I've got something you've just got to take a look at! Come on, you're the only one I can talk to."

A short delay. A stagy sigh followed, then the line went dead with a click, and moments later, the lock buzzed. Connie pushed the door open.

~~~

Marge waited in the kitchen. Connie couldn't believe her eyes. On the floor, over the walls, on the table and the sink —Marge's hand and foot prints were everywhere. It was painfully obvious that she was not able to see the pale, fading glow.

What am I? What kind of freak am I? Connie wondered. She hesitated.

"All right, what is it?" barked Marge. "Danny totally didn't deliver yesterday, so I'm kinda pissed off for starters!"

Connie shrunk and blushed, but then she pulled herself together and dropped a small, taut plastic bag on the table. It rolled over, and something like marbles moved under the thin foil.

"Here."

"O—kay. A bag. Wow. Underwhelmed. What's that, you want to make some stupid joke about how you've got your marbles back? What now?"

"Open it, and look inside. Reach inside."

Marge's eyes narrowed.

"If that's another one of your silly tricks, Connie, I swear I'll slap you so hard, you'll—"

"Just do it," and, after a sigh, Connie added with a desperate look on her face, "please?"

~~~

Marge untied the string around the plastic pouch and looked inside. Empty. Empty, but still taut. She hesitated. Then she turned it upside down and watched as it spilled something over the table, because it grew flatter and wrinkled. And then she dropped it on the table and turned pale when the light bag came to a rest above the table and hung in mid-air.

Or rather, on the heap of berries that she couldn't see.

"Oh gods. You — you were right. There is something on the table. Those berries again? And you c—can see them?"

She turned so pale that her face against the white wall behind her seemed almost as transparent as the berries on the table.

"You stuffed a handful in my mouth! They're not poisonous, are they?"

Connie gulped. "I — I don't think so."

"You don't think so?! Great! Why?!"

Connie held her hand over her mouth and whispered, shuddering inside, "Because that was yesterday, and you're s—still alive."

Marge mutely moved her jaw a few times, then she rolled her eyes, her eyelids fluttered shut and she collapsed like a marionette with cut strings. Connie barely managed to catch her in time. The weight of her friend's limp body dragged her down to the floor as well, but at least she turned their fall into a more gentle roll. They ended up with Marge's heavy, warm weight pinning Connie to the floor and Marge's head resting on Connie's flat bosom. The motionless, half-opened lips stuck to the first sliver of skin showing above Connie's neckline. A thin trickle of Marge's warm saliva wormed down the tiny mound of Connie's left breast. She shivered and hesitated before she applied the often-ingrained First Aid routines to her friend.

~~~

"Marge? You okay? Keep calm. I've got you."

The boyish girl blinked and struggled to her elbows. Connie knelt by her legs and held her ankles and her feet in a raised position in her lap. Marge reached for her head and rubbed her throbbing temples.

"I — yes, I think I'm okay. Did I just faint — obviously." She took a deep breath. "That's just too weird. What — are you crying?"

Connie sniffed. "Yeah. I'm just so glad that — now at least I can show those things are real and that I'm not delirious."

~~~

They sat across the table with the floating bag between them.

Marge shook her head. "A plant that people can't see. I've never heard of that."

"Well, it's sort of an invisible plant. And kinda rare. Who'd notice it?"

"No, no, no. They showed it at the museum. So someone noticed."

"No, I don't think so. Didn't you read the sign? Durability of seeds? I checked. They had it there because they found those seeds in a wooden box from some seventeen-hundred-umpteen expedition. Then they threw it out onto a heap of old industrial slag from the excavation for the new building, and it was supposed to end up in a landfill. There was some delay with that, so the heap stayed here, and come last spring, they sprouted, and only then someone noticed. Maybe those plants, they somehow —I don't know. They might've sucked up something from the earth, and it worked like fertilizer."

"Okay, so you want to play this like a private biology tutoring or what? You even dragged books along?"

Connie shook her head. "No. Those books — see what I found at the library."

She dragged a tome from her backpack. "Plants in old drawings, page seventy-five. The rare glowpetal, extinct. Extinct, my ass!"

Marge smirked. "Ooh, Connie! I don't think I ever heard you curse aloud like that before. Oh come on, don't blush now!"

"R—right." Connie gulped and needed a few seconds until she was back up to speed.

"A—as I said, that's exactly how I see that weed. And, see, this one—," she flipped open another earmarked book and handed it to her friend, tapping on another drawing. Marge cocked her head.

"Rare flatleaf. Like the glowpetal, but without the stem and the — gosh, that's the plant from the museum!"

Connie nodded. "So that's how you see it."

"Yeah, me and the rest of the world, obviously. So this book was by someone who had eyes like yours, and that one—"