Boobs that Dreams are Made of

Contains: breast expansion, hyperbreasts, nymphomania, supernatural growth

[Tape #3844, Interview Rm 3B, 13:41--14:50, 03/04/2022]

Officer on duty: Barker, Freya.

Subject: Nguyen, Alicia

[beginning of tape]

Officer Barker: Okay Miss Nguyen, I've just begun the tape. Your lawyer is on the way--held up in traffic he says. For the time being though it's looking like he won't be necessary, the victims are saying they won't press charges. However... well, I would like to get a better picture of what exactly is going on here, try to understand how you ended up in this... uh, situation.

Alicia: Look, officer, I'm sorry. I'm really, truly sorry... I didn't mean to hurt them. It was never... I mean, they asked me... oh whatever, I can't even explain it to you without it sounding completely insane. Officer, I think there's something really wrong with me. I mean, you can see that, right? Look at me. Surely, as a woman, you can sympathise?

Officer Barker: I'm trying my best, Miss Nguyen...

Alicia: Well thank you, but seriously though, it's not just my body... it's my mind as well... I'm... I feel like I'm unravelling here... I need to see a doctor. Really.

Officer Barker: Yes, well I can see that. And we will get you some medical attention as soon as we can, I promise. But first, Miss Nguyen, you have to understand that you really hurt that couple--they are both in intensive care. The doctors say there are fewer intact bones than than broken ones at this point. And yet, for reasons I fail to understand, they have chosen not to press charges. For now.

Alicia: But that's good, right?

Officer Barker: Well, Miss Nguyen, let me inform you that they would be well within their rights to throw the book at you. You've confessed you were responsible for their injuries, correct? My concern now is that they may be scared of you or something. I'd just like to understand why. What could be so intimidating about you? You seem like a sweet girl. I must admit your physique is, indeed... unfortunate... not really like any woman I've ever encountered before. But you don't seem like the sort of person who'd want to hurt people intentionally. So explain to me: what happened? Was it all really just an accident, like you say?

Alicia: I promise you, yes... or, well, the part where I hurt them was an accident. I never meant to do anything like that... but it's a really long story, officer. And I'm afraid that if I tell you, you'll definitely think I've gone completely insane. But it's really not my fault... it's... my boobs... they're... Fuck, I genuinely do not know where to start.

Officer Barker: It's okay, Miss Nguyen, just relax. If it's a long story, I'll listen. No judgement. Just start from the beginning.

Alicia: Fine. I'll tell you. But I'll have to go back a bit--I didn't always look like this you know...

I remember the exact day when it all started. It was a few months ago. I woke up really early one morning--it was a Sunday--after having an incredibly vivid dream. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary though, I've had vivid dreams my whole life, ones where I'm fully lucid sometimes. I have quite an active imagination I guess, something that's always helped me as an artist.

The dream I awoke from that morning was just as intense as some I'd experienced before, but there was something different about this one. This is going to sound weird but, well, although my dreams are usually super vivid, I never actually see myself in them. I've always just been like a floating head, or absent, or something--never aware of myself. But in that dream, for the first time, I could see my body. Or, well sort of, not my whole body. It was a bit fuzzy, not fully defined. But the one thing that was defined was my boobs. My boobs were there.

So in my dream, I was standing in the gallery, at one of my exhibitions. It was just like a normal show I'd attended a million of, with members of the public wandering around looking at the artwork. But this time, all the people kept inspecting me as well, like I was one of the pieces on display amongst all the others. But it was not just me they were interested in, but my boobs specifically. The faceless people would stroll disinterested past my pieces, and then spot me from across the room. They'd come right up to me, bend down to look at them up close, and ponder them thoughtfully. A few people would even reach over and prod them with the tips of their fingers. Once in a while, someone would hazard a proper squeeze.

I didn't say anything while they did this to me. I just stood there, taking it. I couldn't speak, so I was unable to stop them. All these members of the public groping me, but unable to intervene. I mean, God--it sounds like a horrible nightmare the way I'm describing it now, but... I dunno, it was more like I didn't want to stop them. Apart from the fact I'd never seen my own breasts in a dream before, the experience was weirdly... exhilarating, I guess. I felt admired, like a statue carved by an ancient master, long since dead.

Officer Barker: So this dream, did it have some significance to your real life then?

Alicia: Ah right, well the thing you should probably know is that, back then, I looked nothing like I do now--my body was very different. I actually looked like a normal person, believe it or not. But still, you're right, it didn't exactly surprise me that my boobs would make an appearance in my dreams. My chest had always been on the larger side, even when I was a teenager. It's something that had always been a part of my life. But especially after I gained a lot of weight in college and most of it went to my tits, then they got really quite impressive. I remember getting much more attention from people around that time. Glances and stares more frequently than I ever remember getting before. But although admittedly I did play it up by wearing low-cut tops and push-up bras, I always felt a little pathetic doing so. I saw the way people admired them, but I was never able to regard them the same way. When I looked in the mirror, I just saw a little girl with a larger-than-average chest.

Anyway, to skip ahead a little. I chalk it up to a lack of self-respect, but it's fair to say I was a complete slut by the time I got to art school. I loved basking in all the attention I had been denied in high school and ate up boys and girls as fast as they would come to me. But sadly, despite all my sexual exploits, by the time I graduated, I still hadn't really managed to hold down any sort of relationship for longer than a few months. Wanton behaviour aside, that was always what I actually wanted. In my head, I was still this reserved and well-behaved little girl who wanted a nice sensible boyfriend or girlfriend, but I had created such an unwholesome reputation around myself that no one took me seriously. It didn't help either the sort of attention that I'd attract looking the way I did. Being a chubby Asian girl with big boobs who was always a bit too drunk, it only ever caught the eye of those pervy little boys who wanted someone submissive and 'exotic'. There was this one who sort of took my fancy, but he--

Officer Barker: Uh, excuse me, Miss Nguyen? Sorry to interrupt, I know I said I would listen to your story, but I don't exactly have all day. I'm sure your romantic history is fascinating and all, but would you be able to get to the events of today?

Alicia: Oh... right, yeah I'm sorry. I mean, it is relevant, I promise, but fine I'll try to get to the point. Okay, so let's go back to the morning after I had that weird dream, the one with all the groping. Everything seemed fairly normal. It was just a usual work day: I got the bus to my studio, worked for a bit on whatever it was I was making at the time, and hung out drinking espressos with the other artists with whom I shared the studio space. I think I was trying to improve some terrible sculpture at the time, so I was probably hands-deep in a bunch of clay. I still suck at making sculptures, by the way, I'm a much better painter... but whatever, you don't need to know any of that.

So what happened was that one of them--Candace, super-hot blonde artist friend of mine--made some off-hand comment about me looking ill. I felt totally fine, so I tried to force her to explain what she meant. Eventually, she admitted it, something about how my face looked thinner than usual. This wasn't exactly a comment I would hear very often, you see. I dunno if I'd call myself fat back then, but I was definitely borderline. If it weren't for the fact I had big tits, most people would have just described me as fat--as it was, the word they usually used was 'curvy'. Anyway, it turned out that Candace wasn't joking, she really did think I had lost weight, which coming from a stick insect like her was saying something. To be honest with you, I never really monitored my weight at all, I was so insecure about it. And besides, I loved food so much that losing weight wasn't really on the cards for me. But no, turns out, she was right. After looking in the mirror for a bit I could see what she meant--I had lost a bit of weight, just a little around my tummy and my face, but it was noticeable.

Officer Barker: Miss Nguyen please, your weight loss is not really what we're here--

Alicia: No no! Hold on. Honestly, this is relevant. You see officer, this was pretty scary to me at the time--I'd probably lost 5 or 6 pounds overnight. Candace and I agreed that it was not normal and that I should probably watch for any further symptoms. So after that, I started weighing myself every morning.

But as the week went on, things just got weirder. Every night I had the same super-intense, super-vivid dreams. And they always involved my boobs in some way. Like with them being on display at an art gallery like before, or in this other one I was a bust sat on some pedestal being held at auction. There was this one dream too, where I was back in high school, presenting something to the class, and a faceless teacher with wings on her back would come up behind me behind and rip my shirt and bra clean off of my body... Oh, and there was another where I was in the middle of a busy road full of cars all swerving to avoid me. Some primal urge within me would then cause me to take off my top and jiggle my jugs around while a throng of tourists encircled me to take photographs.

Officer Barker: Ahem, can we get back to the real world, please?

Alicia: Right, right... Whatever, it was all very unsettling. But then, even during the day, things seemed off. I kept getting thinner, especially around my upper arms and tummy where the flab seemed to be sloughing off my body night after night. My double chin had all but disappeared by that point too. If I hadn't been so scared for my health I probably would have been happy about these developments, because, to be honest, I was definitely looking a lot better than before...

But then get this, here's the crazy thing: throughout all that time, my weight hadn't gone down a bit. In fact, I actually gained a couple of pounds. This continued for a whole week after that before I finally caught up with Candace for coffee again on Friday. And she nearly lost it when she saw me. Somehow I had failed to notice during that week that my boobs had grown. A lot.

You see, ever since leaving college and my slutty shameful days behind me, I'd started to get really self-conscious about my body. About my weight in general, but especially my boobs. So usually I would just wear baggy sweaters and oversized plaid shirts all the time-- stuff that covered me up as much as possible and hid my shape. I used to just wear the same old comfortable bra that didn't really provide any support but at least held my boobs in a way that didn't place them too much on display. But somehow, even with all of that on, Candace noticed straight away that something had changed. She immediately grabbed my chest over the sweater and squeezed down tightly--Oh, don't worry, we have that kind of relationship... And yeah, I was clearly up quite a few cup sizes, she said, and a quick check under the sweater confirmed she was right. Somehow I had failed to notice when putting on my bra that morning that I was spilling out of the thing left, right and centre. I dunno how I managed to not notice that my boobs had swollen up so much all of a sudden, but that's what happened. I chalk it up to a mixture of intentionally avoiding looking at my body in the mirror too often, and just a general absent-mindedness.

Office Barker: I see... So did you go to a doctor then to figure out what was going on?

Alicia: Well, not straight away. Candace tried to convince me to go to one to see if I had some medical issue, but for some reason, and I still can't explain this, I just lied to her face. I claimed that I was on birth control and that this was a reaction I had had before. I dunno where that even came from! I never usually just tell bare-faced lies like that, honestly. But I wasn't on birth control at all--the truth was that I had no idea why this was happening to me.

So I went home that night to think about how I had just lied to my friend, and to figure out where my head was at in all of this. I was so ashamed, but I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't my fault my body had decided to go all out of whack. I knew something was wrong, and I had to get it fixed.

But every time I thought about doing something to address the problem, like call or a doctor or my parents, or whatever, something inside me would just prevent me from picking up the phone. It sounds dumb, but that Friday night, I spent quite a lot of time standing in my bathroom topless, just staring at my body in the bathroom mirror. Half of me was horrified by what was happening, but another half couldn't look away. To be honest I had never looked better. My stomach was looking flatter than ever, yet I was still curvy in what people describe as the 'right' places. My arms and face were so slender now that I even looked like someone who worked out.

So I decided to just live with it. I started to try on clothes, surprising myself when I managed to get into a pair of tight hot pants that I hadn't worn since I was in high school. I was in the best shape of my life. The only little problem with it all was the size of my breasts. They were just too big for someone as petite as me, like the sizes of freakin' cantaloupes. But even then... well, I just couldn't stop staring at them. I mean, they were like proper porn star tits. Even I was having trouble taking my eyes off them, I dreaded to think how other people were going to react.

Anyways, that evening I had to come up with a solution quick cause the following morning I was supposed to be attending an exhibition. It wasn't anything I was particularly excited about--it was one of these events held regularly to try and support the studio in which I worked, and the gallery attached to it. I was just supposed to stand vaguely near "the art", while a bunch of mouthbreathers with no real interest in culture bumbled in from off the street to gawk at it. It shouldn't have been a big deal, but obviously, my worry now was what the hell I was going to wear. Those events were the one time where my usual baggy sweater wasn't really appropriate attire, so I'd generally force myself into a smart-ish blouse or something. I scoured my wardrobe, and in the end, managed to find an orangey thing that was baggy and textured enough to hide my boobs unless you looked too closely.

So I seemed like I was prepared, but that night, before the exhibition, I had another dream. They'd been getting more and more vivid every night that week, and this one was the worst of all of them. Basically, what happened was that I was lying in a dark field, surrounded by strange purple plants. They intertwined and snaked their way around my arms and legs, pinning my naked body to the cold ground. Slowly these two winged women then materialised from dark clouds on either side of me. They were strange, sort of like angels, a quarter of the size of human women and with smooth featureless skin where their faces should have been. They were beautiful, in a way, but also kind of disturbing. I didn't like to look at them for too long. But the next thing I knew, the angels had flown up into the air, crash-landed on each of my breasts, and had started to use my nipples to penetrate their small vaginas. They bounced up and down on my boobs like space hoppers, getting their sticky--

Officer Barker: Please, Miss Nguyen! Are all of these details about your dreams really relevant?

Alicia: I know, I know. I'm sorry, it's just easy to forget that none of that actually happened... Okay, look, the reason I was describing the dream was that... well, when I woke up, the dream had been so vivid that it almost felt like I hadn't woken up at all. Like the plants and the angels faded away, but I realised that I had been in my bedroom the whole time. And I know what you'll think: I was probably just doing this to myself during my sleep, sucking my own tits or whatever--but I'm serious when I tell you: my nipples were wet! You know, from the...

Officer Barker: I get the idea.

Alicia: Well, anyway, the point of this is that on the morning of that exhibition, half of me was still in that dream. Like, I wasn't fully present. I floated around my room getting ready, feeling like I was still operating on dream logic. It was... bliss, honestly. Like, I did a lot of drugs in college, and the only thing I can compare it to is when you mix MDMA with mushrooms, you know?

Officer Barker: You do remember I am a police officer, right?

Alicia: Oh, yeah... scratch that then. So that morning, even though I had been dreading having to stand in front of my painting all day, dreading watching everyone wonder to themselves how the fat girl had transported all of her weight to her chest all of a sudden. But when I got ready that morning, I was actually excited. I was so excited in fact that I discarded the modest outfit I had planned, and dug out a short black dress that I kept in the back of my wardrobe. Now, this was something I really had not worn since some debauched night during college, back when I had much smaller boobs. Yet for some reason, I slipped it on without thinking.

And as I did, looking at myself in the mirror, I was just overcome with joy. I couldn't believe how incredibly sexy I was. It was like I was drunk on my own reflection. Now, I've looked back at photos of myself at that event, and trust me, I looked ridiculous. I had lost a bit of weight sure, but the thing was still nowhere near my size. My thighs and hips were way too wide for the dress and I kept having to reposition it to stop it from riding up and revealing my ass cheeks. The worst thing though was my boobs. For some bizarre reason, my dream-addled brain thought the dress provided me with enough support on its own and that I didn't need a bra. This was probably true for a woman with a chest a fraction of my size, but for me then it was just obscene. There was so much boob spilling out of the front of that dress, I should have been thrown out of the event the moment I stepped in.

Office Barker: And were you? Thrown out?

Alicia: Well no. But there was a lot of commotion. I could tell from the looks I was getting that I was making the visitors uncomfortable. It was just too much flagrant sexuality for a wholesome Saturday morning walk around an art gallery. But the thing about the types of people who go to places like that--they're not the sort to make open judgements about the way a woman should dress. In fact, when I would catch the odd man or woman's gaze lingering on my chest for too long, they looked far more ashamed at themselves for objectifying me than anything else. So by the sheer luck of being surrounded by people who were simultaneously too stuffy and too polite for their own good, I managed to get away with it. Even the other artists who knew me better didn't have much to say about it other than a few compliments on how "healthy" I looked. I brazenly tried to get them to explain what it was that was different about me, but they just remarked how it was unusual to see me in a dress, which it was. I guess they just assumed that this was the body I was hiding under those sweaters all along. For some reason that gave me the biggest thrill of all--that somehow they were convinced by all this, that I was always this secret hottie.