The auditorium was packed. The show was sold out. The audience continued to expand as more and more people arrived. They were all fans of the performer. And they expressed their fanaticisms in different ways. Some dressed like the performer -- copying the look, style and designs of his various music videos -- To the right, the troubled gang member -- To the left, the mysterious stranger, who walked a neon avenue. Others wore purchased paraphernalia bought at the merchandising stands -- T-shirts, buttons, baseball caps and gloves.
Gloves were the most visible of the purchased items. White gloves embroidered with stylized rhinestones and beads were worn on the right hand(the left remained uncovered). It was a testament to the popularity and charisma of the performer, as well as the eccentricies of those in the music business, that something as ridiculous in concept as sporting one glove(instead of the proverbial two) could become one's trademark. But not only did the performer make the wearing of one glove hip, he also made it mysterious.
No one knew why the performer wore only one glove. There were many rumors and theories but no actual facts. It was said that the glove was just a publicity gimmick. That the performer wore one glove just so people would wonder. But to the devoted -- those present in the auditorium -- the man they had come to see was above petty publicity. They "knew" there was more to the glove.
One such believer was Marilyn Wells, who was celebrating her 18th birthday on the night He came to town. She didn't expect to see the show until fate and destiny stepped in and she won a ticket as the lucky caller on a radio show contest. What a way to celebrate a birthday!
She had rearranged her life to see Him. She called in sick for the first time in her entire history of employment. She rushed through the surprise birthday party that her family and friends had thrown her. She drove like a maniac -- risking life, limb and a perfect driving record. Nothing was gonna stop her from seeing Him.
When she entered the auditorium and saw the sea of bodies standing between her and the stage, her spirit sagged for a moment. She had to get to the stage. She had to get to Him. But would her tall, lanky frame be strong enough to accomplish her goal? For Him, she thought, I would move mountains.
And she did.
She pushed. She shoved. She elbowed. She did whatever it took to get to the front of the stage. Adrenaline and the force of her will made her unstoppable. She knew she would have bruises in the morning but that was a future concern. For now, Marilyn was where she wanted to be and she wasn't going to move. She had become a human tree -- rooted for the next two hours.
She felt the exhalation of screams. She knew some of the devoted had fainted and been removed from the auditorium. It happened every time He performed. Marilyn knew that, physically, she was a candidate for passing out in the hot, sweltering, body-to-body environment. Her tall (5'9") body lacked any substantial muscle tone. She was, for all extents and purposes, a walking skeleton. A skeleton with long, brown hair draped over her black leather jacket. A jacket that, combined with a black Fedora-styled hat and a replica of the trademarked glove, mirrored the look that He sported in Marilyn's favorite video. In the video, He visited the bedroom of a lover. An image Marilyn often fantasized about. She wanted to be the woman in the video. She wanted to share her bed, her body, her soul with Him. She wanted --
But, suddenly, the lights went out and Marilyn's secret fantasies would have to be addressed later. The show was about to start. The devoted, in darkness, began screaming. They screamed, as if volume was the magic needed to make him appear. Marilyn joined with the masses screaming His name. Her excitement, like the volume, building.
Suddenly, the darkness broke, as explosions both temporarily blinded and deafened the audience. Marilyn, like the rest of the devoted, soon overcame the effects of the explosions. And when they did, like magic, He was there.
He stood before them, enshrouded in a spotlight. He was dressed in a white top, black pants that ended inches above his ankle, white socks that sparkled like rhinestones, black shoes and, of course, the glove. He stood before them like a statue. And the devoted yelled their approval.
He looked to the right. And that side of the auditorium erupted as if He addressed each one of them by name. He looked to the left -- Same thing. He looked dead center -- Ditto. He waited a moment and then, without warning, kicked out His right leg in a stylized manner and whirled into a spin that ended with Him standing on the tip of his toes.
The concert had officially begun.
For the next two hours they belonged to Him. He controlled their emotions at will. When he sung a ballad, they cried. When he danced, they danced. And then came the finale.
He was dressed, completely in black, and wearing a hat now. He was going to perform Marilyn's favorite song. With a gesture, from Him, the syncopated beat began. He mirrored the beat with his pelvis -- up, down, up, down. From his mouth the first line of the song came out. And the devoted, knowing every word, sung along. He was literally all over the stage. And then He did the move they had all been waiting for -- a gliding motion that had Him traveling backwards when, by all indications, He should be moving forwards. This move had been imitated by others but none could do it with the precision that He did and the devoted shouted their approval.
Soon the last verse of the song had been sung and it was just Him and the drumbeat. For two more minutes, He danced, as if the audience no longer existed. When He finally stopped, He took off His black Fedora-style hat and threw it into the audience.
The hat, like magic, seemed to float in midair. It hovered over Marilyn's head; until one of the devoted reached out and grabbed it. Marilyn was thinking about the floating hat when two men grabbed her from behind.
The two men worked for concert security. They were big and strong enough to lift Marilyn without even feeling her weight. One of the security men had covered her mouth, with his massive hand, preventing Marilyn from crying out. Marilyn, her ears ringing from the screams of the devoted, doubted anyone would have heard her scream, anyway.
The two men carried Marilyn backstage. They were witnessed by others, but no one seemed to care. Apparently, this sort of thing happened on a regular basis. They approached a door in an isolated area and stopped. The security man not covering Marilyn's mouth, knocked on the door.
"Bring her in, " said a high-pitched male voice.
It was Him.
Marilyn was brought into the room. Her eyes tried to adjust as total darkness greeted them. She tried to control her emotions as both fear and excitement was waging a private little war within her. She tried to see Him but her eyes were still trying to adjust.
Security navigated the darkness with ease. They walked to a chair, dumped Marilyn on its soft cushion and then exited the room. Quick and efficient.
Marilyn's eyes were still trying to adjust to the darkness when He suddenly spoke, "Having trouble seeing?"
Marilyn could only nod her head. Then, without warning, the room slowly brightened. Marilyn couldn't believe her eyes as the image of Him began taking shape. She found her emotions escalating their war and did the only thing her body would allow her to do -- She screamed.
He sat before her, smiling. His bright eyes showing He was used to this kind of reaction and even enjoyed it a little. He let Marilyn scream for a whole minute. He then uttered the word, "hush," and Marilyn found herself completely silenced.
How did He do that?
"I'm not like other guys," He said and Marilyn couldn't help but smile as he quoted a line from one of his videos.
Marilyn tried to respond to Him but she couldn't make a single sound. It was like her voice was taken from her.
"I give it back to you," He said. And Marilyn's voice was back.
"Wow, " she said. "How did you do that?"
"I'm not like other guys, " He repeated.
And Marilyn, just looked at Him, fighting the urge to scream again. She finally got up the nerve to ask the question floating in her mind. "Why am I here?"
He looked at her and smiled. "Does it matter?"
And Marilyn thought about it for a moment and decided that, no, it really didn't. She had thought that just seeing Him in concert was the greatest gift she could have received, but to be sitting in front of Him -- Incredible! If she was dreaming, she would kill whoever woke her.
"You're not dreaming," He said to her.
"How-uh-how did you know what--" she began and then realized what was becoming His trademarked response. "I know. I know. 'You're not like other guys'."
"And you're not like other fans."
"Excuse me?" a puzzled Marilyn wondered what He was talking about.
"I'm talking about your love of me," He said rising from His seat and approaching Marilyn.
"But everyone *loves* you," Marilyn responded, her tone implying that only a crazy person wouldn't (couldn't?) love Him.
"Not like you," He said standing in front of Marilyn's chair. "Your love is special. *You* are special. And since today is your birthday I believe I should reward your love with a gift.
Marilyn's mind went into the proverbial tizzy. A gift from Him. What kind of gift? Didn't He know that just being in the same room; hell, being on the same planet as Him was gift enough. What more could He give her? And then her mind flashed to her favorite video. The one where He went to the bedroom of a secret lover. Would He let her be the secret lover? Of course not. So Marilyn replied, "Your glove. I won't to know the *real* reason why you wear just one glove."
"Marilyn," He said, as if he was Ricky Ricardo scolding Lucy for the umpteenth time, "why didn't you ask me to make love to you."
Marilyn was shocked. She felt she had lost all control of her body. "You--you mean you would make love to me."
"Yes."
"Forget the glove, then, I want my gift to be making love to -- to --" She began screaming again.
"Well, you did ask about the glove. Maybe,I should just tell you about the glove then go on my merry way."
"No!!!" Marilyn screamed. "I didn't know. Please. Please --"
"Okay," He cut her off with a smile. "You can have both."
Marilyn's pulse raced. She couldn't tell if He was serious and yet He had said the words. She was going to make love to Him. She began taking off her clothes. She threw both her hat and jacket to the floor. She was kicking off Her shoes when he told her to slow down.
"What's the rush, Marilyn?" He said. "We have all night."
Marilyn thought about what he said. Her greatest dream realized -- all night with Him. And began taking off her shoes at the same frenzied pace He had interrupted. She took off her shoes, pants and top. As her top hit the floor, she stopped. Reality and self-consciousness made her look down at her skinny, skeletal body still covered by her undergarments. What was she doing?
This wasn't her dream. In her dream, she had the body of a goddess. She had a body worthy of making love to Him. But in reality...
Marilyn began to cry.
She sunk down in her chair and tried her hardest to disappear. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She began to redress. What had started off as her deepest fantasy had now become a nightmare. Why was she built like a walking skeleton?
"You're not a walking skeleton, Marilyn," He said, but she wasn't listening. Marilyn's thoughts had turned against her, and drowned out any and all opposition, including Him. But He wasn't like other guys. He had a secret weapon.
He walked over to Marilyn's slumped over and crying form. She didn't see or notice him in her position. She didn't see him slowly, meticulously remove the glove. But she *did* see the glow.
His hand was glowing.
Marilyn jerked back in her chair as if he had physically slapped her. What the hell was going on? What was He? These and other thoughts raced through Marilyn's mind but her body was paralyzed. Her fight-flight response had short-circuited. What was he going to do to her?
"Give you the body you want, " He replied.
Marilyn just looked at His hand as if she was a deer and his hand was a headlight.
He caressed Marilyn's neck with the glowing appendage and her body jerked. She tried to resist the hand but found her fears abating. There was no discomfort caused by the hand; if anything, the hand was making her feel good -- relaxed. She moaned with the dawning pleasure, as He kissed her.
He stripped Marilyn back down to her undergarments. She noticed, but this time said nothing about her skeletal physique. Her mind and body were too busy enjoying the pleasures caused by Him and that glowing hand of His. What was that thing? Marilyn thought as the hand explored every uncovered inch of her body. It felt like electricity was running through her body and she had the first of many orgasms.
Wow! Marilyn thought as she moved her hand to her private spot. Her orgasm was so powerful that she had drenched her panties and was going to remove them. She reached to lower her panties and found they didn't come off as easy as they should. In the past, she had to work to keep her panties from slipping off, but now...
She screamed.
Her legs were different. They had somehow transformed from flesh covered sticks to smooth, toned and tanned gams that would give a supermodel a run for her money. And that wasn't the only change the hand had made. Her hips had widened. Her arms, like her legs, had firmed. And her pale skin had developed a tan that George Hamilton would have envied. She was beautiful.
She ran to a full length mirror in the corner of the room. A brief thought flashed in her mind, that she didn't remember the mirror being present, but she was too eager to see the new Marilyn.
She stood in front of the mirror unable to believe the woman she was looking at was her. She studied every inch of her body. And then it hit her. The change was incomplete. He hadn't touched her chest or ass, since they were still covered up by her undergarments. She was still ugly.
"You're not ugly," He said, a note of anger in his voice. "Come over here and take those wet panties off."
Marilyn, ashamed of her low self-esteem and the fact that she caused him anger, did as He said.
He embraced the now curvaceous Marilyn, drawing her to Him. He caressed her flat butt cheeks with His glowing hand sending a radiating shiver throughout her body. She couldn't see the process, but somehow knew that her ass was changing; becoming firmer, rounder, thicker. More tanned. More beautiful. She wanted to run back to the mirror and see the *change*, but there was one more area requiring His touch. She began ripping her top off but He stopped her.
"What's wrong?" she asked him, a confused look on her face.
"I don't think I should touch your--your..." He replied, looking like a shy school-boy.
"My chest? Why?"
"I tend to lose control when I touch...when I touch a woman's--"
"Breasts," Marilyn finished for Him. "But you have to finish what you started. Please, I'm begging you. Please touch my breasts."
He looked at her for a moment. And then began laughing. "Alright, Marilyn," He said with a smile,"since you said, 'please'. I'll be glad to *touch* your breasts."
Marilyn, knowing that she was moments from getting the perfect breasts to complement her perfect body, ripped her top off. The chest that was revealed resembled that of a pre-pubescent boy. It was devoid of fat and clearly showed the skeletal underpinning of her ribs. Instead of breasts, Marilyn had raised nipples outlined by her dark-hued aureoles. She was so flat-chested that she had never worn a bra.
But that was about to change. He placed His hand on her chest. His glowing hand covered both her nipples and they instantly became erect. They began to tingle, causing Marilyn to have another orgasm. Her body shook with the pleasurable sensations, as her love juices ran down her legs and made a wet stain on the carpeted floor. She began moaning, her voice leaping octaves like an operatic diva. She felt the sensations sweep her body and land on her chest. She looked down and couldn't believe what she saw. Her chest--her breasts were growing.
Her nipples led the way by expanding to an inch in length. Her aureoles followed -- darkening in color and expanding in size until they seemed bigger than Marilyn's hands. Underneath the dark, flapjack-sized circles; Marilyn's skin began to bubble. The skin looked like it was involved in some mutant variation of mitosis as layer after layer of flesh was added. Underneath the new skin, muscles were reshaping and reforming giving Marilyn a wider chest and stronger back. The increase was about five inches, taking Marilyn's nonexistent chest of 27 inches to a robust 32. Marilyn would have been happy with the 32 inch chest measurement, but that was just laying the foundation.
The mutant mitosis process taking place on Marilyn's chest had directed the skin into a small mound. A rock-shaped mound that morphed into a tennis ball. Marilyn didn't really have a concept of cup sizes or ball shapes. She didn't know that she was approaching a B-cup and that her tennis balls were becoming soft balls. All she knew was that she was growing breasts. Her enlarging breasts were all that concerned her and she watched as her flesh bubbled into its next transitional phase.
He had worked his way behind Marilyn. His hands reaching underneath her expanding bosom like a human bra. He knew that continuing to touch Marilyn's chest with His glowing hand wasn't the smartest thing He could do -- but, hey, He was a breast man. And Marilyn *was* developing some impressive breasts.
They started, slightly below her clavicle, arcing into ever expanding slopes that covered more and more of Marilyn's body. She could no longer see her feet and watched as her new tits continued expanding; growing heavier and heavier. Initially, she wasn't aware of how heavy they were becoming, because He was supporting them. But now the weight was noticeable and it was screwing up her sense of balance.
She was going to fall.
She tried to maintain her position. He tried to maintain her position. But it was no use. The weight of her newly-enlarged breasts combined with her lack of experience in carrying them resulted in Marilyn and Him hitting the floor. Not hard (His floor was too carpeted for any damage to happen), but enough of a fall to separate the two and stop His glowing hand from working.
It always seemed to happen this way, He thought. Him growing a pair of humongous breasts with His glowing hand, relishing in their enormity, only to have the weight of said breasts stopping Him in His tracks. Damn. Oh, well, He might as well see how big He got them this time.
He approached Marilyn covering up his glowing hand with His trademarked glove. It took a bit of work on both of their parts -- Him pulling as if engaged in a tug of war and Marilyn arcing her back like she was doing the mother of all crunches -- but they managed to get Marilyn in a standing position.
They slowly walked Marilyn to the full length mirror she had used earlier and all Marilyn could see was the tanned masses that now were her breasts. She was immense and wanted to know -- had to know how big they were.
"I can help you find out your new measurements, Marilyn," He said, walking up behind her, "if you want to know them."
Marilyn knowing that He had read her mind and knew exactly what she wanted, thought the word, asshole at Him.
"I heard that, " He said with a laugh and began sliding something around Marilyn's hips. The coldness startled her for a moment (I hope that's not His boa constrictor!), but she soon realized that it was simply a tape measure.
He held the tape measure in place and then announced, "Your hips measure 38 inches."
Wow, thought Marilyn, as she felt the tape measure around her waist. She had an ass, now.
"20 inch waist." He announced. "Your original measurement, if I'm not mistaken."
And all Marilyn could do was smile, waiting for Him to measure her monster-sized tits.
"Bust or bra size?" He asked her out of the blue.
"What?"
"Do you want your bust measurement or do you want what bra size you would be buying if they carried your size at your local department store?" He asked Marilyn, as if he was inquiring about the weather.
"Aren't bust measurement and bra size the same thing? You mean department stores don't stock certain sized bras?" She asked as a woman who never had to wear a bra and thus remained ignorant about certain things that most women took for granted.
"Let me educate you, Marilyn," He said, assuming the tone of a knowledgeable breast man, "on the correct way to be fitted for a bra.
"We begin by measuring under the breasts to get your chest measurement," He said, as He adjusted the measuring tape. "And we get 32 inches."
"32 inches, " Marilyn replied with wonder. "My chest increased by five inches."
"Yep," He said. "And then since it's an even number we add six inches to get 38 inches. If it was an odd number we would've added five inches."
"Why?" Marilyn asked, confusion on her face.
"Who knows," He said,"but this tells us the band size of your bra--the number in front of the letters: D, double D, etc.; that you're always hearing about.
"A 38?" Marilyn said, looking at her enormous breasts. "Shouldn't I be a larger number than that? I mean, my new breasts are the biggest I've seen."
"No, the number just tells how large your chest and/or back is. The letter is the true measure of how large you are."
"Then what letter am I?" Marilyn yelled, growing impatient. "A Z?"
"A Z?" He replied with a laugh. "You're big but I don't think you're that big. But if you stand still, I'll be more than glad to tell you what letter you are."
He grabbed the measuring tape and wrestled it around Marilyn's tits. It was a struggle, since He had to manage the feat by Himself, but He finally got the tape where He wanted it. And He couldn't believe His eyes.
The tape said that Marilyn had a bust measurement of 62 inches! He did the math in His head and though Marilyn wasn't a Z-cup, she was awfully close.
"What's my letter?" Marilyn asked Him, as he removed the measuring tape from around her bust.
"Well, the tape said your bust measured 62 inches," He began, trying hard to control the excitement mounting in his voice, but clearly failing in the attempt, "which if you subtract your chest measurement of 38 gives you the 24th letter of the alphabet."
"What's the 24th letter of the alphabet?" Marilyn asked, not even trying to figure out the answer for herself.
"X."
"X?" Marilyn said in bewilderment.
"Yes, Marilyn, if department stores carried your size, you would be wearing a 38X bra. Not a bad birthday gift, eh?"
Marilyn, trying to let all that he said sink in, said,"But I recall you promising me something else for my birthday."
Taking off His glove and moving His glowing hand to the ever-increasing bulge in the crotch of His pants, He said, "Gift number two is coming up."
And Marilyn smiled, as His enlarged member ripped through the fibers of His pants. He had surely satisfied her first gift--she more than anyone knew why He wore just one glove. And from the foot long monster dangling between his legs, she was convinced that gift number two would be just as satisfying.