Fragments: Contraband

Very attentive readers who have been following me for a while might notice that some details in this story sort of conflict with some details in a previous story of mine. I have a very simple way of resolving this conflict of canon: Retcon. The old story was never finished anyway, and probably never will be, at least not in that form, so I'm not too muffed about it.


-~o~-

"Yo."

"Yooo."

"Yoooooo."

"Yo."

"Yo. What do you want?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Getting high. Gonna jerk off, probably. Why?"

"Put your dick away, man. I wanna see the new Mad Max movie. You should come with me."

"To the theater? They're still playing it?"

"It's still making money, I guess."

"It's been, like, six months or something. Doesn't surprise me, though. That movie ruled."

"Shit, you've already seen it?"

"I'll watch it again if you buy the snacks."

"I got you covered. What do you want?"

"How much can we sneak in? I've got this old pair of cargo pants I can load up with stuff."

"Don't wear your ugly pants. I can get anything in."

"Do you have a big purse or something?"

"Mike, when have you ever known me to carry a purse?"

"Fuckin, I don't know. You could have a purse specifically for sneaking things into movies for all I know."

"I could, but I don't. Trust me, I got this."

"Actually, I'm really hungry. You wanna just get food before the movie? Like, food food. Not snacks."

"Just tell me what you want and I'll get it in for us."

"You sure? Alright..."

---

Blanchepierre was a big town, for a small town. Right in the middle of the sea of crops and cows that was the Midwest, it probably would never have grown to a population of more than a few hundred people if not for its relatively prestigious (for Missouri, anyway) university. It had a single theater: The Multiplex, which was big enough and cheap enough that it had driven all of its potential competitors out of business decades ago.

Mike stood underneath the bright lights of the canopy above the box office, humming quietly to himself. It was just starting to get dark, and the crowds were starting to arrive. It was autumn in a college town, which meant lots of college students: flocks of frat boys and sorority girls, couples on dates, and the occasional loner, either hanging out at the entrance waiting for someone, like he was, or just going to see a movie solo.

He spotted Yuriko's car before she even parked: a shitty old powder-blue Camry. When she got out, she certainly didn't look like she was carrying all of the stuff that she said she'd bring. She didn't have a purse with her, or a backpack, or anything except the clothes on her back. She tended to dress like... Well, sort of like Mike did. Lots of hoodies, loose sweaters, big jackets, and jeans. The sort of clothes that said 'I don't really care about clothes all that much.'

She definitely didn't dress to stand out, but she really didn't need any help on that front, and the reason was her front. Mike and Yuriko had known each other for years, and in that time he had watched her chest grow to proportions that were, frankly, getting sort of ridiculous. He had never seen anyone, either in person or on the internet, who had bigger boobs than Yuriko did now. She was in her Doctor Who hoodie today, which was a good two or three sizes too big for her, except around her chest, which strained at it despite its looseness everywhere else.

"Hey," she said as she spotted him there by the theater's entrance. "Sup."

"You got the stuff?"

"Stashed away."

"You sure?" He eyed her suspiciously. "Where are you keeping it?"

"If you could tell, I wouldn't be hiding it very well, would I? Come on, let's go."

She entered the theater without a word, and maintained her silence the whole time that they were waiting in line to buy their tickets. She just kept her hands in her hoodie pockets (her chest was so big that they were nearly horizontal underneath it) and stared off at nothing in particular, occasionally fidgeting and fiddling idly with her long hair. Mike had figured out pretty quickly after becoming friends with her that this was more or less Yuriko's default state of being. She wasn't mad or upset; she was just a very quiet person. The kind of person who found enjoying silence together just as fulfilling as conversation.

They bought their tickets, and when they entered the theater, handed them to the person who sits at the entrance of all theaters and checks them and gives you back the ticket stub. This particular instance of that person was an older man, maybe in his fifties or sixties, with greying hair and stern eyes. He sent Mike on through to the concession stand, but when Yuriko handed him her ticket he eyed her suspiciously.

"Young lady," he said, in that condescending way that only old men could muster, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Huh?" Yuriko didn't even seem to notice that he was talking to her until he refused to hand her the ticket stub when she held her hand out. "What? I'm going to see a movie with my friend."

"Ma'am, I know that plenty of people sneak outside food into the theater, but you should at least try to be subtle about it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you? What've you got there under that hoodie?"

"My tits." She said it far more nonchalantly than Mike would have, given that this was borderline sexual harassment.

"Really? You expect me to believe that?"

"It's true whether you believe it or not. Now are you going to let me through or do you want me to find your manager and tell them that you're asking questions about my chest?"

"I think you're lying," he said. "I'm going to need you to empty out whatever you're carrying in there before I can let you in."

Yuriko rolled her eyes and muttered, "Fuck's sake..." Without the slightest bit of hesitation, and despite the fact that there were now people in line behind her, watching with keen interest, she lifted her hoodie.

Underneath, she was wearing a tank top that she had very obviously not been intending to show off, because it was ridiculously low-cut. The ticketman got a faceful of what had to be nearly a full foot of wobbly cleavage, supported by a heavy-duty bra that was clearly visible due to the great size of its straps.

His eyes got wide, and his face got very red. "Alright," he said, his voice suddenly much quieter. "Alright. Go on through. Just don't tell my boss about this, please."

Yuriko had already grabbed her ticket stub from his hand and was on her way before he even finished his sentence.

"That was ballsy," said Mike as he caught up with her. She was adjusting herself under her hoodie, bouncing and jiggling as they walked.

"It was the quickest way to get him to shut up."

"It really is kind of amazing, how much you've changed since I've known you."

"I mean, I've gone through, like, half of the alphabet."

They walked right past the concession stand, making their way straight to the theater where their movie was playing and heading inside. "Not that. When I met you, you were like... Ashamed of them. Now it's more like you just gloriously, utterly don't give a shit when people stare or give you guff about them."

"My body is the way it is. If they've got a problem with that, fuck 'em. I refuse to make their problem into my problem."

"Yeah, see," said Mike as they sat down near the middle of the theater. "It's that attitude. You didn't used to be like that."

She shrugged. "I guess so. Anyway, give me a second to unload here."

Once again, she lifted her hoodie. With a look of concentration on her face, she shoved her arm down into her cleavage (it went in halfway up to her elbow), rustled around in it, and pulled out a footlong sub sandwich wrapped in a plastic bag, then handed it to Mike. "Turkey, provolone, lettuce, onions, peppers, mustard, mayo, just like you asked for. Hope you don't mind that it's warm. It gets hot in there. And it's a little squished. Sorry about that."

"Holy shit, Yuyu." He took it, incredulously. "This is the biggest size that they have, and I couldn't even see it in there."

"Right? Hold on, there's more."

She reached in again, and Mike watched in amazement as she pulled out... another sandwich, half the size as the first. "This one's mine." She set it on top of her breasts as she rummaged around some more (she looked like she was getting in there very deep now) and produced two small bags of chips. "Do you want the ranch or the nacho flavored ones? No, I know you. You want the ranch ones."

"I do. Got any other treasures hidden in the cave of wonder, there?"

"Yeah. Hold on, I need to..." She lifted her breasts with one arm, a little unsteadily, because it really was a two-arm job, and reached up underneath them from below. "They're like, wedged up underneath them, and under my bra. I just gotta... Aha." Out came two large cans of iced tea.

"I got these instead of soda because they're still good warm. Sorry, but I'm not sticking ice packs in there."

"I wouldn't expect you to. I wasn't able to see any of that, even when you pulled your hoodie up. How much storage space do you have in there?"

"More and more by the day. Although they're finally starting to slow down. I've only gained, like, three cup sizes since the start of the year."

"Is that slow?"

"Compared to when I was gaining a cup size every month? Yeah." She pulled her hoodie back down and gave them a gentle pat. "I keep them well-fed."

She turned to the three sorority girls who were sitting not three seats away, in the same row, who were all gaping at her. "It's rude to stare, you know." They collapsed into a cluster of hushed whispers and giggles while Yuriko unbagged her sandwich. "S'like they've never seen a pair of boobs before, jeeze." She was, as she said it, using them as a table. All she had to do was lean back a little, and there was more than enough room for the sandwich on top of them.

The theater darkened, and the previews started to play. "Anyway," she said through her first bite, "Whatever happened with that dude?"

"What dude?" he asked through mouthfuls of sandwich.

"That guy who you thought was flirting with you at work the other day. Anything happen there?"

Mike felt himself get a little red. "I mean, I'm sure he was just being nice. It was just friendly conversation."

"He held your hand, man."

"He brushed it, slightly, when I was giving him his change. That doesn't mean anything."

"How many times has he talked to you since that first time?"

"Uh..." Mike thought for a moment. "Like... Every time he's come in. Which is like two or three times a week."

"Dude! He's totally into you!" She waved her sandwich at him enthusiastically. "Next time he's in there, ask him out!"

"I can't just... I can't just do that."

"It's not like it's out of nowhere, if he's in there every day flirting with you."

Mike shrank in his seat. "But what if I'm just misreading it all? What if he's straight?"

"Then he'll say no and you can move on with your life. At least you'll know you went for it."

He looked away. "He's way out of my league, though. He's like... He always dresses really fashionably, and he can apparently play guitar, and he's really hot, and I'm..."

"A schlubby stoner?"

"I mean, yeah." He furrowed his brow. "Schlubby?"

"So dress nicer! It's easy to not be a schlub, man. And anyway, there's no such thing as leagues. Maybe he's super into that torn-jeans-and-flannel look."

"This from the girl who never wears anything but hoodies, sweaters, and T-shirts."

"I have an excuse, my tits won't fit into anything else. All you need is a trip to the mall."

"Sure. Whatever happened with that girl in your English class?" asked Mike, very deliberately changing the subject.

Yuriko's reaction was practically identical to his: she looked away and blushed slightly. "What about her?"

"Have you asked her out yet?"

"Listen. She's like, the popular girl. She's friends with like half of the class, and she's always talking to people both before and after, so it's... And I mean, she's gorgeous, and she wears makeup, and like, she always dresses nice, and I'm-" She caught herself mid-sentence. "Okay. Alright, yeah. I should take my own advice, I get it."

"I mean, asking her out is one thing. You should at least talk to her. Strike up a conversation, and who knows where things will go?"

Yuriko made a face. "What if she thinks my boobs are gross?"

"What if she thinks they're awesome?"

"I don't even know if she's into women."

"I just-" He made a gesture of frustration. "I just said the same thing. If she is, you'll never find out unless you talk to her."

"Hmph." She crossed her arms. Or at least, she tried to. She had to do it above her chest, but her sandwich was in the way. "Alright, how about this. Tomorrow, we both do it. You ask your boyfriend out, and I'll talk to my girl, and we'll talk in the evening and shame each other if either of us wussed out."

"Deal," said Mike. "We'll keep each other accountable. What's your girl's name?"

"Rose."

"Rose..." He looked at her. "Isn't your middle name Lilly?"

"Lillian, yeah."

"Rose and Lilly! Oh my god, that would be perfect if the two of you hooked up."

"Mm-hmm. I am one-hundred-percent ready to jump into a relationship with this girl I barely know because our names go cute together." Her tone was scolding, but she was grinning and blushing slightly as she said it. Nobody could deadpan like Yuriko. "What's your boyfriend's name again? Didn't you say it was something really weird?"

"Icarus. His parents are aging hippies. He told me this story one time about how they-"

"Mike," she interrupted him with a hand on his shoulder and spoke with deadly conviction. "Mike. You have to date this man."

"Why?"

"What can you shorten Icarus into?"

"Uh... Russ? Carus?" She did the 'go on' motion with her hand. "Ic?" He realized, suddenly, what she was getting at, and groaned.

"Rose and Lilly and Mike and Ike!"