The Open Window
I see her now, playing with her girls in her yard next door. The last two and a half years seems like it has gone by so fast, but I remember a time in the past when time didn’t go by quick enough.
I was just fixing to enter the seventh grade in the heat of August when they moved in next door. The four of them drove up: two in the moving van and two in a late model four door Chevrolet. The two parents were average in appearance and by no means Ozzie and Harriet. The older of the two children, although neither of the two would have been called a child, was a tall guy probably eighteen or older. The other was his sister, a brunette, small in stature, but as anyone could see, blossoming quite nicely. She was no more than fifteen, or at least she would appear to have been fifteen; that was what I thought fifteen year old girls were supposed to look like anyway. It was several months before I discovered she was still only fourteen, which made her ripely blooming figure even more remarkable.
It took two days for them to move in. I saw the truck leave and reappear several times over the weekend. I didn’t see much of Jennifer outside, as I later learned her name to be. My window provided the closest view from my house of theirs, so I spent much of the weekend catching views of Jennifer and the activities. My parents’ bedroom was on the other side of the house from mine and so was the TV and the kitchen, so I was rarely disturbed while I was in my room.
As luck would have it, Jennifer took the bedroom on the end of the house nearest to mine. When she brought boxes in, I was there to see her, and when she unpacked, I was there to watch her again.
Her brother must have been on his own and only helping with the move because I rarely saw him after that weekend. He came over once in a while, but never staying for more than an afternoon and evening.
After the packing ended, (I noticed that Jennifer had taken the boxes that I had seen out of her room), it was Saturday evening. I had gotten ready for bed and was looking out of my darkened room through the window into hers when I saw something that intrigued me like nothing I had ever seen before in my life. The light was on in her room, not a bright light, but enough to make out everything plainly. She stood facing her dresser, looking into the mirror. Her hands slowly moved down to her pants’ zipper and undid button and zipper in one smooth motion. The denim parted and the pants fell away, tracing the curves of her legs as they slid down. She stepped out of them and then brought her hands up to her T-shirt, pulling it up ever so slowly over her torso, then over her bra revealing what I had thought had existed the day before. The shirt continued to rise until it was over her head and then off her arms, revealing golden skin and white silk.
She stood there for a moment, looking at herself, and then her hands reached up behind her and loosened the clasp on her bra. The elastic snapped eagerly toward the front in the same way a sling-shot rips forward when the tension is released. With her right hand she grasped the left shoulder strap and slid it off her shoulder, repeating the slow process with her left hand and the right shoulder. The bra slid down her arms toward her hands, all the while the cups of the bra revealing more of their contents. And, wow, what contents! Her breasts were large, golden and round. They stood out from her body the width of her hands, because she came up under them with her hands and they fit firmly into her palms, completely filling each one.
I watched for what seemed like hours, after which she drew a T-shirt out of her closet and put it on with more vigor than when she removed the other one. Her breasts swung heavily when she walked, swaying gently back and forth, until they were covered and the lights went out, and the twenty-five cent cinema was over for the night.
Each night was similar to the first, although with a new twist, a new touch, or even the sight of a new piece of underwear that I had not previously seen. Different shirts, different pants, I even saw four different colors of bras that she had carefully selected from early in the morning.
A month went by in this fashion, with nothing altering from her evening routine until one late afternoon toward the middle of September. It was a Friday and her parents’ car had been gone since an hour after I had gotten in from school. It was around eight-thirty when he came walking up the driveway. He had the same look as her brother, somewhat tall with dark hair, but noticeably younger. The front door screen flew open and he was quickly drawn in by an arm outstretched to him.
He reappeared in Jennifer’s bedroom with Jennifer close behind. I saw him turn around looking at her. His arms came up and touched her softly on her hips, then worked their way up her sides and then sliding slowly toward her chest and finally cupping her breasts in his hands. They came closer together, their lips brushed together momentarily and then joined for an eternity. The embracing started slowly and passionately, but then became more active until, and I don’t recall how, Jennifer’s shirt was removed. His arms reached around her toward her back and then her bra as well disappeared and she stood exposed to him in her room. She slowly took his shirt off and then reached up and cut the lights.
I waited for the lights to come back on. This break in the routine was as intriguing as the first night I had watched Jennifer undress before bed. The night played on but there were no lights and soon I found my way to my own bed and fell asleep.
After a couple of evenings, the routine was back to normal. She stood in front of her mirror and let me see what she held secret from the rest of the world. I gazed for hours each week as the beautiful figure before me continued to unravel her developments of nature.
Through December I watched, keeping tabs on what colors she wore, right down to the way she brushed her hair. I noticed her body as well. Her curves were beautiful, especially the top half of her body. Her breasts were what really drew me to the window each night. I had watched them since August, how they were undressed and redressed, how they were held, and how they had grown. And they had grown; each week seeming to be more rounded than they had been the week before. By Christmas they were very much bigger than her palms of her hands. They flowed over her hands, having grown in all directions. As they grew, they hung lower on her body and she stood longer at the mirror gazing at herself.
I noticed that her weight had changed as well over the last couple of months. Her toned skin showed signs of puffiness in her thighs and her abdomen. I assumed that she was eating well over the holidays as I was, and put the episode out of mind.
Towards the end of December my parents and I went out of town for two weeks. Our relatives were dying to see us after an extra long year, and we were dying to leave after an extended holiday. The trip home dragged on for several hours, only building my anticipation to once again see Jennifer undress in her room.
When nightfall came, I was in my bedroom ready for the usual show from the bedroom next door. What I saw shocked me at first, but was explained later when I overheard a conversation my mom had on the phone with Jennifer’s mom. Her abdomen was noticeably swollen as were her breasts. I didn’t know what was going on until I heard the word pregnant used in reference to Jennifer; a word that now added interest to an already appealing, and now, evolving saga.
Each night I watched for her abdomen to be unveiled. I watched it grow from night to night. Jennifer would slowly undress as she always had, but now the ritual cupping of her swollen breasts was followed by a rub with both of her hands across her ever-expanding tummy.
By the middle of February, her stomach stuck out past her breasts and could be clearly seen even when she had on one of the loose sweatshirts that she now always wore. When she took off her shirt, her stomach and breasts were be revealed, larger each night.
The end of February was the beginning of a great size difference in Jennifer’s abdomen. The growth had been gradual up until this point, but now it was not uncommon to see growth from night to night. The growth had been in all directions, rounding her belly as though it were being slowly filled with water. Her hands rubbed her tummy, taking several minutes to rub it all slowly. It was three times the distance out from her body that her breasts were. Her bellybutton became less and less indented each day until it was slowly forced out. The skin around her waist and throughout her abdomen was becoming shiny in the light of her room. I thought to myself that the skin of her tummy must be getting tight with her stomach that size.
Through March, the enlargement of Jennifer’s belly continued. She had to hold on to the door when she walked into the room to keep from falling, I’m sure from the immense weight. The T-shirt she had been wearing to bed was now stretched so thin that her skin was clearly visible through the material. When she took the T-shirt off, it was a chore for her. The bottom hem of the shirt did not stretch like the rest of it and had to be helped over her now swollen belly. The removal of her shirt revealed that her breasts were growing as well as her belly. Since August, her breasts had grown to over twice their original size. Both of her palms could just about hold one breast at a time. And she could just touch her fingers together at the very front of her belly. She could reach her bellybutton and had fun rubbing it and the rest of her tight looking belly.
Toward the end of April, I sat every evening waiting for Jennifer’s entry into her room. She had become huge in the two short months since February. That night, she slowly waddled into her room and shut the door. Slowly, she made her way over to the chair in front of the mirror, and grabbing onto the dresser to help her ease down, she slowly took her seat.
Her abdomen was resting in her lap. Her belly was now two-thirds of the way to her knees when she sat down. It mounded up as high as it stretched out, rising between her breasts and merging into her ribcage just below them. Her breasts hung down on both sides of her belly. She sat for an hour with her hands on her expanded belly, moving them slowly around, taking in the size that she had reached, and somehow I knew she was wondering just how big she would get or when it would stop.
Each day found Jennifer bigger and bigger. Her T-shirt no longer fit her, so she wore a robe that tied in front. I watched each day as the robe covered less and less of her swelling belly. She could tie the robe around herself, but a gap was left down the middle, exposing skin from cleavage to bellybutton.
One night at the end of May, when I got to my room, Jennifer was already sitting in her chair undressed. Her belly now reached her knees and was easily as high as it was long. The sides of her belly were wider than her waist by a hand’s breadth. Her breasts were now lying atop her belly like two water balloons ready to pop from too much water. She touched everything in turn, sometimes returning to a favorite location on her belly. No longer could she reach around her abdomen. It had been a month since that had been even remotely possible and nearly two months since she had even tried.
The last day of school, I rushed home. My door was shut and I stared out the window, but there was no Jennifer as she had been the last couple of weeks. With less energy than I had run into my room, I walked into the living room to watch TV for a short time until maybe Jennifer would appear.
But then my mom got home and the phone rang. I overheard the conversation as I did so often. It was Jennifer’s mom from what I made out. From what I remember, the parts of that I heard were as follow:
“Hello. – Yes, this is she. – Really! – How’s she doing? – That’s great! – How much did they weigh? – Ten pounds EACH! ALL FOUR? Well…”
Now when I see her outside, playing with her four little dark-haired girls, I know what I will be doing later that evening. Just before I go to bed, I see her now seventeen-year-old body in all of its glory. Her stomach has returned to what it used to be; her flat, toned fourteen-year-old tummy, but her breasts have never returned to what they first were. They have reduced some over time, but she is at least twice what she originally was when I first saw her. They hang down in front of her, reaching the lower parts of her ribcage. Round and golden honey-pots, full to the brim. They stand proud on her chest and still she looks at them, touching them in front of her mirror every night.