Blossoming Bodies: The Beginning
Chapter 15
by Plato Voltaire

With a pronounced sense of relief Pauline Tagerson returned home and went upstairs to the bedroom. The day at work could've been worse, she reflected. Gaining a bosom from unwanted nanites over the weekend would've been awkward to explain. Akward, given the fact that said nanites were actually meant for her daughter Corie. Having bought them clandestinely, Corie forget to take them along when she left for university on Outback. Pauline thought she would die of embarrassment had she tried to explain it to anyone, especially her boss Mr. Welton.

The day passed without so much as a peep from Pauline's co-workers, much less Mr. Welton. As she undressed in her bedroom, Pauline felt that the lack of outright comment about her newfound bust to be disconcerting. Expecting at least some gossip or little groups in the cafeteria talking quietly about her boobs, Pauline was instead treated to disbelieving stares and at least one outright schoolboy slack-jawed gawk. The lunchtime workout at the company's gym was uneventful, as far as doing actual exercises was concerned. Again, due in part to her unexpected additions, people kept their distance from Pauline. It was as if they were afraid to
touch her, less they wanted to be 'infected' with whatever Pauline had in her system.

Freed from their bra prison, Pauline's breasts shimmed as the woman walked over to her closet. She donned a house robe, her bust now looked like a pair of good sized cantaloupes covered in a fuzzy towel. After placing on a pair of slippers Pauline went back downstairs to the kitchen. She found that her craving for fat had gone when her breasts stopped growing. The cookie jar no longer beckoned with its siren song of desire. Instead, the redhead settled on having salmon for dinner. As she prepared the assorted ingredients for the meal, Pauline called out to the computer and had it play back any messages it received during the day. There was only one, from Kenneth, her husband.

"Hello, honeycake," said the recorded voice of Kenneth. "I'm calling to tell you some good news. My inspection tour has been called off early. Better make some room in the freezer for steak, 'cause I'll be stopping by Prairie Produce in Grand Island. You and me will cook up 12-oz steaks Wednesday night. And," Kenneth's voice assumed a playful tone, "since Corie is gone, we can dance in the living room to our favorite music without being made self-conscious. Kiss you when I see you, honeycake." On that note the message ended.

Pauline felt as if her stomach was filled with lead. She had hoped for more time to prepare. Kenneth was supposed to be gone for a few more weeks; more than enough time to figure out what to say to him. Now she had less than two days to come up with something. "Well," she mused, "if worse comes to worse I could smother Ken into submission if he raises a stink. It'll put this extra weight I'm carrying to good use."

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The Blossoming Bodies store, 8 p.m. Monday night. Allison, Jason, Hana, and Mr. Prokhal, Allison's lawyer, had gathered for a strategy meeting. Given the efficiency and light case load in the Omaha courts, Pauline Tagerson's case against Blossoming Bodies would be received in court in just two weeks.

"As I see it," said Prokhal, "the prosecution will want to drag out this case for as long as possible. With the Flat Chest Society and other anti-nanite groups submitting negative articles and stories to the press, the store's image, and business, could suffer in the long-term."

"The usual gambit of scare stories and sensationalism, if I recall their previous campaigns," Allison added. "Well, that sword cuts both ways. We can get tons of free advertising throughout the trial. As history has proven, the more stink a protest group generates, the more interest is generated for the thing they protest."

Hana, the advertising/marketing chief, nodded. "I certainly agree, Allison. You can show off a new suit of business clothes each day in court. Given the peculiarities of the press, some reporters will focus on your wardrobe anyway." Hana had to grin like an imp. "They'll focus on how your bust 'overwhelms' whatever you happen to be wearing at the time. I think a significant portion of the female audience will be intrigued enough to visit the store and buy something, even if it's only an outsized t-shirt."

"She has a point," said Jason, the assistant manager. "This case-inspired publicity can help increase our, ahem, 'exposure' in the public's eye more than most advertising campaigns. However, there is one thing I want to put on the table and resolved."

"What's that?" inquired Allison.

Jason folded his arms. "A counter-suit against Mrs. Tagerson. She made use of property that didn't belong to her. Technically, she stole the nanites."

Hana frowned. "Sounds a bit vindictive on our part if we do that, Jason."

"Jason has a point." Prokhal said with a raised hand for emphasis. "Within the laws governing the use and distribution of nanites on Terra, Mrs. Tagerson has definitely violated a section of those laws. Her lawyer will emphasize that it was just a mistake that she thought the hypo was one of aspirin instead of nanites, heaping all the blame on us. But," Prokhal waved a finger, "she has made use of nanites without paying for the service. Now, if we can get her daughter Corie to give testimony..."

A solid knock on the conference table made Prokhal stop in his tracks. Allison looked firmly at her three tablemates. "Let's not go down that route. I agree with Hana. Going with a counter-suit will throw dirt on whatever good publicity and additional business this case will generate. Let the FCS and their cronies squawk themselves sore. In the end, the public will tire of their antics while we'll continue with business as usual. Besides," she said a bit whimsically, "with Summer approaching, they'll be too busy squawking at the pools. With the maximum amount of nanite-built bosom covered by the minimum amount of swimsuit, those critics will have to wear sunnies lest they be blinded by the site of nearly-naked women."

"Certainly. The press will forget about this case and move on to the next 'big' thing," Hana said enthusiastically. "The slogan for the summer ad campaign, 'bustin' out on the beach', will get all the free air time it could possibly need from the press."

Allison knocked on the table again. "Now that's said, let's go on with our strategy for our appearance in court. Half the battle will be determined that way."

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The Dornheim residence. Gwyneth Dornheim, looking smug and determined, stood in her living
room, and she wasn't alone. Several of Gwyneth's friends and acquaintances, sharing her disdain of nanites in general and Blossoming Bodies in particular, had gathered to talk about the impending case against the business. After an hour of talking Gwyneth got the attention of her guests and made an announcement.

"I got good news, everyone," said the combative woman. "The case against Blossoming Bodies has been set to begin in two weeks. From that day on, we will be a thorn in the side of that frivolous business. All day, everyday, we will make our presence known. We will be in the vanguard of a movement that will run Allison Eddings and all of her inflated, vapid friends out of Omaha and off the face of Terra."

Gwyneth waited for a few moments as her guest clapped in approval. She felt empowered by the attention she was receiving. For the first time in decades she was actively doing something in the community instead of being a passive participant. And, as all people know, it was the active people who make history and rise to prominence. With raised hands she silenced her audience. "Now then, we must plan our protest at the courthouse and the subsequent protest at the Blossom property. First, however, we need a name for our group."

After a few moments Gwyneth produced sheets of plaspaper and pens, distributing them to everyone in the room. "We'll compile all the suggestions and hold them to a vote. By the end of meeting we'll have the name of our group and make our first set of protest signs." Seeing a raised hand in the group, Gwyneth pointed to it. "Yes? You have a question?"

"I just have one thing to say about naming the group," said Marcy, one of Gwyneth's friends. "If it's going to be an acronym, please make sure it doesn't end up being B.O.O.B.S. or B.U.X.O.M. We'll end up being laughed at more than those women going to get watermelon breasts."

"Good point, Marcy," Gwyneth acceded. "Everyone, keep that in mind as you think up names. We don't want a name that be used against us."

End of Chapter 15.

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