THE STUFF OF LEGEND
Shelia cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re going as Marilyn Monroe?”
“No,” Skye replied resolutely, looking away from the mirror. “I’ll be wearing a blood-stained scarf around my neck.”
“Right,” said her roommate. “I don’t get it.”
“Car crash. The urban legend says she was decapitated,” sighed Skye, returning to the mirror. “It’s not true, but that doesn’t matter anymore – all anybody remembers is the myth. Like the Richard Gere gerbil thing.”
“Skye, you’re going as a blonde in vintage clothes. All anybody remembers is Marilyn Monroe.”
“How’s about I drive up in a ’66 Buick like the one she died in?”
“How’s about you wear a name tag that says ‘Hello, my name is Jayne Mansfield’?”
Skye sighed again and applied more lipstick. “People are smarter than that. You’ll see. It’s sexy yet morbid – perfect for Halloween.”
“Morbid, you can do, but how do you plan to pull off sexy?” asked Shelia, nodding toward her roommate’s terrycloth bathrobe. “Mansfield was famous for her figure — and I hate to be the one to tell you, but you have more of a ‘go figure.’”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Skye evasively. “I have a plan. My costume will be the stuff of legend.”
“Then I shall leave you to your legendary stuffing.”
“Out, quip machine,” said Skye dryly, pointing to the hallway.
“That’s where I’m headed, actually,” said Shelia, grabbing her purse and keys. “I promised I’d bring my friends Jose Cuervo and Jack Daniels to the party and I forgot to pick them up. Need anything?”
“Nope, I’m good. Don’t be long, though – I’m almost ready.”
Skye put the finishing touches on her face as she heard Shelia drive away, but her roommate’s comments lingered. The whole reason Skye picked this costume was to give herself the body she’d always wanted, if only for one night. She was tired of being plain; this year, she would be Jayne.
Dropping the bathrobe, she slipped into her low-cut costume. She’d paid handsomely for the vintage white sheath dress, but it clearly wasn’t her size. Not yet.
Paranoid, Skye she drew the curtains then pulled down a shoebox from the closet’s top shelf. Inside the shoebox was a small strongbox; Skye popped the top and pulled out a small glass vial of translucent pink liquid.
“The stuff of legend,” she said softly.
Carefully, Skye unscrewed the cap. There was no odor; there was no eerie mist. Hollywood made magic potions seem so dangerous; this one looked like nothing more than the world’s smallest cosmopolitan. Still, the herbalist promised the effects would be just the right size.
Closing her eyes for a little dramatic effect, Skype downed the potion and waited. She felt nothing unusual – ironically enough, it tasted slightly of cranberry. She stood motionless for two full minutes, waiting for something to happen.
“Fucking ripoff,” she spat in frustration. She felt stupid as she reached for her backup plan: a shopping bag filled with heavily padded undergarments. “Money-back guarantee my ass.”
That was the moment she felt a bit of pressure around her backside. Her hands flew to her bottom and felt it slowly rise beneath her hands. Her hips were expanding as well, and not slowly. The dress became less flowing and more form-fitting with every passing second.
Skye looked only more astonished as her chest began to swell, with a slight hiss. From B to C to D…she was in awe of her own body, watching the mirror as the curves of Jayne Mansfield replaced her own. Her breasts had ballooned to a very full DD now, the shoulder straps pulling taut as her cleavage deepened. Her waist had remained tiny, giving her a voluptuous silhouette that could stop traffic.
But stopping wasn’t on the agenda. The hissing grew louder; her breasts, hips, and ass inflated with reckless abandon. The herbalist said Skye would have Jayne’s measurements, but she’d already surpassed Dolly Parton and was relentlessly moving into the realm of the impossible.
The dress began to creak ominously. Skye’s hips and thighs rounded out as her cup size raced up the alphabet. She traced her curves in utter disbelief. She felt full of air but short of breath…and there was nothing she could do to stop her body from blowing up.
As the stitches of her dress began to pop from the pressure, Skye realized with horror that, in a matter of seconds, she might be next.