SYNOPSIS: Apart from sun, sand and Seacombe, there was one other essential ingredient for a good holiday for aging Abigail. Unfortunately, as she lay on the beach at that British holiday resort on the first day of her holiday, it looked as though that particular component might be in very short supply. Until, that is, the bloke just in front of her goes for a swim in the sea and has his clothes stolen. But how on earth can Abigail ensure that he doesn't go dashing off home as soon as his immediate problems are resolved?

***
Author's Note: To celebrate Big Busts' tenth year, I have decided to republish all my Big Busts' stories which are not already on Big Closet, which I'll do at intervals throughout the year. It's worth saying that this, like most other of my stories, is meant to be fun (and I don't think there's enough of it on this site) often combined with sex and mayhem. Whether you're a new reader of my stories, or you have read them before, I hope you sit back and enjoy, without becoming too serious about it all.

***

'From thirty feet away she looked like a lot of class. From ten feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from thirty feet away'.

Abigail knew what she looked like in the mirror, and as she put her paperback down with a slap, she thought again about whether she should have cosmetic surgery on her face.

OK, it was fine for Mr Raymond-bloody-Chandler to put wise-cracking words into the mind of that biggest dick of them all, Philip Marlowe, but did he ever consider the feelings of the blond, herself? It wasn't her fault that she was no longer as young and beautiful as she had once been.

'It happens to us all, sometime,' she spoke the words aloud, getting a strange look from the people sitting closest to her.

Philip Marlowe's words had a particular significance to Abigail, for today was the first time she was airing her new breasts, pushing out of the top of her Baywatch swimsuit like grapefruit on a greengrocer's shelf. Her swimsuit itself was a miracle of modern design, keeping her tummy as flat today as it had been forty-five years ago, when she had first sat on Seacombe beach with her parents. Even her scraggy neck was superbly concealed from sight.

And it appeared to be working. Every male walking along the beach on that Sunday afternoon had sussed her from fifty yards, and had subtly altered course so as to pass directly in front of the sun-lounger - many with their wives and family dragging along behind. But as soon as the blokes came close enough to see her face, they realised she was far older than they had presumed. There would be another subtle change of course, and they'd go veering off in order to avoid getting too close to the woman who was obviously trying to put back the clock. So predictable was their path, they were almost wearing a path in the sand, as they weaved between the little groups of families and sunbathers scattered across the beach. Damn them all! Every man in the world!

The guy with the bald head, she realised, had the opposite problem to her. From a distance, he'd looked at least as old as she was - not that she was averse to someone her own age, provided he was fit. Unlike the others, he didn't veer away when he saw her close up, giving further evidence towards her assumption of his age. But when he plonked his towel on the ground only five yards in front of her, she could see she'd been completely mistaken - he could only be in his early thirties.

She would really have to get some new contact lenses, she thought. She'd taken these at short notice because they made her eyes such a nice shade of blue, but it was really serious if she couldn't sort out the young virile blokes from the oldies. And since she was wearing dark wrap-around shades, no one could see the colour of her eyes, anyway.

To her absolute delight, the chap stripped off in front of her. She'd learnt a long time ago that leching at blokes got all the worst reactions from the very ones she wanted to impress; far better to appear to be reading her book, which she now realised she was holding upside down. With her wrap-around shades, no one could see she was actually watching every movement of his body, and just imagining it under different circumstances.

When he'd stripped down to his trunks, he strode off towards the sea, without a glance at her, leaving his clothes in an untidy heap on top of his towel. Never mind, in a few minutes time, he'd be walking out of the sea, his tiny trunks clinging to his body in a kind of sex-reversal of the moment when James Bond watched Honeychild Rider walk up the beach.

She closed her eyes, visualising the scene as he would walk up to her, take her by the hand and pull her into the bushes just across the promenade, the very bushes in which, all those years ago, she had lost her virginity to a boy who bore a startling resemblance to Keith Moon from The Who. Strange that she could remember who he looked like, but for the life of her, she couldn't recall the boy's name.

The shadow blotting out the sun made her open her eyes with a start. The sky was rapidly filling with black clouds heralding the start of a thunderstorm; the afternoon was suddenly cold and, horror of horrors, the bloke's towel and clothes had disappeared. Damn! She'd fallen asleep, and missed her golden opportunity - perhaps the only opportunity she would get all week.

Already, the beach was almost cleared, as everyone packed up and headed back to their cars, caravans, or bed and breakfast houses. The sky went even darker, and Abigail felt a large spot of rain on her shoulder. She stood up and hurriedly started to pull on her clothes over the top of her swimming costume, starting with her white blouse with the large poppies, which she'd originally bought to emphasise the swell of her breasts. However, with her new breasts, such emphasis was totally unnecessary; indeed the blouse only just continued to fit.

The short, straight, red skirt exactly matched the colour of the poppies, and showed off her trim bottom to perfection, although her daughter said it made her look like an old tart. Cheeky little madam!

'I suppose it's a bit of a cliché, but I didn't recognise you with your clothes on.'

She turned to identify the speaker, and her heart leapt into her mouth. It was her balding James Bond, now looking rather sorry for himself, and still wearing just his swimming trunks. Abigail couldn't resist flicking her eyes quickly down his body, forgetting that in the darkening light, she'd pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head.

He obviously mistook her glance, and hastened to reassure her that he wasn't going to pull his cock out in front of her. If only he'd known how much she'd have welcomed it.

'It was you I sat down in front of, a few minutes ago, wasn't it?'

So, she'd only been asleep for a few minutes, and hadn't missed him dressing.

'It certainly was. But where are your clothes?'

'That's what I was hoping you'd tell me. It looks like someone else has picked them up by accident. I thought I must have made a mistake, when I came back here and found they'd gone, so I've wondered along the beach in both directions. I just can't see them.'

Her heart melted. The poor boy was sounding so distressed, and he looked cold and miserable.

'Here,' she said, rummaging through her large beach-bag, and pulling something out. 'Take my beach-robe and slip it on.'

It was plain red, to match her swimsuit, so it looked a bit feminine for him, especially when he buttoned up the elasticated waist, and it flared nicely over his hips down to mid-thigh. Clearly at that moment, he considered his looks less important than his well-being.

'I hate to suggest this,' she said, 'but there are notices along the promenade that warn about thieves operating on the beach, and taking things left unattended.'

'But you'd have seen someone taking everything,' he protested.

'Sorry, I er... well I closed my eyes for a few minutes and when I opened them, everything had gone. I thought you must have come back and got dressed.'

'But what am I going to do. Without my car keys, I won't be able to get into it, and I haven't even got a phone...'

'Was there much money there?'

He shook his head. 'No, I left my wallet with most of my money in the car. I suppose I'd better find my way back there, except I'm not really certain where it was. I couldn't find any space in the beach car-park, so I went to the centre of the town, and found a car-park somewhere near the Town Hall.'

'I know it,' she said. 'I'll walk there with you, and then we can use my mobile to call the RAC or whoever, to get you into your car. It's not far from there to my hotel, so we can go onto it and have something to drink, while we're waiting. I always feel better with something warm inside me.'

He totally missed the innuendo. 'That's really nice of you to go to so much trouble. My name's Lawrie, by the way. Lawrie Baker.'

'Abigail Simpson.' She held out her hand and he took it and gave a little squeeze. His hand felt cold to the touch. Well, she knew a fantastic cure for that - but even now, she mustn't rush it.

She led the way across the sand as far as the promenade, where she stopped so quickly that he bumped into her, which had precisely been her intention.

'It's going to be painful for you walking through the streets with no shoes on. Hang on.' She slipped off the plain beach mules she'd been wearing, with heels barely one inch high and passed them across to him. Slip into these.'

He looked at them, eying the heels with trepidation. 'But what are you going to wear? And I'm really not certain that I could walk in those.'

She rummaged through her bag again, and produced her white sandals with the three inch stiletto-heels, and the matching poppies on the buckles. 'You could wear these instead, if you'd prefer.'

For the first time, he gave her a smile, and her heart gave a little lurch. 'I guess the beach shoes are the better deal.'

They both slipped on their respective shoes, and with the heavy drops of rain threatening to turn into a torrential downpour, they set off at a brisk walk. Fortunately, when Lawrie stumbled on his modest heels, Abigail was able to grab his arm and steady him, and they continued walking with her arm linked through his, which again had been her exact intention.

***

'It's gone! My car's gone!'

Lawrie stared around the now rapidly clearing car-park, in horror. 'I parked it just here, and it's been stolen.'

'Oh dear,' Abigail said aloud, whilst thinking, 'Thank you, God! Thank you!'

All the way to the car-park she'd been wondering how she was going to ensure that when Lawrie got his car unlocked, he didn't take the opportunity of putting as much mileage between him and Seacombe in as short a time as he could. Now, the initiative was firmly in her court.

'Right,' she said. 'I guess your thieves toured the car-parks, pressing your remote at random, until it unlocked a car. I presume that you left your credit cards in the car...' Lawrie nodded in confirmation, 'so you need to get onto the credit card companies, straightaway. You can use my phone.' She produced her mobile - a small, white one with pretty poppies over it. Abigail was always a well co-ordinated woman, and today was poppy day.

'I should call the police.'

'Afterwards. Get the credit cards stopped first.' She took his arm again, and started to lead him across the road. 'In the meantime, let's get back to my hotel.' He was barely aware of where he was going, as he contacted directory enquiries and then started speaking to the credit card companies.

***

They were in her room before he'd completed his calls, and as she removed the mobile from his hand, she replaced it with a large brandy which she'd poured from her mini-bar.

'Oh, er, thanks.' He looked at the glass in his hand, and then around the luxurious bedroom, with its four-poster bed, as though wondering how he'd got to that position.

'Drink up. You've had a nasty shock, and you're also cold and wet.'

The skies had opened in earnest when they were still fifty yards from the hotel. Abigail had found an umbrella in her bag, but it had been big enough to only partly cover the pair of them, even though she'd hugged him tightly to her. Lawrie had got soaked, which is exactly what Abigail had intended.

Lawrie obediently emptied his glass, choking slightly at the strength of the drink. Abigail immediately refilled his glass and beckoned him to drink up again.

'I think you'd better get into the shower straightaway, otherwise you're going to catch your death of cold.' She pulled him to his feet and led him across to the entrance to the en-suite bathroom. 'Take a nice long shower, or have a bath if you prefer. Meanwhile, I'll sort out some clothes you can wear.'

'Oh right, er... thanks... for everything.'

She smiled at him sympathetically until he'd shut the door of the en-suite, whereupon she punched the air in exuberance, and uttered another set of thanks to the God watching over her. Then, she opened her wardrobe, and considered what clothes he would like.

***

She was now reasonably certain of making a conquest tonight - or rather, of letting Lawrie make a conquest. From the way he had periodically stared at her new breasts, she was convinced he wasn't gay. There was a faint mark where a wedding ring had been worn at one time, but it didn't look fresh. So she would only need to wine and dine him, and suggest he spend the night on the settee in her room. Odds on, that the settee would be the last place he would spend the night.

The problem was, she didn't want it to be a simple one-night stand. Sure, she was desperately hungry for sex, having abstained for longer than was healthy for a woman of her needs. But she also wanted a relationship - one of those where you go to places together; have fun; make silly jokes that your partner finds incredibly funny; and generally behave like little children.

And she was dreadfully frightened that in the morning, having shagged her silly all night, he'd be asking to borrow the cost of the train fare back home, and that would be the last she would ever see of him.

She pulled her Levis out of the wardrobe and laid them on the bed. They were incredibly taut on her so they'd probably be a fairly loose fit on his beautifully tight arse, but that was the best he was likely to get from her wardrobe. It also wouldn't matter if it was a few weeks before he returned them - unlaundered, of course - because blokes were like that. So, how was she going to prevent a one-night stand?

She rifled through a few more of her clothes, wondering whether there was anything more suitable than the Levis. She certainly had several other pairs of trousers, but then most women did, nowadays; not like her mother's generation. What would he have done then? The solution to her problem hit her with all the strength of a cocaine snort. Of course!

Then she was frantically pulling out all the trousers in her wardrobe, and making a neat pile of them on top of the Levis. She went across to the chest of drawers, and found her Bermudas and some cut-offs, and she placed those on top. Finally, from the bottom of the wardrobe, she grabbed a couple of pairs of track-shoes.

Her suitcase was in the cupboard in the lobby, and as she heard him turn-off the shower in the en-suite, she quickly opened the cupboard, wheeled the suitcase across to the bed, flopped it onto its back and flipped open the lid. Then she stuffed the pile of clothes and shoes inside the suitcase, shut and locked the lid, and just as quickly wheeled it back to the security of the cupboard.

Lastly, she pulled open her drawer of underwear, and rummaged right to the bottom for a couple of items which she slipped into her handbag.

'Hi. Thanks for letting me use your shower...' He stopped, staring open mouthed at the open drawer of the frilliest - and sexiest - underwear he had ever seen.

Meanwhile, Abigail noticed that on show above the towel wrapped around his waist, he had an incredibly hairy chest and, beneath the towel, incredibly hairy legs. She couldn't help wondering whether he had incredibly hairy bollocks to match.

'I think I can probably manage without the underwear,' he joked, trying to cover his embarrassment.

'Sorry,' Abigail smiled at him, 'I was just getting something out. I've been looking for things you could wear, and I think there are several items that would be suitable.'

She led the way over to the wardrobe and pulled the doors wide open. 'It really depends what length and style you'd feel comfortable in.'

Lawrie looked puzzled at that, so she sought to explain as she pulled out a dress. 'This is my - every woman should have one - sleeveless, little, black dress, which has a high neckline and comes down to mid calf,' she said. 'The only problem is it will expose your beefy shoulders and it has these long slits up the side, so you may not be too happy with that. On the other hand, there's this bright red dress which has quite a low neckline, so...'

'Ha-ha-bloody-ha,' Lawrie said. 'Do you think I could just borrow your jeans, please?'

'Jeans?'

'Oh, come on. You're pulling my leg.' He stared at her blank face. 'You have to be. You must have a pair of jeans.'

She shook her head. 'Well, no. I mean, with a body my shape, I simply don't look good in jeans, so I stick to skirts and dresses. I always think they suit me better.'

'Oh God!' He turned and stared inside her wardrobe, as though not believing the word of a lady. He almost went as far as flicking through the contents, but at the last minute realised that would be incredibly rude, and might well result in his eviction into the corridor, sans towel. 'What am I going to do?'

'Well, I've told you. I'm sure we'll find something suitable for you to wear amongst this lot. After all, we're not that different in size.'

'But I can't wear a dress.'

'Why not?'

'I'd look totally stupid.'

'Well of course you would, if you simply slipped it on at the moment, but I was kind of assuming that we'd make you up so that no one could tell you were really a bloke. After all, I'm hardly keen to be seen taking a man wearing a dress to dinner in this hotel restaurant. I have my own reputation to protect.'

'You're taking me to dinner in the hotel restaurant, wearing a dress?' Lawrie could hardly believe he was hearing right. She couldn't be serious. Could she?

Abigail realised she had to be careful how she answered this. First of all, she had to play down the dressing up aspect, otherwise he simply wouldn't do it and she'd be forced to come clean about hiding her jeans. But almost as important, she didn't want him to know she was reasonably wealthy, and could afford the best this superb hotel could offer, and more. OK, she wanted sex, but she certainly didn't want it on the basis he was only doing it for her money. So, a little subterfuge was called for.

'I'm on the package deal which includes all meals. In fact, I'd better tell you I was due to come here with a friend, and it's all paid for in advance, so you'll be entitled to have his meal, without an extra payment. Since you haven't got any money on you, or any way of paying, that might be quite useful.'

Lawrie looked around the room properly for the first time, taking in the four-poster bed, with the white drapes around it, and the comfortable furniture spaciously arranged around the huge room.

'So what happened to your friend?'

The trouble with telling a lie, is that you have to tell more lies, in order to protect the original one.

'He decided he was going to stay with his wife. I'd given him an ultimatum; we either come away together on this holiday, or our relationship is ended. He booked and paid for the hotel as a sign of good faith, and then chickened out. So, I came on my own.'

'Might he not suddenly turn up?'

For God's sake, why this interrogation?

'The bastard went off on a cruise with his wife. So, as I said, if you want it you can have a free meal in the best hotel in town. Of course, if you don't want to hang around here...' She didn't use the words, 'You can piss off,' but it was fairly obvious.

'Oh no! I didn't say that! It's just that... Well, I could never pull it off, wearing a dress. Surely you must have some trousers, or... Shorts! You must have some beach shorts. I could wear those.'

Abigail shook her head. 'Sorry, no. I told you, with my size of bottom, those kind of garments don't suit me.'

She sensed she still hadn't convinced him so she tried another tack. 'Look, as I said before, I'll only go to the restaurant with you provided you're bloody convincing. Why don't we try a few things on, and I'll put some make-up on you, and a wig, and we can see how realistic you look? How does that sound?'

Lawrie shrugged his shoulders, as though to say, 'We'll try it, but it ain't gonna work.'

Abigail breathed a sigh of relief. Stage One of mission accomplished. Now she had to make it work. Fortunately, she had a couple of cans of hair-removal mousse, so she could get going with that. It was a crying shame, though; she really liked his hairy bits.

She got him to put his trunks back on and get into the bath. Then she sprayed him all over with the mousse. The instructions said it should only be used on the legs, but it was really no use pussy-footing about.

Twenty minutes later, she had a totally bald man in front of her; she had even made him pull his trunks down as far as decency would allow, so he would have a nice triangular bush of pubic hair. She'd be interested to see how good that looked later, but she had to crack on with getting him dressed, if she wasn't going to lose him.

She made him put on some tights, and then stuffed the hips and bum with folded towels, giving him an arse and hips much bigger, even, than hers.

'It's important that the widest part of your body is not your shoulders,' she explained, 'because that would scream out "Man" to everybody. So, we give you a nice big arse and wide hips, and that immediately suggests "Woman".

After she'd smoothed down the towels inside the tights, she made him slip on a panty-girdle to keep it all in place; it would never do if his arse slid down to his knees! After that, she stood back and eyed him up and down, and then pulled him in front of a mirror and let him see for himself.

'What do you think so far?'

'I'm trying to be positive, but it'll never work. No hair and no tits.'

'A wig should fix the hair, and I tend to think you're right about the tits, as well. Strictly speaking, you shouldn't need any, as lots of women have miniscule breasts, but I do think that having a nice pair sticking out the front of your dress should seal any speculation about your sex.

'Now, that would have been a problem, except that earlier today I was in the bar and I got talking to another woman guest who I think may be able to help. Now, I wonder if I can remember which room she's in - 216... or was it 261?'

She went over to the phone, picked it up and dialled.

'Hello, Is that Jose? This is Abigail here... Yes that's right, we met at lunchtime... Look, you know you said you were wearing a Bustlet, and I could borrow your spare if I wanted to give it a try... Well, it's for a friend actually. She wants to wear one of my dresses, and she really needs something to fill out the top... Is that alright... OK, I'll be straight down to collect it... Great! Thanks very much. See you in a couple of minutes.'

She picked up her handbag and said to Lawrie, I won't be long. I'll take the key with me and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door so you should be alright.'

She went out, leaving Lawrie wondering what would have happened if a chamber-maid had brought in fresh towels whilst there were in the middle of removing his hair.

***

Abigail waited for the lift, got in it, went down to the ground floor, walked around the Reception area a few times, before taking the lift back to her floor, and walking along to her room.

'I've got it,' she said as she walked in, producing the garment she had earlier stuffed into her handbag. (Well, there really was no point in revealing that her breasts were as false as his were going to be, was there?)

'What is it?'

'It's called a Bustlet. It's a bit like a singlet made of flesh-coloured skin-like material. You fill it with water to give you a set of breasts any size you like. It's got a very high neckline that goes all the way up to fit under the jaw-line, so that it hides a wrinkly neck and double-chin or, in your case, your Adam's apple. Apparently, it's really best if it's glued on, as it stops perspiration forming underneath, which can be pretty uncomfortable.' And please, don't let him ask any questions about it, she thought.

She reached into her handbag, and withdrew the aerosol of glue. She smiled. 'It's all pretty straightforward. Shall I spray it over your body?'

Lawrie shrugged. She'd done enough things to him already. It might as well be done properly. Five minutes later, Abigail was smoothing the Bustlet in place; and five minutes after that, she had connected the plastic piping to the tap in the wash-basin and inflated the two breasts to a nice D bust. Nothing too extreme, but plenty there to draw the eye away from any more male features; as well as conveniently making Lawrie the same cup-size as Abigail.

They spent some time choosing the dress Lawrie was to wear, and eventually settled upon a grey, full skirted dress, with a startlingly low-cut square bust-line. Abigail had thought of corseting Lawrie, but since that would mean Lawrie would have a much narrower waist than her own, decided not to. A nice, frilly, platform bra completed the underwear, and then Abigail slipped the dress over Lawrie's head, and sat him in front of the mirror whilst she made him up.

She spent some time explaining what she was doing as she went along, so that by the end of the week, she hoped that Lawrie would pick it up and be able to apply it himself (although she didn't explain that bit). As one might expect, Abigail was an expert upon make-up, and to get the right shades, she had to pop out a few times to Boots The Chemist, which was conveniently located just across the road from the hotel. It was only at that moment that Lawrie realised that if she could buy make-up for him, she could have bought him some jeans, instead. Still, when all this failed dismally, no doubt, that's what she would be doing.

As she brought the job to completion, Lawrie had to admit that his face would more than pass muster. Then Abigail produced the Pamela Anderson wig she'd also bought, carefully located it on his head, and then glued it into place. She stepped away, so that Lawrie could see his whole image in the mirror.

Except it was definitely the image of a woman - not a man dressed as a woman. OK, the woman was never going to win a beauty contest, but there was no doubt about the sex of the person facing him in the mirror.

'Wow!' he said, and that immediately spoiled it. 'Shit! It's obvious as soon as I open my mouth.'

'Don't worry. You're not going to have to say a lot, but when you do, talk more softly, almost as though you were whispering. Now, whilst I get dressed, I want you to practice walking a little, and talking a lot. Remember, when a woman walks, her hip is the most prominent part of her, so push each hip forward as you walk, and pull your shoulders back and together, and slump them downwards. If you glance down your body, your hips should stick out more than your tits.'

Lawrie walked up and down the room a little.

'Slump your shoulders back and down. You're not strutting on the catwalk. Hips forward - further than that - further! Now, I'm going to have a shower, and I want you to talk to me through the bathroom door. Let me hear you place an order for your food. So, what's for starters?'

***

It was almost eight o'clock before they got to the restaurant, but by that time Abigail felt that Laura (as she was now calling her) was really giving quite a credible performance - both in the way she moved and the way she spoke. Certainly, there was no trace of suspicion in the waiter's face as he showed them to a discrete table, in the corner of the huge dining-room.

The meal was everything Abigail could have wished for. Laura even got flirtatious leers from a couple of guys, just after they had sat down.

'You get used that as a woman,' Abigail said, following Laura's eyes, 'especially when you stick your tits forward, like you're doing at the moment.'

Laura had sub-consciously resumed her man-type stance, with her chest pushed out and shoulders back. She hurriedly brought her shoulders forward and let her tits slump between them. The men laughed at her sudden change, but Laura didn't panic at all.

In fact, once Laura had overcome her initial nerves, and realised that she was accepted as a woman, she relaxed into the part and the two women had a great time together. They told each other about their past. They had both been married - twice in Abigail's case - and they had both come to Seacombe on holiday as children. Abigail even told Laura of losing her virginity to the Keith Moon look-alike, which they both had a chuckle about.

'It's because we used to have great family holidays here when I was a child, that I decided to apply for the job here,' Laura said.

'Job?' Abigail said, but really thinking, 'Oh shit!' She had imagined he was on holiday in Seacombe, like her. Not applying for a job! In fact, she needn't have gone through this whole charade if she'd known he was going to be around for a few days, anyway.

'The trial's tomorrow morning, and they'll make the decision straightaway.'

A trial? Oh shit! Rather than putting her thoughts into words, she instead asked, 'What type of job is it?' Assuming Lawrie didn't need a medical, he would probably get away with bandaging up his breasts.

'It's a lifeguard's job. You know, like Baywatch.'

Oh shit! She was clutching at straws, now. 'So presumably there'll be a lot of interviews and theory tests, and things like that, tomorrow?'

'Oh no. I've got all the right qualifications, you see. There may be an interview at the end, but for the main part of the day, I'll be competing against other applicants in speed trials, endurance, life-saving and first aid techniques. All that kind of thing.'

Oh shit!

'Right,' she said. 'I bet you'll be absolutely great at it. Shall we go upstairs now and fuck like rabbits?' Let's just hope this is a one-night stand, she thought, otherwise he'll kill me if he ever sees me again.

'Well, I'm not certain about that,' Laura said. 'It's supposed to give you an edge if you don't have sex, the night before.'

'Oh, right,' Abigail said, thinking, 'What a fucking nerve! I've wined him and dined him, and now he's closing his legs like a fifteen-year old virgin. Well, if he thought he was getting away with that, especially now she knew their relationship was doomed to failure...'

'That's not a problem,' she abruptly said, 'I'm an expert in these matters. If you really don't want to have an orgasm tonight, then I know some moves that will prevent you.'

She let that sink in before continuing, 'On the other hand, if you think you're coming back to my room wearing that sexy outfit without giving me the benefit of your body, then you'd better find somewhere else to sleep for the night. It's your choice.' She smiled, just to show how fair-minded she was being.

***

'I can't get these tits off,' Lawrie yelled from the bathroom.

Abigail woke with a start. She had meant to get up early, pack her suitcase and vacate the room, leaving Lawrie with a change of clothes he could use - a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, pairs of trainers and socks, and, of course, a bra, since it really wasn't fair to expect him to walk around with his bra-less tits flopping around. Then she would have got the hotel manager to allocate her another room, where she'd have hidden until Lawrie disappeared.

As it was, she had been so well and truly fucked last night, that she had slept like a new-born baby. And now, she'd overslept and Lawrie had sussed the problem.

'Can't you?' she replied. 'I'd better ring my friend.'

'What the hell did you say?' Lawrie's head came shooting around the edge of the door; he really looked extremely upset.

'I said I'd better ring my friend and get her to tell me how to get them off.' She wondered whether it sounded as false to Lawrie as it did to her ears?

Lawrie looked even more pissed at that remark than he had before. 'Your imaginary friend, you mean.'

'Sorry?' Yes, he'd sussed her.

'I saw you putting the things in your handbag as I came out of the shower yesterday. When you produced it, a few minutes later, having been to see your imaginary friend, I realised it was your own spare Bustlet we were using, only you didn't want me to know. Fair enough, and I didn't let on that I knew your secret. Now, can we get that out of the way, and you simply tell me how to get these tits off my chest?'

Abigail took a deep breath. 'Well, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you weren't on holiday for the week. That's why I suggested we use the glue. I'm afraid that they're permanently bonded to the skin. They won't come off for a few days, until your skin grows a new layer underneath and sheds the outer layers.'

'Abigail, this is no longer a joke. Now, you must have some instructions. Let me look at them.'

***

Five minutes later, Lawrie had gone beyond being cross, as he gave up reading the instructions, and stared down at his firmly embedded tits. 'All my life I wanted to be a lifeguard,' he said. 'My parents pushed me into becoming an accountant. It was an incredibly boring job, but I stuck it out until I finally had my breakdown, after my marriage split up.'

He looked up at her, like a wounded puppy. 'Now, I have the chance to fulfil my life's ambition, and I'm going to the trials with a pair of tits stuck to my chest.'

'There is another option.'

He stared at her for a full minute. 'Go on.'

'The supplier of Bustlets is a shop called Big Busts, located here, in Seacombe. They open at nine. We could go round there.'

'You think they'll be able to get them off me?'

'No. Apparently, they're made of some incredibly tough carbon-fibre material. You're more likely to cut the flesh off your chest than cut off a glued-on Bustlet.'

'What then?'

'Well.' She had to put this so carefully. 'I know they do products for men, as well as women.'

'Well thanks. But I don't think that having a two-foot long prick is going to make up for the fact that I have a pair of tits on my chest.'

'No, I didn't mean that. It's that they... well they make something called a Hipster that conceal men's... genitals, and pads out their hips like we did last night with the towels. Apparently, they can make a man look just like a woman - well, in fact, not just look - the Hipster gives him a sort of... false vagina.'

She waited for the explosion, which didn't come.

'You mean, I get one of these Hipsters, then borrow your swimsuit and go into the trials as a woman?'

'Yes.'

He looked hesitant for a moment, muttering, 'If they're as realistic looking as the Bustlets, it might just...' but then he shook his head. 'What do I do if I get offered the job?'

'You wait until you've got the offer in writing, and then you write back and tell them the whole truth. After all, it's hardly unreasonable, is it? Just... unusual.'

Still he didn't explode. In fact, he started nodding his head. 'I don't know. If you'd have suggested this to me yesterday afternoon, I'd have thought you were mad, but after last night in the restaurant... I don't know. What about make-up? I won't be able to wear that in the water.'

'I can get some water-resistant stuff that will do.'

'Jesus! I don't know.' Then, 'Oh well, it's not as though I have anything to lose, have I?'

***

From her balcony, Abigail could see them assembling on the beach. There were five tremendously hunky, extremely fit-looking young men; there were three incredibly slim but athletic-looking young women; none of them could be a day over twenty-five.

Then Laura wobbled up to them. Through her binoculars (bought for bird-watching - definitely not for looking at the blokes on the beach) she could see the others turn to stare at her. The blokes all stared at her wobbling tits; the girls all stared at her huge bum. Fortunately, Laura was wearing Abigail's slimming swimsuit underneath the beach-robe, so her stomach hardly bulged at all. Abigail nodded, approvingly; that swimsuit had been an excellent buy

Laura had some kind of argument with the man holding the clipboard, presumably because, for some reason, he had her name down as Lawrie, and thought she would be a man rather than a woman. Eventually it was resolved, although the man appeared to grumble a bit.

Then they spent ages milling around, waiting to be told what to do. Finally, the head-lifeguard - another sexy hunk - got them all assembled into a row, parallel to the sea-shore, and about thirty yards away from it. It was obvious they were all being lined up ready to start some kind of a race. The man with the clipboard walked down towards the water's edge, turned around and faced the group, and then nodded at the head-lifeguard. Although she couldn't hear the words, the lifeguard was obviously shouting words to the effect of: 'On your marks!' - 'Get Set!' - 'Go!'

The five beefy blokes went hurtling down towards the sea in one group, and the three slim girls were only a few feet behind as they all raced into the surf. Unfortunately, Laura stumbled as she started running, and had problems getting her bits into any kind of rhythm as she ran, so she was only half-way down the beach when the others were diving through the first waves.

Abigail watched as she entered the water and pulled the first few strokes, and then turned around and went back inside to the comfort of her hotel room. Watching Laura get slaughtered was really not her idea of a pleasant morning's experience.

***

'How did you get on?'

Even before Laura had left for the tests, Abigail had diplomatically decided the best place they should meet afterwards would be the hotel bar. If things went as badly as she expected, at least Laura wouldn't be able to murder her in the privacy of her bedroom.

She'd had time for a couple of G & Ts, just to calm her nerves, and was now feeling much better about dealing with Laura's outburst, when she returned from the beach. So as Laura walked up to the table, Abigail's greeting appeared interested, but very casual.

Laura sank down onto a chair. 'Could you get me a beer?' She looked over at the bar. 'That looks a nice real ale they have here. A pint, please.'

Well, at least Laura hadn't tried to kill her - yet. She went over to the bar and replenished her own glass, and bought Laura a large glass of dry, white wine.

'Beautiful young ladies don't drink pints of real ale,' she explained, as she placed it before her. 'Now, tell me how you got on.'

Laura looked slightly rebellious about the drink, but then meekly picked it up and downed the glass in one gulp. 'OK,' she said, passing the empty glass back to her. 'I'll have a refill.'

'Not before you tell me how you got on.' Abigail really didn't want to be on the receiving end of drunken violence.

Laura shook her head. 'Every one of the men beat me at every test,' she said.

Abigail put on her best surprised look. 'Oh, I'm so sorry, Laura, and it's partly my fault. If only I hadn't aroused you so much last night that you had to shag me rigid.'

But Laura was shaking her head. 'No, that wouldn't have made a difference,' she said. 'Those blokes just totally outclassed me. Even the women were bloody good. I was in last place in every test except two. In the first-aid test, I couldn't even put on a simple arm-sling without my boobs getting in the way. The thing is...' She again pushed over her empty glass towards Abigail. 'I really need a refill before I tell you the rest.'

***

'The start of the first test was absolutely disastrous,' Laura continued, after taking a small sip of her second glass of wine. 'It was a sprint to the sea, and then a one hundred yard race around a buoy and back to the shore. But my balance was all wrong, so I couldn't get running properly, and I was yards behind the others by the time I got into the water.

'But once I was in the water, it seemed as though my new shape made me more streamlined - a bit more like the shape of a fish - and I regained all my lost ground. I beat the other three women in the first race. It was the same in the life-saving test, pulling a body through the water - which needs plenty of stamina. I beat all the women in that test, as well.' She shrugged. 'It was just the other five tests where I flopped.'

'Never mind, Laura,' Abigail said. 'At least you gave it a try. I'm sure you'll find another job fairly soon.'

'But they offered me a job.'

'What?'

Laura was obviously feeling awkward about it. 'Well, the thing is, they decided to employ one male and one female, and... well, they offered me the female post.'

'But you said the other girls thrashed you in five out of the seven tests. Why did they offer you the job?'

'Well, they said,' - she emphasised the word "said" - 'it was because I came first in those tests which were assessing the real attributes of a life-saver - the ability to swim fast, and pull a body through water.'

'But...' Abigail left the sentence unfinished.

Laura looked incredibly sheepish. 'Well, as I was running down to the water's edge in the first test, I obviously hadn't a clue about how to control my tits - I just thought they'd sit inside the swimming costume, but er... Well they bounced out, right in front of the guy with a clipboard - the Council's Leisure Services Manager. By the time I'd swum back to the shore, I'd got them inside my swimming costume again, but... well, afterwards, he couldn't take his eyes off my tits, and he kept winking at me. I think it may have been my tits bouncing out that influenced the decision.'

'Laura,' Abigail ventured, 'can you not see a basic problem with the situation you've got yourself in.' (Now was not the time to discuss her share of the blame.) 'The rationale for you taking the test this morning was that if you got offered the job, you'd accept it and then, in a few days, write to them and explain about the situation.'

Laura nodded, forecasting what Abigail was about to say.

'The problem is,' Abigail continued, 'you have been offered a job which is specifically for a woman, so when you explain that you're really a...' she lowered her voice as she said the next word, 'man, they're going to withdraw the offer of the job.'

Laura nodded. 'I know. It's totally dishonest of me. Men naturally have more stamina than women, so I won those two tests on false pretences...'

'...not to say the false pretences when that manager saw your artificial tits flying about.'

'As you say, not to mention those false pretences. But... Well, it's my life's ambition to be a lifeguard. After this morning's test, I realise this is the only opportunity I'm ever going to get. I can't turn it down, even though it means cheating and...'

'Being a woman for the rest of the summer?' Abigail completed the sentence for him.

He nodded. 'Perhaps not the whole summer, but just a couple of weeks would be great. I know I'm bound to get found out sooner or later, but I'm going to give it my best.'

Abigail stared at her for a few seconds, and then pursed her lips and said, 'Attaboy, or should I say Attagirl? But there's one thing you're going to need.'

'What's that?'

'Lots of training in the finer points of being a woman.'

Laura looked at Abigail questioningly. 'Will you do that for me?'

Abigail nodded. 'For the kind of fucking you gave me last night on a regular basis, I'll do anything,' she said.

'Great,' Laura said, but really he was thinking, 'Oh shit!'

***

When he had first walked along the beach yesterday afternoon, looking for somewhere to drop his towel and undress, he had, of course, noticed the beautiful woman with the huge tits, and casually changed his course across the beach so he would pass directly before her. But as he got closer, he noticed that, right in front of her, was quite a large area of empty sand on the otherwise crowded beach.

It had seemed a shame to waste the opportunity of having a reasonable amount of space around him, whilst providing not only a superb view of the sex-bomb, but also the chance to chat her up. For example, he could ask her to look after his things whilst he swam and then nicely thank her when he returned, and that would be an excellent way to get talking to her and...

He was careful not to look directly at her as he approached the spot - it would never do to make out he was only sitting there because she had such superb tits. So he kept his eyes on the space and walked over and laid out his towel on the sand. He then made a big show of stripping off, still apparently not even noticing she was there. Then, as he was removing his last garment - his tee-shirt - he took a quick peek at her, just to see if she had noticed and was looking interested. He only had the merest flash of a scene as he pulled the tee-shirt over his head, but the sight was indelibly burned onto his retinas.

Christ! She must have been about sixty! Almost twice as old as he was. OK, the tits were fabulous, but she'd evidently only just had them enhanced, and clearly, she should have had her face done, instead. What's more, she was obviously staring at him through her dark sunglasses; the book in her hands was upside down!

He casually dropped his tee-shirt on top of his pile of clothes, and was halfway down to the water's edge before he remembered he'd been going to ask her to look after them. Well, he could hardly go back now, as she'd think he was making an excuse to chat her up.

***

'I suppose it's a bit of a cliché, but I didn't recognise you with your clothes on.'

Without her boobs sticking out of her swimsuit, she wasn't so easily recognisable, although the mini-skirt emphasised her still shapely legs. He'd walked past twice, trying to relocate the spot where he'd left his bright-orange towel, and it was only when she had turned around that he was certain he was in the right location.

She was marvellous. In just a second, she'd turned from an old sex-vamp into a motherly figure, who did exactly the kind of things his own mother had done when he'd been in Seacombe all those years ago, and had lost his football. The next thirty minutes seemed to pass in a daze, and he didn't come out of it until he'd emerged from the shower, and Abigail was explaining that she didn't have any jeans or trousers and that he'd have to wear a dress. She'd opened her wardrobe and showed him all of her sexy dresses, and he was taken straight back to the moment when he was a little boy, and his mother would let him dress up in his elder sister's ballet-dress.

Just like his mother in those distant days, Abigail had a wonderful wardrobe - much prettier than the clothes his wife had ever worn - the inevitable trousers or jeans, with an occasional knee-length straight skirt to give herself a power-woman image.

But Abigail's wardrobe was full of frothy dresses, brightly coloured skirts, and blouses with wonderfully pretty patterns and plunging necklines. He wanted to slip his fingers amongst them, and feel their sexiness, but she was looking at him a bit strangely, and it crossed his mind she might throw him out naked into the corridor if he wasn't careful. He had to play this extremely cautiously, otherwise she might suspect what an incredible turn-on this was for him. When his mother had realised that, there'd been no more access to his sister's ballet-dress.

So, he'd had to pretend he thought she was joking, and that it was an absolutely ridiculous suggestion - but without protesting so much that she abandoned the idea.

It had worked. She had dressed him with the same innocence that his mother had, before she'd discovered how it aroused him. Even better, she'd allowed him to wear a spare pair of her false breasts, although she'd pretended they belonged to someone else. And then she'd taken him for dinner - the most erotic meal he'd ever had in his life, especially when those guys had started leering at them.

Finally, the realisation that she only wanted him for his body was like a punch in the stomach, just as severe as if his mother had suggested the same thing. He'd tried to put her off; indeed, he'd imagined he'd never get an erection once his wonderful clothes were removed and it was just him and her in bed. But he'd reckoned without Abigail's years of experience, and a mouth that could turn a piece of damp string into a massive erection - not just once, but over and over and over again. He now knew how a woman felt in that same position - every moral fibre in his body wanting to stop, but his treacherous body simply aching for more.

As Abigail finally fell into a deep slumber, he knew how he would make his escape next morning. He would silently get up as soon as it was daylight; pull off his breasts, which had erotically stuck to his chest throughout their lovemaking; have a shower, and then leave for the beach, 'borrowing' Abigail's beach-robe and a hotel towel to provide him a minimum of protection. Once the lifeguard management turned up, he'd fall on their mercy and they'd be bound to come to his assistance.

But when he'd got into the shower, he'd been unable to remove his wonderful - no, his dratted breasts. He'd pulled them - it was like pulling at his own flesh; he'd tried to get his fingernails into the join - he'd scratched his own skin; he'd soaked himself in a bath of warm water until all his skin went wrinkly - apart from his wonderful breasts. Finally, he had to admit defeat; and then Abigail had come up with a plan more breathtaking than anything he could ever have dreamed.

The only problem was, Abigail clearly expected ongoing sex-sessions like the one they'd had last night. He guessed he would have succumbed, were it not for the fact that he'd allowed the woman from Big Busts to glue on his Hipster. There was going to be no sex with his willy, until the glue had released - at least ten days, the woman in the shop had told him.

So he had a problem. He needed Abigail, but she was going to be mightily pissed when she found out his penis was out of bounds.

***

'There's one problem,' Laura was saying.

Abigail dragged her mind back from the wonderful dreams she'd been having, of hours and hours of non-stop screwing with her fantastic new stud, fluttered her eyelashes at Laura and said, 'I can't think of any.'

'Well, you know you said that the glue wouldn't come off for days.'

Abigail smiled, sympathetically. 'Look Laura. I really don't mind screwing a man with fantastic tits. After all, last night was pretty good, wasn't it?' In fact, even though she'd known the breasts were totally false, she'd them found incredibly erotic.

'Yes, but it's not just my tits that are glued on.'

For a second, she didn't know what Laura was referring to. After all, his prick certainly hadn't been glued on. In fact, he had the most delicious prick she had known (in the biblical sense) for years. How he had managed to hide it beneath that Hipster was truly a miracle...

'Oh my God!'

'Sorry.' Laura was so sheepish. 'They said in the shop that if I didn't glue on the Hipster, it would come off in the water.'

They had actually told Laura it MIGHT come off in the water, but if it was glued on then he certainly wouldn't be able to use his prick for sex for ten days. With thoughts of Abigail waiting for him outside the shop, it had been the latter which had made up his mind.

Abigail was so disappointed, but she could hardly complain, could she? After all, the whole thing had been her idea, right from the start. 'Oh... That's a shame. I was really looking forward to... Well, you know...' 'On the other hand,' she thought, 'how on earth was she going to share a room with a virtual woman for the rest of the week? One way or another, Laura would have to go.'

Laura shook her head. 'I am really so sorry, Abigail. I was looking forward to it, as well. Last night was simply so good, but...' Laura trailed off, slowly shaking her head in disappointment.

'Hello ladies.'

The greeting startled them both, and they hurriedly turned their heads, wondering if they had been overheard. It was the Council Leisure Services Manager, and he had with him the hunky head-lifeguard. Now they were close up, Abigail could see the lifeguard was much older than he'd appeared through her binoculars. Why he must be well into his fifties, old enough to be her... lover?

'Laura, aren't you going to introduce us?' Abigail asked, smiling sweetly at them.

The introductions were made - Reg Bateman was the Leisure Services Manager and the head-lifeguard was called Phil Walker. Drinks were purchased and then the two men pulled up chairs and sat at their table.

'Laura, I'm afraid I've got some bad news,' Reg Bateman said.

'Oh?'

'Well, this morning, I thought I'd be able to swing it so that I could offer two jobs - one for you and one for the most qualified male. Unfortunately,' he pulled a grimace, 'I've just been talking to my Department Head, and he's not having it. I'm afraid I can't offer you the job.'

'Oh, but you...'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It was quite wrong of me to offer it to you, and Phil here advised me I could be getting into trouble, but the fact is.. well, the fact is...'

'What he's trying to say,' Phil broke in, 'is that he totally fell for you this morning, and was trying anything to keep you in Seacombe.'

'Well, that's no problem,' Abigail broke in. 'Laura has got to stay in Seacombe for...' she turned questioningly towards Laura, 'ten days, wasn't it Laura?'

Laura was looking incredibly bemused by this time, but she nodded, realising that she could hardly go back home with huge breasts and an enormous arse.

'And Laura has a problem because she has nowhere to stay,' Abigail continued, ignoring Laura's eyes widening with surprise. 'She crashed out in my hotel room last night, but she can hardly stay there the whole week. You don't know anyone with a spare room, do you Reg?' She turned to him with a public smile, and a very private wink, which only he noticed.

'Well, actually,' he said, 'I've got a... well, that is, it's not very big...'

'I don't think Laura would be too worried about size,' Abigail said, thinking how appropriate a statement that was, 'but if you have a room, or even just a settee, I'm sure she wouldn't mind, would you, Laura?'

'Well, I er...' Actually she minded a hell of a lot. Abigail had got her into this mess, and now she wasn't even going to let her share her room. It was obvious why. Everyone could see she was mentally undressing Phil as they sat there. And he wasn't even making a fuss about it, simply smirking back at Abigail as though he'd be quite happy to jump into bed with her right-away.

When she turned back to Reg, wondering whether he was feeling as disgusted about that as she was, he had a Cheshire cat smile across his face - and it was directed at HER!

'I need to go to the Ladies.' Laura stood up, and grabbed hold of Abigail, saying, 'And so do you.'

'I'll be back in a minute,' Abigail said, then mouthing at Phil. 'I won't be long.'

***

'What the hell do you think you're doing,' Laura cried.

'What's the problem?'

'WHAT'S THE PROBLEM? I'LL TELL YOU WHAT...'

'Ssshh. Calm down. The men will hear.'

'Well I don't care if the men do hear.'

'Well, I'd think about that statement a bit more carefully, Laura. Because I can tell you, all men are bastards, and if one man finds out you're not what you appear, then every other man will know about it within five minutes. And you might like to think about how you'd handle...'

Her thoughts were interrupted by a toilet cistern flushing, and they stared at each other in horror, trying to recap their words over the last few seconds, wondering if either of them had given the game away.

'That's it, you tell her, love.' The woman who emerged from the cubicle must have been about eighty, but she cackled with laughter and added, 'All men are bastards but that's why we love 'em so much. Eh?' She gave Laura a dig in the ribs, before giving her hands a quick wash and marching out.

They both turned to inspect the open doors of the other cubicles before continuing their conversation.

'Look, I offered you clothes and a bed for a night because you had everything stolen. That doesn't mean to say I have to accommodate you for the next week.'

'But you didn't tell me these breasts would be stuck on me for ten days.'

'And you didn't tell me you were getting your dick glued down. You can hardly expect me to have a whole week's holiday of total sexual abstinence. And now you're out of it, Phil looks quite capable in that department.

'Look,' Abigail continued, trying to be more reasonable, 'I've fixed you up with somewhere to stay. Reg looks quite a decent guy. I'm sure you'll have a great time together.'

'But he'll expect to have sex.'

'So what's your problem. You haven't got any money, so you can't pay him in any other way.'

'But he's a bloke.'

'Well you're not sexist, are you?'

'Well, in these kind of matters, yes I am.'

Abigail tried her reasonable approach again. 'Look, you have your Bustlets, so you can give him plenty of tit fucks without even physically touching him. The same with your Hiplets, he can screw you for all he's worth but you can let the Hiplets take the strain. It's not as though he's got a big prick...'

'How do you know that?'

Abigail shrugged. 'He had an erection the moment he came into the bar and looked down the front of your beach-robe. His prick is about this size.' She held her thumb and forefinger about three inches apart.

'What! Diameter?' Laura shrieked.

'No, you idiot. Length. He's got a tiny prick, and I'd say it would be excellent training for someone in your circumstances.'

'But he's a man...'

'And you're a woman. Don't ever forget that, otherwise you'll be found out, and you'll become the laughing stock of Seacombe. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if the national press didn't get hold of the story and you'd be on the front page of all the newspapers. So, my advice is to forget what sex you used to be, and remember you're now a woman. Spend the next ten days with Reg and give him exactly what he wants. I suspect he hasn't the experience to find you out, whereas if you became a lesbian and shacked up with a woman, she'd realise within a few minutes.'

'Couldn't you lend me the train fare home?'

It must have been female intuition that put the words into Abigail's mouth. Or perhaps she simply remembered how much fun the pair of them had at dinner the previous evening, and how Laura had so naturally fallen into her role.

'Trains are so expensive nowadays, and I don't have that much spare cash. But I will lend you some of my dresses. We could go up and chose them after these guys have bought us lunch. What do you say?'

For Laura, the excitement that surged through her when she thought of Abigail's wardrobe turned it into a no-brainer decision. And Abigail was right; she didn't have to have real sex with Ray - tit fucks would probably keep him perfectly happy, and if she felt like it later in the week, who knows, she might even test out the Hipster. It was hardly as if she was likely to get pregnant.

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