A Tale of Two Titties

Apropos of nothing

Once upon a time, in a land much like this, but one yet to be tainted by a psychotic criminal with a terrifying agenda, there were two titties. Let’s call them Jill and Jane.

Both titties belonged to a Homo Sapien, who, in this story, will be known as the Woman.

Jill was the Woman’s left titty and Jane the right. Jill was the dominant titty in that she was slightly larger than Jane, and because of this, she was insufferable in her hubris. Puffed-up, even.

That’s normally the case with titties. Rarely are they perfectly symmetrical. Some folks believe this lack of balance to be a ruse initiated by titties to confound the industry that manufactures the Demons known as Brassieres.

Although Jill lorded her slight advantage over poor Jill, both titties were exactly alike in that they loved attention. Of the titular kind.

To the girls, ogling was “meh,” but oral maneuvers? Now that was cookin’ with gas!

Jill, in fact, had no problem being slobbered over and loved nothing better than to get up close and personal with an eager aperture. Jane loved this, too, but being of a shyer nature, she was slightly more reserved in her appreciation for licking, sucking, nibbling, and the like.

Truth be told, Jill was a bit of a bully and spent an inordinate amount of time thinking up ways to best her “sister in breastitude.”

Every now and then, the Woman would try to put the mischievous Jill in her place by attempting to stifle her within the suffocating confines of a B cup.

But rarely did this work as Jill would whine like a toddler weaned off the teat until the Woman set her free. Jane, although she suffered in silence, was as gleeful at being unfettered as Jill was.

“Fuck bras,” they’d giggle, in a rare display of unity.

One day, the very foundation from which they sprouted started shaking like a sliver building on a faultline.

“Whawhawhawhawha is going on?” cried Jane, who was trembling with such intensity she could barely spit the words out.

“She’s wowowowoworking out,” answered Jill.

“Whwhwhwhwhwhen did she start doing that?”

Jill shrugged. “Dododododododon’t know.”

After several unsettling days of vigorous bouncing to and fro, Jill and Jane grudgingly settled into their new role of Fit Titties, or “Fitties,” as Jill coined them.

And then something odd occurred. Something that shook the girls even more than the Woman’s workouts: They started to shrink. It was especially noticeable on Jill, who could no longer bedevil Jane for her lack of bounty.

“The bitch has lost weight, and a lot of it,” Jill complained.

“Is that a bad thing?” asked Jane.

“Not if you want to look like a fucking flapjack,” snapped Jill. “Maybe I’ll start calling you iHop, see how you like that!”

Jane cried.

Jill almost felt guilty. Almost. But she was still a bitchy tittie.

Then, one day, while Jane was dozing, Jill noticed something protruding from her sister that wasn’t there before. A bump of some kind.

Jill shook Jane awake and after taking a tentative peak, Jane set to wailing. So did the Woman.

After that, things became a blur as Jane was prodded and poked and stuck by strange hands holding foreign objects. Horrified, Jill watched and wondered: “Will this happen to me, too?” Yet, in spite of her fear for herself, she was worried about Jane.

What would happen if they were separated?

Lights. Lots of them. On a ceiling. First bright and then fading…fading…

As the Woman stirred, Jill awoke to see Jane swathed in bandages. Suddenly, she felt very cold and set to shriveling under the pristine white sheet swaddling them both.

Long, slow days followed. Days of zero activity. Jill became bored and missed the bullying she was so accustomed to dishing out. But Jane was in no shape to be bullied. She appeared deflated and lackluster.

“Hey, you,” Jill said.

Jane just looked at her.

“Why were the saggy boobs angry?” asked Jill.

Silence.

“C’mon, sis!” cried Jill. “The saggy boobs were angry because they couldn’t get any support, dammit!”

“Okay, here’s another one,” said Jill, unwilling to give up. “Why do women have nipples?”

Jane yawned.

Jill wanted to slap the torpor from her. “To make suckers out of men!” she shrieked.

Jane went back to sleep.

“You snore you know,” whispered Jill, despondent.

Finally, after what seemed a lifetime to Jill, the bandages were stripped from Jane, and when the Woman looked in the mirror to see “what was what,” the girls nearly fainted. Jill, especially, was stunned. Because Jane had changed. Not only had she become smaller, but she appeared to be slightly elevated on the Woman’s chest.

But more than that, there was a long, jagged line etched into Jane that made her look as if she was smiling.

A ghastly grin.

“So that’s what I’m dealing with,” Jane said.

“What does all this mean?” asked Jill. Are we sick?

“We aren’t anything,” replied Jane. “I have cancer. Or had. I’m confused.”

Jill’s voice trembled. “Will you be okay?”

“I think so,” answered Jane. “But you’d better prepare yourself.”

“For what, Jane? WHAT?”

Jane smirked, and the jagged line crinkled up.

“For a long stint under a hot lamp,” she said.

“Screw that. I hate the heat,” Jill responded.

“Well like it or not, you’re comin’ with me, Jill.”

Jill felt the beginnings of admiration for her sister.

“I think I like the new you,” she said. “You’re less of a wimpy titty.”

“Yeah, and you’re still a bitchy titty,” Jane lobbed back. “But I love you.”

Jill flushed. Talk about a rosy titty! “I love you too, Jane.”

THE END

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

If you liked this, please check out a few of my other stories, conveniently posted for you right here!