Interview with Tami Smithers
by Donnylaja

This article is for internal use only. Not for release outside the Institute, except as required by law.

My Interview with the Professor by Stephanie Weingarten(continued)

My report went to the Institute, edited only for spelling and organization. I didn't try to analyze. Just the observations were powerful (or maybe weird) enough. The Institute is so compartmentalized, I wasn't sure what my report was used for.

I had other assignments to get to, but mentally I couldn't let go. I couldn't get Tami's tragic story out of my head. I pictured her slowly turning to ice inside her booth, naked and freezing, a painful and horrible death, as Rod and her many loved ones, fully clothed, watched helplessly through the frosted glass. Would they have let her out in her final minutes? So that before she expired she could finally feel warmth, and the sensuous, wonderful clothing she had brought to millions?

If anything had happened to her, of course, I would have heard about it in the media. She was so well known here in Rhode Island that it would have made the banner on the Providence Journal site. But as the summer wore on and fall came, that image kept returning to me.

It was December before I could get clearance to speak to Dean Warmspring and get to meet her in a personal capacity. Driving down from Woonsocket it was hard to see through the blizzard of powdery snow, a big surprise, the first snow around here in years. It was only five miles but it took half an hour. I kept sticking my head out the window to see. It was well below freezing and my head and half my brain were frozen despite my ski cap and scarf. I didn't mind feeling the cold. With wry satisfaction I felt in solidarity with Tami.

The fashion classes hadn't been canceled; everyone was bravely trudging through the needle-sharp wind, sometimes having to walk backward to protect their faces. Then on my cell I got a call from Tami herself.

"Hi, Steph -- ohhh!" she said. I pictured her hairless eyebrows rising and her blue lips stretching into a smile, as she was having orgasms on those huge dildos in her office chair, maybe while a student or faculty was conferring with her. Surfing merrily over the spasms, her bubbly voice made it sound like I was an old college girlfriend. "Isn't this -- zhhh -- snow g - g - great? I can go out again fffffinally. Uhhhh. . . Ohh . . . Meet me in -- chkk! -- the quad in ten -- chkk!."

She can "fffffinally" go out -- in the snow -- naked, of course. As I turned my steps I reflected on how odd that would sound from anyone else. A fierce blast almost blew me off the path. I knew I wasn't far from the quad, but to collect my thoughts and think of what kind of conversation I could make, I decided to take shelter in a doorway, along with a couple of young students who were shaking their heads at this unheard-of (to them) weather.

My mind wandered back to that visit at her house. The many "stations of Tami" attended by her acolytes in the "underground". And then my sitting at the table as the Steering Committee meeting ended and the "party" began.

Every part of Tami had been licked, sucked, laved, bristled, rubbed, and stimulated for over an hour -- and a good part of her insides too -- and during that endless meeting she had held down the onset of orgasm with her superhuman willpower. Now, as her friends sat around and munched their chips and watched, she succumbed.

I don't want to see anything like it again. It was horrifying: a huge gasp, then an ear-piercing shriek that went on and on until she ran out of breath, her eyes popped out at the ceiling. Then a quick catching of breath and she shrieked again.

Seeing her disembodied, bald head sticking up from the black table, I had an awful vision of that magician's trick where he puts the girl in the box and pretends to saw her in half. Only now the trick went terribly wrong, the girl was really being cut in half, the saw tearing through her skin, her flesh, her internal organs as she screamed in agony.

The reactions of her friends only made it worse. They looked on in glee and then, as the first shriek ran out of air, they cheered! As if celebrating the dismemberment of the poor naked girl. Then as shriek followed shriek, settling to a regular rhythm, they started counting out loud!

I must have looked deeply shaken. I know my eyes were wet. But I took a breath and remembered that this was an orgasm I was watching -- evidently a "status orgasmus", according to the book. I realized her friends were egging her on, though she seemed oblivious to them, her eyes shrieking at the ceiling with as much force as her voice.

And it went on and on. It seemed like hours, as the counting went on past ten, past fifteen, past twenty! Her face and bald scalp got redder and redder as more and more pleasure was wrung from her body. Part of me was envious at this incredible naked creature, the ecstasy she must be feeling, beyond what the average woman could possibly know. Finally after thirty-five spasms, she caught her breath more the shrieks subsided to grunts. A few more irregular spasms, and then one more.

"Forty-one!" everyone shouted in unison. Then Tami's eyes closed and her head bent forward, almost touching the table with her nose. And now whistling and an ovation. I heard someone say, "Over two minutes!" Rod bent over and poured ice water over Tami's scalp. After a moment she looked up at everyone now, with a weary smile, water dripping from her chin. Now someone put a bottle of water near her with a long straw extending to her mouth. She sucked on it greedily.

When she had calmed down a bit, she said, to everyone but mostly to me, "I couldn't have done it without the TL's. Let's give them a round. Yayyy!" Tami was a bald, immobilized head, and had just recovered from a gigantic, extended orgasm, but she sounded like a high school cheerleader waving pom-poms.

Everyone clapped, and one could tell from Tami's eyeballs popping out and her teeth clenching that the TL's were acknowledging the applause by intense, coordinated buzzing and sucking and licking. In a few seconds Tami shouted through her clenched teeth and she came to orgasm again. This one more normal, though still powerful by any woman's standards. I could feel the vibrations, which I must have felt before but hadn't noticed, as her body bucked below with each full-body contraction.

After this one subsided, Tami said, "G - good job Belinda, her first time in my rectum." Her head jerked forward a bit, as if her rectum was being probed and rubbed. "Ohhhh! O.K., you too, Rosaria," she said with a trilling laugh, her head jerking backward, evidently reacting to the jealous or competitive TL sucking on her clitoris. Odd -- she couldn't see who was doing what, but she recognized each TL by the way she sucked or licked or probed.

And so the party had gone on, Tami coming to orgasm every couple of minutes, trying to participate in the hubbub of chatter to the extent she could, while everyone else drank and ate and circulated. I tried to make small talk too, but couldn't set my mind on anything else but Tami. Finally I gave up and sat at my original place, sipping a soda and looking at her as she talked with others.

Rod had sat down next to me. "How are you doing?"

I decided to be frank. "It was actually a little upsetting to me to see Tami -- like that."

Rod smiled reassuringly. "A normal reaction."

Tami's eyes fastened on me. By that time she had come maybe a dozen times, after that big one at the beginning. "G - glad you could meet my f - friends . . ."

Rod said to his wife, "Stephanie had the usual first reaction."

Tami smiled. "See my life isn't all sh - shivering." Her face started to contort with another orgasm as she said, "Lots of people love -- ohhh! -- love meeee --- EEE! EEEE! EEEE!"


Now I stood in the doorway, watching the blowing snow with those bewildered students. The snow seemed to be letting up somewhat. I'll never forget that party. That was the last time I'd seen her.

Not the last I'd heard of her, though. As she promised, she had sent me some of her stories. Of course they could not be e-mailed, nor could she risk sending the memory stick by regular mail, so Rod had dropped it off for me. It was a lot to read through. I was surprised to find that Tami was an accomplished writer of erotic fiction.

Her style was spare, like a technical writer's. What was interesting was her subject matter. It was all about men and their penises. The first one was futuristic, about a "fuel boy" whose semen was used to power a space ship and who ejaculated into collecting tubes on a strict schedule twelve times a day. The narrator was a female friend who was falling in love with him. Grotesque in a way, but with an emotional undercurrent.

The stories were all different, but I suppose like any porn writer, she had themes she kept reworking. She liked to write about young men with big penises, who expelled huge amounts of semen. Sort of more like gay male porn, from what I've heard, except inevitably her "heros" were lonely and there were female characters who were in love with them from afar, from whose point of view the stories were written. In a series of stories, the male seemed to be a high school boy whose job it was to impregnate seven women a day, as part of some kind of experiment. The women were older and came from all over the world. He met each at an assigned place, squirted semen in them, then they left and had their baby back with their family. Each story in this series dealt with one encounter. A recurring motif was the girl in his own class whom he had a crush on.

One exception to the above was Tami's most recent story, the last one I read. Here there was no ejecting of semen. Haji, a gentle Indian boy who lived in a palace of some kind, was forbidden to ejaculate because it would have wasted his "yang" essence. Instead his function was to bring the women of the palace to multiple orgasms, several sessions a day, while he was not allowed to have an orgasm himself. His penis was constantly throbbing, huge, red, and dripping with pre-cum. Many appeals were made to the elders to let him come, all rejected because of a superstitious belief that wasting his yang would result in the return of a plague that had previously devastated the kingdom.

The story of Haji was a turn-on in a sadistic sort of way, but mostly tragic. I couldn't help but see the parallel to Tami's own life -- providing others with something she couldn't enjoy herself. Tami, like Haji, must be driven half-mad with frustration. As the snow subsided further, I tortured myself with whether I should bring that up with Tami now. Would it be too raw to mention? Rubbing her nose, so to speak, in her predicament? But then why did she give me the story to read? Was it a cry for help?

The snow was down to a few flakes now. I ventured out with the students who went their various ways. The white stuff was powdery but it also packed under my boots. It was about six inches on the ground, with drifts of two feet against the buildings.

I turned into the quad and there she was -- hanging by her hands from a tree branch, her toes reaching the snow and idly playing with it, as she cheerfully spoke to a few heavily-bundled people standing around her.

And she had a big belly. I'd guess she was about six months pregnant!

As I approached, my boots compressing the fluffy new snow, I recognized under their scarves and coats Melissa and Belinda, two of the TL's who had been in the "underground" at Tami's house. Also I noticed that the others were two professors I had seen in the faculty halls, one an older, heavy-set man, the other a woman around 35, clad in a fashionable black coat, black leather boots, and a Russian-style fake-fur hat.

Tami's eyebrowless eyes rested on me as I grew closer. She raised her hairless brows, crinkling her hairless scalp, and smiled as she kept on conversing. The new snow sucked up the sound and I was quite near them before I picked up the gist. Something about new "distributive requirements". The breath of the members of this little ad hoc faculty committee made little clouds in the still, cold air, the newly-fallen snow all around them, the quad quiet after the snowstorm.

I got next to them and took in Tami's full-length nudity as she hung by her hands from the overhead branch. Again I noticed how her total lack of hair made her more naked than naked, how she would look like the only unclothed one even among a crowd of other naked people.

I also noticed how big her breasts had gotten with her pregnancy. Sticking way out, they were bigger than grapefruits. The nipples were bigger too -- and the brown areolas had expanded to maybe four inches across, covering a good deal of her newly grown mounds. The nipples were even bigger and harder due to the cold air.

With my arrival the talking trailed off momentarily. "Hi . . .Mom," I said jokingly.

Tami, still hanging from her hands, turned her lithe shoulders to and fro to turn her torso, showing off the belly, a big contrast from that marvelous, scooped-out concave tummy of prior days. Her swollen mounds swayed ponderously with her motions. "What do you think? Rod and I finally got it done!"

"What are you now, six months?"

"Almost seven." She smiled a very satisfied smile. Happily pregnant women have that glow about them. The ruddy cheeks, the bright eyes, the full lips. Tami was no exception. For once her lips were not purple or blue with cold. They had the lush redness of romantic poetry. And her body was flushed red, almost radiating heat as if to melt the snow around it.

I said hi to the TL's, proud that I could remember their names. It was strange to see them out in the snow, and not down in that shadowy "underworld" where Melissa guided me and where Belinda explored the well-lit recesses of Tami's rectum. I was introduced to Professors Candy Weslowski (the woman) and Winston McGonigall (the older man). Then they continued talking, about courses. There was definitely a disagreement going on. Tami was advocating a stricter math requirement, I think.

Melissa and Belinda looked on silently, taking in Tami's body. They looked at me as if to say, "Isn't she so much prettier now! Look at those tits! And that belly!" Finally Belinda could not contain her enthusiasm. She whispered to me, "Isn't a naked pregnant woman pretty? Like an earth mother." We looked down at Tami's toes, freezing as always, though the pregnancy had turned them from purplish to reddish. One moment Tami had her feet planted calf-deep in the snow. The next, hoisting herself up a little onto the branch, her breasts swaying, her toes danced lightly as they played girlishly on the powdery surface.

"Tami, you're lactating," Melissa said. I looked over in alarm. From Tami's huge, distended left nipple, a rivulet of clear fluid was making its way down the slope of her big breast.

"Oh . . . " Our always-naked friend looked down and giggled, as if half-embarrassed, her sideways mountains jiggling with her laugh. "Take care of me, O.K.?"

Thereupon, to my surprise, Melissa and Belinda stepped forward and fastened their mouths on her nipples! They used just their mouths; due to Tami's allergy they could not risk the contact of their gloves with her skin. It was easy to do. They simply had to lean forward; with Tami hanging from the branch, her nipples were at their mouth level. Their hands were still shoved into their coat pockets. I realized then that Tami's "dripping" must be a common occurrence nowadays, and the TL's had been waiting for it to happen. They sucked roughly, rapidly, like hungry babies. All the while Tami continued to confer with her colleagues, little gasps from the stimulation punctuating what was becoming an out-and-out argument with Professor MacGonigall.

I watched the TL's being suckled and then looked around warily. The quad was deserted except for us. The surrounding buildings were classrooms, and I couldn't tell if anyone was looking. Maybe it wasn't worth looking at, being a common sight on campus. Professor Smithers's lactating breasts being sucked dry, every few hours maybe.

The sucking was having an effect on Tami. "I think -- unhh! --we should -- ohh! -- institute the n - new plan."

"This is a FASHION school, not a math school," Professor McGonigall said. Then I remembered what Harald Warmspring said back in May, about the Deanship being a hot potato and Tami being next. Tami was now the Dean!

"Zhh -- zhh -- it's f - for the best. They n - need the math, especially -- ohhh! -- the higher d - derivatives." A lot of women can come just from having their nipples sucked and Tami was obviously one of them. Watching her ascend to orgasm must be one of the world's most recognizable sights. I glanced around again, at the buildings around the quad. Surely somebody was watching from somewhere.

My thoughts were interrupted by Professor McGonigall's loud voice. "You are turning this into your personal program! Whatever the benefits of higher math as to your PERSONAL couture, your PERSONAL clothes, it should NOT be foisted on everyone else!" Professor Weslowski looked on helplessly in alarm.

Tami crested as she shouted back, her suspended body jerking violently against the rasping, sucking tongues. "This -- OHHH! -- school -- OHH! -- cannot -- OHH! -- fall -- OHH! -- behinddd . . . We've -- GOT -- to -- m - m - move -- CHHKK! -- FOR -- WARD -- ohhh . . . " I had already noticed that while conversing in the midst of an orgasm Tami's words came out rhythmically in time with her gasps, like a form of blank verse. Never more so than now!

I heard somewhere that being suspended, with all the muscles stretched out, like Tami was now, intensifies and lengthens the orgasm. But I was in awe of this naked woman, who could chew someone's head off in argument while such great thudding spasms of pleasure were coursing through her body and her mind.

I also had to give credit to Professor McGonigall, who gave as good as he got, holding his ground with this naked, lactating woman bucking and spasming in front of him. "Be real!" he barked, his head leaning closer to Tami's reddened, gasping face. "This is not the Smithers School of Design! It is not fair to our students!"

"It's -- OHH! -- not ab - b - bout me!" She jerked violently as Melissa bit a nipple and pulled on it, stretching it out and distorting the shape of the huge udder. Her legs jerked in a little dance like a marionette's.

"Like HELL it isn't!" I thought they were going to come to blows. I never saw professors fight like this!

"Look perhaps we can refer this to the Standing Committee," Professor Weslowski interjected quickly.

I didn't know what this meant, but the two antagonists, the clothed man and the naked woman, fell silent and stared at each other, the woman jerking with the odd aftershock as her nipples continued to be sucked. Then she said, "Okay."

"See you later," Professor McGonigall said. He nodded to me tightly and left, followed by Professor Weslowski.

Tami looked down at her grown-up, hungry babies, then closed her eyes and sighed. Then she looked at me. "Sorry about that. . . I'm getting moody now with these maternal hormones." She looked down again and said, "Thanks, girls. I think I'm empty now."

With a little kiss to the nipples, the two TL's reluctantly drew back, licking their lips. Belinda said, "Your milk is thicker now."

"Yes," Melissa concurred. "More flavor."

Tami smiled as if complimented. Then she did something I could not imagine a heavily pregnant woman could do. She swung her feet forward, then hoisted herself on top of the branch! She steadied herself with a hand on each side as she sat up there. Her snow-encrusted toes wiggled idly in our faces.

"Well we have to go," Belinda said. The TL's said goodbye. Tami and I watched them go, trudging through the snow.

I looked up at my naked friend. Our breaths formed clouds in the cold, still air. My hands were cold in their gloves. I clapped them together. "I feel like we've been plunged into the Arctic," I observed.

Tami looked around. "It's minus seven Celsius. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit."

"How do you know?"

"My nips tell me." She turned her torso slightly in my direction. "They also tell me you're happy to see me and are loaded with questions."

"Right as always."

Tami gracefully hopped down onto a virgin drift, the snow up to her knees. Then she sighed. "That's a lot of effort for a third trimester girl. I get tired these days. Let's sit and chat." There was a metal bench nearby, between two big rocks, all of it covered with six inches of white fluff. I stood in front of it, then bent over and cleared a space for the two of us with my gloved hand. Tami was standing behind me.

"So how's the Plush?"

I turned around and covered my butt with my gloved hands. A ridiculous gesture, with my butt covered by the coat, and my snow pants . . . and my thermal undies made of Tami's new invention, Plush. "How did you know?"

"I can tell," she said, folding her arms under her swollen breasts, idly twirling one big toe in the snow. "Your butt had that shape to it."

"Well," I said, rubbing my butt, "it's the warmest undies I've ever worn, and cushy too. I feel like I'm sitting on a pillow."

"So the bench shouldn't be too bad," Tami said. She had read my thoughts, as usual. I sat down on the end of bench, reflexively expecting a cold butt, but smiling as my buns felt warm and cushioned. "Ahhhh," I couldn't help saying.

We two girls looked at each other and giggled.

Tami sat down next to me. I tried not to think how the subfreezing metal must feel on her bare butt cheeks. We stretched our legs out, her snowy bare toes next to my feet in her patented booties that Professor Warmspring had given me on that warm May afternoon.

"So, now you're the Dean," I said.

Tami shook her head as if shaking away a bad memory. "That word . . . I just can't think of it applying to me. Tami the Dean." She shook her head again.

"Why is that? Why do you have an aversion to the word 'Dean'."

She exhaled, her breath making a cloud. "Long story. In fact way TOO long. A long, long, long, l - o - n - g story. Too long."

She lapsed into silence as I pondered this very strange answer.

"Mr. Warmspring told me the job is a hot potato."

"Yes. As you can see, Sorry again about that fight. I want to move the Institute in a new direction. The problem is Winnie's as pigheaded as I am. Ow!!"

Tami jumped up off the bench and looked down at it, rubbing her reddened butt, her milk-filled breasts swaying to and fro.

"What's wrong?"

"Damn . . . I thought it was cold enough. I'm allergic to smooth surfaces now." With her red bare fingers she dusted the snow off the rock next to me. It turned out to be a geode. I'd learned about them from an old boyfriend. Often found in caves, it's usually spherical or egg-shaped, with spines of crystals sticking out all over. Not an inviting seat!

But Tami sat her bare butt on it anyway. She winced and I winced with her as she slowly settled in. "I -- have to put rough grit sandpaper everywhere I sit now, my chair in the office, and at home. I can't walk on floors unless they have a carpet with a pinpricky surface that Homer devised. It's a pain in the butt -- literally." Warm and cushioned in my Plush undies, snow pants and coat, I thought of the freezing needle-sharp jags digging into her flesh.

It hadn't snowed for a while and now the sun broke through the clouds. In the snowy landscape it suddenly became almost too bright to see.

She took a few breaths and said, "That's better. I tell you, I'm not used to getting tired. Pregnancy takes a lot out of you."

I smiled. "I'll remember that." I then decided to ask what was on my mind. "Are you sure it will be -- O.K.?" "Yes, I had it thoroughly looked at. I'll be in a refrigerated plastic tent. My lower lips will be in the warmth but it should be O.K. The baby will come out in the ambient air."

I suppose that would work. The baby wouldn't inherit Tami's allergy, which of course was psychological. But how would it be -- to be raised by a mother who would be essentially in a bubble? Probably all right. Tami and Rod would make good parents. They're sensible and have good hearts.

"Oh the hell with this," Tami said, getting up laboriously. For a moment her butt was in my face and I saw the indentations caused by the geode. Also her anus, the sight of brown skin flecked with melting snowflakes. Then she turned around and plopped onto the snow-covered ground, arranging her legs to sit Indian style. "Ahhh . . . that's better.

"So what brings you here?" she said, idly tossing snow with her fingers.

"I just wanted to see how you were."

"Good. Don't worry. I'm good." She looked up, her green eyes shining in the sun, her hairless eyebrow ridges crinkling as she smiled.

"You suffer so much." Immediately I felt sorry for blurting that out.

Tami wiggled her toes in the snow, then leaned back on her hands to make it more comfortable for her belly. Sitting Indian style was not a comfortable option at this point in her pregnancy.

She looked up at me for a long moment. Then she said, "So what am I supposed to do? People think that I am so brave. They don't tell me, but they think it. I can feel it in my nipples. The truth is, I AM brave. I AM strong. Don't you think I'd love to feel warmth, even put on one of those booties, even just for a second?" She pointed with her snow-crusted big toe to my warmly clad foot. "But I can't." She thought for a moment, looking down. "One time, I complained to Rod, acted like a victim, went on and on about how unlucky I was. I was a little drunk. Then when I woke up I just hated myself. I was ashamed. It's not who I am. Being . . . like this . . . it's my life. It's the only way I know how to be."

"I feel so bad."

She sighed as if in exasperation. "NOT news." She looked at my sullen face. And then, grabbed a breast and squirted a thin stream of milk right up into my face!

"Akkk!" I said, laughing.

With her other hand she shot a stream from the other breast, hitting my nose. She got up on her knees and gunned me with alternating nipples, squirt after squirt. I got up and started to run away as she pursued me and kept shooting at me, her belly wobbling, her toes kicking up bits of snow behind her. I pictured the odd sight we must present if anyone was watching. We circled around the tree until she ran out of ammunition.

I sat back down on the bench as she laughed and dropped to her knees in front of me. I wiped the milk off my face with my gloves. There wasn't that much of it, of course. But some went into my mouth and I couldn't help but taste.

"You're pretty yummy," I said.

She laughed, her belly jiggling. "Oooh! She kicked!" she said, laughing again as she held herself. Then she rubbed her reddened hands over her belly. "She'll be a soccer player, this one!"

I laughed too, and contemplated the happy naked pregnant woman kneeling in the snow. This was a special time. It took me only a moment to figure out why. This was the first time I'd seen Tami at ease -- when she was not quaking in orgasm, or shivering with cold.

Tami looked both ways. "Another thing about being pregnant is I always have to pee. Excuse me." I expected her to leave for somewhere but to my amazement she spread her knees, pulled her lower lips apart, and squirted into the snow in front of me. Of course she was totally without shame, having been naked for so many years. I felt my face turn red, as if I were the naked one peeing in the open, and she were the clothed one.

Then she waddled to one side and, with her dexterous toes, covered up the yellow hole with fresh snow. She looked up at me as if realizing that I was embarrassed. Then she smiled and pulled apart her lower lips again. Her clit stood out, wet and warm, in the cold air. I could swear I could see it emitting a little puff of condensation. "Hi hi," she said in a baby voice, making her clit jump twice. I'm pretty sure I can't do that, though I haven't tried. Tami was so comfortable with her body. That, at least, was one benefit that enforced nudity had bestowed on her.

Though it was well below freezing, and Tami had been out here for a good while, she was still not shivering. "Nice day it turned out," I said, looking up at the growing opening of clear blue sky.

"I love this day," Tami said, propping herself up to stand. "I don't feel cold at all. My pregnant metabolism. I owe it all to her," She patted her belly and spoke to it. "Thanks, baby."

"Do you have a name for her?"


"Unusual name."

"It's Arab. Palestinian. Another long story."

"You should balance it out with a Jewish middle name." What can I say? I'm Jewish.

"I will. Judith. Dareen Judith. How's that?"

"Smithers or Sykes?"

"That would be a coin-toss."

Tami turned and surveyed the immediate area, hands on hips. "I'll teach her gymnastics. That's what my college scholarship was on, you know. Let's see if I still can . . ." She shook the snow off her toes, raised her arms over her head, turned her feet just so, then tried a cartwheel. She didn't make it -- her big belly caused her to fall backward, her toes pitching snow in my direction, and ended on her back.

She laughed, looking up at the sky, totally at home with herself and with the universe. And now someone from inside one of the buildings clapped and cheered. She was being watched after all. Dean Smithers got up, breasts and tummy bouncing, slapped the snow out from her butt crack, and playfully stuck her tongue out in that direction.

"Let's make a snow woman!"


"Come on," Tami said. She lurched and dropped to her knees and formed a little snowball. She got up and rolled it with her foot, her toes grabbing it and pushing it here and there, the ball growing as it collected bits of snow.

By the time it had gotten to the size of a soccer ball I had jumped up to help. It didn't seem warm enough but the snow was in fact easily packable. I felt like we were kids and I was helping my big sister in our back yard. That was the sense I got from Tami. A down-to-earth, good-natured big sister.

We trudged around and rolled up two or three big snow boulders and then got on the task of stacking them. I was so happy. We were as industrious and enthusiastic and giddy as high school girls, laughing as we debated how big to make our snow-woman's breasts. I opted for smaller ones, but Tami wanted knockers. We compromised, giving her about C-cups.

It was strange, I know, putting that snow-head on, my ski cap and ear muffs next to her bald scalp, my gloves helping her bare hands, her big nipples brushing against the snow, my Plush-ed butt next to her bare cheeks, my warm booties stomping the snow next to her bare feet. But I almost had tears in my eyes, thinking of her sufferings and yet seeing how much she enjoyed the day, and my company. and what we were doing, and the new life inside her. I absolutely had to stay in touch!

The End