She half opened her eyes and watched herself turning older again in her narrow closet mirror. She could see her reflection expanding in small trembling spurts, her clothes sliding and readjusting over her body. Slowly, the hem of her kiddie shirt crept away from the waist of her skirt, which was drifting millimeter-by-millimeter up her slim thighs. Almost imperceptibly her legs grew longer and more solid. Her calves slipped up and out from her stretched stockings. She angrily tried and failed to kick off her bulging shoes as they bit into her feet, and felt her muscles strain and relax against her constricting undershirt and the tough buttoned shirt. She glowed as her chest began to push forward against the tight shirt, pushing the overstretched fabric away from her abdomen.
Her still-buttoned top filled with flattened domes as she waited calmly. There went a button. She sighed and closed her eyes as the tearing began, getting louder for a few minutes, the familiar symphony of destruction, before it tapered off again. Her breath slowed, becoming more even as the re-aging came to its destined end. Stumbling barefoot to the measuring tape on the wall and the scale, she checked the results. One hundred and twenty-eight pounds. Five feet six inches tall. Age 18 1/2. And never, she knew, had she looked prettier. Her father would probably have a heart attack. No, that was too embarrassing to think about.
Gazing into the mirror, she tossed the long waves of her uncombed hair about her head and let it fall halfway to her pubic hair, over her exposed breasts. Oh god, her breasts.
The throbbing pulse of her heartbeat forced every blood vessel in her body to dilate, and engorged her body with her blood, erecting her nipples as full as they could go, and then she suddenly grew up.
Each beat of her heart forced her bones to lengthen, forced her body to thicken, grow longer yet more demure. Her small hands tightened into fists as her eyes lowered, and she gasped as something pounded in her loins, while at the same time she watched her forearms slide out of her sleeves inch by inch.
Her veins along her arms vibrated with the flow, and she could feel her skin stretching as if it were being caressed.
Looking down, she gasped, seeing her legs growing longer, the hem of her skirt passing upward beyond her calves, then to her knees, toward her thighs in no time!
She felt her clothing sticking tightly to her body, sweat appearing about and between the crevice of her beginning breasts, beneath her arms, and all down her back... through the layers of shirt and sweater over her body. Her shirt beneath her sweater popped its buttons one by one.
She gasped again as her hands slid down her thighs, groping the long tresses of her pleated skirt as it rose over her knees, while her once thigh-high socks slid down her mid-knee to bare more inches of swelling flesh.
Breasts! She exclaimed inside her head, and lifted her other hand to the throbbing curves, bigger by the second. The pair pushed out from her chest, filling the straining undershirt below her sweater and shirt. As her breasts pushed forward, filling up the available space as they piled high, a small giggle escaped her throat.
She could feel her cells splitting as they thickened, felt milk ducts growing in her chest like a bundle of roots from a potted plant.
She stared fixated at those mounds, amazed at how quickly they were swelling, twice as fast as she was growing taller.
They filled the cups of her growing hands, bulged around the sides of her fingers as they pressed out, unable to be held in. The B-cup mounds pushed her hands away. She felt her blood pumping more heavily, and suddenly she was gifted with a beautiful feeling of engorgement as her breasts lifted her tearing shirt and sweater, breaking free from her undershirt. She felt her shirt untuck, her sweater sliding along her stomach, baring inch after inch of waist and belly.
More tearing as her teenage form ripped open the sweater, the straining cotton pressing back as the remains of her shirt slid from the rising flesh.
The growth erected her nipples and forced them to swell even further than they should've been able to. She had known from her female relatives that she would be tall and busty as an adult. The ruined sweater now strained to cover her nipples and areola; the broad passion-reddened disks sliding under the holes that gaped in front. And still nipple and crown thickened, filling the separating fabric to its fullest, either nipple the center stake in a disintegrating tent.
And then she watched it all tear away, and felt the air on her adult skin.
Ten-year-old Christina Carter (not her real name) hides in her room when she wants to play Barbies. Although she has the mind of a 10-year-old, Christina has the body of a sexually mature woman. She started developing breasts and pubic hair at the age of eight, and just began menstruating. She is five feet, nine inches tall, and wears a ladies' size 10 shoe. People expect her maturity to match her appearance - not her real age.
"She should be playing with dolls because she is only 10," says Christina's mother, Natalie. "But she is embarrassed because people think she is much older.
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