Appointment with Jane

 Appointment with Jane


    Doug Gray poked his head out of the shop window. Although he owned what had
become a large well-established car dealership, he still  felt more comfortable back in the
shop where he had started. He looked around the show room.

     "Martin, can you come over here a minute?"
    "Certainly, Mr. Gray. What's up?"
    "We've got a little problem. Are you busy out here?"
    "No, not really," I said. "What's up?"
    "Something I think you might be able to help with. You know that van we have in
to do the handicapped conversion?"
    "Yes?"
    "Well the girl is on her way in to be measured and so forth and Manny hasn't
shown up yet."
    Manuel Fangio Gonzales was a brilliant mechanic. A little erratic in his personal
ways, but fantastic when it came to cars. The fact that he hadn't shown up at work yet
wasn't especially unusual. Annoying to Mr. Gray, to be sure, but not unusual.
    "Gosh, Mr. Gray, I don't know what has to be measured or anything. He knows
all that stuff."
    "I know that, Marty. Just keep her occupied and be nice to her. I'll get Manny on
his cel phone and get his tail in here. By the way, you've been here two weeks now. Time
you just called me Doug, OK?"
    "Fair enough, sir. uh...Doug."

    The only potential customer I'd had all morning was  a retired man who came in to
pass the time of day and kick a tire or two. Business was slow in March. It was chilly and
gray and I'd straightened all the brochures and handouts and filled the water cooler. Twice.
    About ten minutes later a tan station wagon pulled along side the showroom and
stopped at the service entrance.
    "There they are, now, Martin. Manny's still not answering his page. Go see if she
needs any help, would you please? I'll be in the shop."
    The driver's door opened and a woman in her forties stepped out, opened the back
door and brought out a wheel chair which she unfolded and brought around to the
passenger door.
    I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, so I just watched for a minute from the
doorway. One thing was for sure. The woman and her passenger were definitely not in
agreement. That was loud and clear.
    "Mom, I don't need the wheelchair. Please! I'm not a baby anymore and I can get
in there all by myself, OK?"
    "But Janie..."
    "Why can't you understand? All this big deal about me being twenty-one and now
you act like I'm a three year old or something!"
    The woman very slowly folded the wheelchair and I could see the passenger's face.
She had a pretty face, short curly hair but I couldn't make out the rest of her. The woman
took the chair to the back of the station wagon and the passenger door slowly swung open
the rest of the way.
    I figured she was going to be disabled. Two other vans had been modified in the
time I'd been working for Doug and that was why she was there too. But I honestly wasn't
ready for what I saw. She didn't have any legs at all. That was for sure, and it looked like
not much in the arms department either. It was hard to tell. Her body was sort of bulky and
wobbly and she was wearing this big fluffy sweater and everything was moving all over
the place as she twisted around on the seat and then slid down onto the floor of the car then
out onto the concrete pavement. She landed pretty hard and just everything shook. I could
see now, that she didn't have arms either. Just this mysterious wobbly body  and a real
cute face. How she thought she was going to drive a van was beyond me. Still, if anybody
could make the modifications, Manny could.
    "Janie, dear," her mother said. She was going to give it one more try. "Won't you
let me at least carry you inside? I mean, it's so...Oh dear." She was starting to cry. I
figured I'd better at least introduce myself, so I went over to the car.
    "Hi," I said, automatically sticking out my hand. "I'm Martin Blandford, Assistant
Sales manager. You here about the van modification?"
    "Hi, The girl said. "Yup, I'm Jane Forester, the happy twenty-one year old, new
van owner. Sorry about the handshake," she said, in a curiously happy voice,
    "See! No hands!" She hiked her shoulders up and down a couple of times to
explain. The whole front of her body bobbed up and down in response. I knew it wasn't
nice to stare, but this girl was like nothing I'd ever seen and my eyes must have been really
bulging.
    "This is my mom." She nodded her head toward her mother and her body  echoed
the move. I cleared my throat.
    "How do you do? Mr. Gonzales, who does the actual modifications, is running just
a little late. Won't you come in and sit down?"
    "Sure," Jane said. "Mom, why don't you go on home? This might take a while. I'll
call you when I'm ready. OK? Please?"
    Mrs. Forester slowly nodded her head, looked at me with that 'please be good to
my helpless daughter' look  and got in the station wagon and just sat there.
    "Wave to her, Mr. Blandford. Maybe she'll go."
    I did what Jane asked with not much result.
    "C'mon, let's go in. Lead the way," Jane said.
    "You're sure you don't need ...a...a lift?"
    "No thanks. I'm pretty slow but I can get around OK. That the door over there?"
    We headed toward the showroom door or at least I did. I looked back and sure
enough, Jane was making some headway. I wouldn't really call what she was doing
walking. She sort of leaned back, tipped over a little to one side, swiveled around, then
tipped to the other side and so forth, moving forward with each twist. What I didn't
understand at first about  her mysterious wobbly body now was astonishingly clear. All of
that massive bulk was her chest! It was swinging violently around as she moved, nearly
causing  her to lose her balance.
    "Sorry I'm so slow," she said, "When I was a little kid I could make a lot better
time."
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "These big old boobies really slow me down. Gotta be careful how I move. You go
on ahead. I'll catch up."
    "No, that's OK. There's no rush. Take your time."
    "Thanks. Betcha never saw a pair like these guys, did you?"
    "Well, no, not really. At least not on a pretty twenty-one-year old."
    She smiled. She really was a pretty twenty-one year old. Like nothing I'd ever
seen, for sure, but she did have a real pretty face.
    I held the door and she worked her way through.
    "Thanks," she said. "Nice showroom. Oooh, what's that?" she asked, poking a
shoulder toward the new 4X4 concept car the factory had sent as a floor model.
    "That's next year's X4. Lots of power, does zero to 60 in..." I started in on the list
of features.
    "Maybe I should get one of those instead of  the van!" she said. Her eyes were
sparkling.
    "Um...well, OK, but so far they only come in manual transmission. Plus they
won't really be available until next year."
    "Oh. OK. So can we go for a ride in it? It's so cute. Love that juicy red color."
    I explained that it was a floor model and so far Mr. Gray hadn't even driven it
himself. I didn't say no, though. I was already figuring out how to ask Doug for the keys.
    I looked out through the glass side wall of the showroom. The station wagon was
gone.
    "This Mr. Gonzales, the one who does the modifications... will he be here soon?"
    "Let me check with Mr. Gray, OK? Have a seat, I'll be right back.
    "Have a seat?" She looked up at the chairs and back at me with a "you gotta be
kidding" expression.
    "Sure...Oh, I see what you mean. Let's see, You could use a lift, right?"
    "That would be nice. You're sure you don't mind me putting my shoes on the
furniture?"
    "Your...shoes?"
    "Yeah. See, I've got these two patches of leather sewn into my jeans where the legs
would be. Call them shoes. They're probably dirty from walking in from the car."
    "I'm sure that won't be a problem."
    "Good. It's either that or I'd have to take them off. But that means I'd have to take
off my jeans too. Like I said, they're sewn in. I guess I should leave them on for now."
She smiled this real cute smile and looked up at me.  I was really starting to like this girl.
    "Sorry about needing a lift," she said. "Where I live, Daddy's put ramps around
places so I can get up by myself. I can do stairs, though. Here, just hold me on each side."
    I guess she could feel how shaky I was, trying to find where to put my hands with
her mammoth bosom staring me in the face.
    "It's OK," she said. "I won't break. See if you can find the bottom of my rib cage.
Reach under my sweater."
    I was very glad that no one decided to come into the showroom at just that moment.
    "Higher," she said, "Get underneath more. There. Perfecto," she chirped. "Now
lift." I lifted. "There! See?"
    In a second she was in the chair, leaning back, tossing her curls. "Thanks. Nice
chairs."
    "Let me see what's going on with Manny. Mr. Gonzales. I'll be right back. Need
anything?"
    Nope. Go on, see what's happening."
    I ducked around back and stuck my head into the cubby-hole that Doug kept for an
office.
    "Anything?"
    "Nada. If that guy wasn't so good at the job he'd be outta here on his ass in two
seconds flat. How's the customer?"
    "She's OK. Nice. Doesn't seem to be in a hurry."
    "Good. Take her to lunch on the company if you have to. You got your card?"
    "Yes. Um..She likes the X4."
    "So do I. The answer's no."
    "No?"
    "No, you can't take it out for a test-drive. At least not until I do." His serious face
cracked into a smile. "But that could be any time now."
    I nodded and headed back to the showroom.
    Jane Forester was twisting and turning in her chair. She had  a piece of her sweater
in her teeth and was tugging at it, pulling it  upwards.
    "Hi, I said, "Need a hand?"
    She just looked at me without letting loose of the sweater and raised an eyebrow.
    "Mmmff," she said.
    "Sorry. Figure of speech," I said. " I should have said, "Do you require assistance,
or some other politically correct phrase."
    She smiled and dropped the bit of sweater.
    "I can take care of myself," she said, "thank you very much, but if you could help
me off with this sweater, I'd be a happier little girl. I got dressed thinking I'd be back in the
shop. It's a lot warmer out here."
    The thought of this curly headed girl with a giant bosom but no arms or legs getting
dressed all by herself caused some interesting images to flash through my mind. She
ducked her head and I lifted the sweater from her shoulders. The cotton T-shirt she wore
underneath stuck to the wool and came up with the sweater, completely revealing two
astoundingly huge naked breasts. Their sheer size caused them to completely cover the
front of her body and with their obvious weight they nearly reached the chair seat.  As
monstrous as they were, I was surprised to how well proportioned they seemed. No
stretch marks either. Just big. Gigantic. Her actual torso was quite trim and I could see
now that she had a small waist and perfect hips, as far as they went.
    I pawed at the T-shirt and managed to stretch it down over her body. It had
cartoons on it and I could see where extra side panels had been sewn in. She shook her
curly head. "Whew. Thanks." She shook her shoulders up and down causing havoc in the
front of her shirt. "That feels much better." She watched the undulating double tent before
her until the movement stopped. "Once those guys get going it's hard to stop 'em," she
laughed, "but thanks again...one more thing...would you mind rolling up my sleeves? I
don't have much in the arms department, but I guess they'll want to see what I have to
work with."
    To say that she didn't have much in the arms department was a true understatement.
At her right shoulder projected something about the size of a tennis ball with a tiny flat
button at the tip. She seemed to have some control over it, although there seemed to be no
supporting bone structure. A slender remnant grew her side a little below her narrow left
shoulder. It was like a finger, except it just sort of hung there.
    "I guess you could say I'm right-handed," she said as she caught me staring at her
shoulders. She made the right arm stub dance and twitch. "It's pretty soft and mushy cause
there's no arm bone in there, but at least I can do stuff with it. Other side's just a left-over,
I guess. Nobody home there at all."
    She sat and looked around the showroom. Still no sign of Manny.
    "You a salesman?" she asked.
    "Assistant Sales Manager," I said.
    "How does that work? I mean do you get a commission or what?"
    I explained that I got a small base salary with percentage of each car sale. Still no
sign of Manny.
    "What do you do when you're not selling cars?" she asked.
    "Not much. I do rallying on weekends, though. Sports car stuff."
    "You married?"
    "No, ma'am not yet for a while.  I've got a little apartment down the avenue. How
about you?"
    "You mean what do I do when I'm not selling cars?" she laughed, setting the T-
shirt into contortions.
    I had to laugh too. "No, I meant what do you like to do...and I guess, are you
married?"
    "Well, no, I'm not married. I'm just getting into my independent living mode and I
want to see how well I do with that before I take on any more problems. What do I like?
I guess you'd say I'm into ancient classic heroes. Not just the heroes, either, really just all
the wild and wonderful characters. Giants, dwarfs, women with snakes for hair and that
could turn you to stone if they looked at you. That kind of thing."
    "Like Roman gods?"
    "Roman, Greek, Scandinavian, Germanic, all those guys. I don't know as much
about the ones in Asia or Mexico. Stuff goes way back."
    Her eyes brightened as she started talking about her favorite characters.
    "When I was little I used to pretend they would come up to my room and visit me.
One time Mom was playing a tape of that Wagner opera and all the Valkyries and the
blacksmith and the dwarf and the giants and regular heroes all came and did their parts right
on my bed. Fun."

    "You hungry?" I asked. Not so much because I wasn't interested in her story, but
because it was way past noon and Doug said we could use the company card.
    "Actually, I really am. I was too nervous to eat much this morning and it takes me a
while to make breakfast anyhow."
    "You cook?"
    "Kind of. I've learned how to do some things in my kitchen. I'm still learning.
Mostly I have trouble reaching things. Like I said, I'm just starting at independent living.
My folks come by in the evening to check me out, but for the last month I've been pretty
much on my own. Mom's still having a little problem with it, but she'll be OK."
    "You have a motorized wheelchair or something?" I asked.
    "Forget that," she chortled, "I used to be in one, but I got to feeling that I was
dependent on it and then I felt like I was some kind of prisoner in it. No way. I just need to
be me. I was born without legs and not anything you'd call arms and that's who I am. I'm
me.  The van's another thing. Plow through city traffic, roam the interstate, that's worth it.
That's why I want him to make it as normal as possible. Not one of those wheelchair-ramp
deals. Low door maybe so I can waddle in and out, but that's all."
    I turned and looked at the door. The clouds were getting darker and a few drops of
rain were starting to come down. Still no Manny.
    "There's a nice Greek place down the block if you're interested," I said.
    "Anything but Chinese," she said with a chuckle, "I've been trying but I still
haven't figured out how to use chopsticks!"
    I grabbed my jacket and went around back. I started up my pride and joy, the old
Porsche I'd rebuilt with junkyard parts.
By the time I got back to the showroom door Jane was there dragging her sweater along
behind her. I jumped out an helped her on with it and lifted the wiggling, wobbly mass that
was her body into the passenger seat.
    "I keep most of my stuff in the pockets," she said, looking at her sweater. They
stay shut with Velcro. Neat stuff, Velcro. Dealing with a purse and how to carry it and then
how to get stuff in and out's too much trouble. Pockets are easier for me."
    I started to pull the seat belt across her chest  and I realized I was in trouble.
    "Put it over Fafner and under Fasolt," she said, when she saw my predicament.
    "Under what?"
    "That's what I call them," she laughed. "Fafner and Fasolt. I named them after
some giants from old folk tales. Go ahead, over an under. It'll reach and I'll be reasonably
comfortable."
    I did what she asked. The over part was easy enough. Getting the belt under the
one closer to me was a little more challenging, but I managed.
    "Since they've  have gotten to be such giants, I decided they should at least have
names."
    We headed for the Olive Pit.
    "They are pretty big," I allowed.
    "Giants. My doctor has a name for it. Hypertrophy, she calls it. Just means grows
bigger than normal. They're healthy and everything. Just kept growing. I think they're
finished growing now. At least I hope so. If they got any bigger I couldn't even move at
all."
    "Did you ever consider reduction surgery?"
    "No. Not really. That would be like trying to rebuild who I am. Who I was born to
be. If I went that route, then I'd probably be into prosthetics and that kind of thing. I just
can't feature being strapped into useless plastic arms and legs and being pushed around in a
wheelchair all day. Not my style. Not while I can still move around on my own."
    We arrived at the Olive Pit and I held the door as Jane flopped out of the Porsche
and started wobbling toward the front door of the Pit. I parked and caught up with her,
held the front door and we went in.
The kid who seated us about had a panic attack when she saw Jane, but kept her cool as we
took our seats in a booth near the back.
    "You want that sweater off again?" I asked.
    "Mmm. I don't want to get anything on it. It's warm enough here."
    I helped her off with the sweater.
    "I usually don't wear a top at home," she said, quietly. "Fafner and Fasolt seem to
enjoy their freedom.  When they were first growing I used to pretend they were like arms
or something and try to make them do stuff, but they weren't much good and now they're
way to heavy to do anything at all. Just big old boobies, down to the floor. Well, almost to
the floor. At home I let them come to the table. Sit on each side of my plate. When I'm out
I just have them sit on my lap. If I had a lap, that is. They're pretty good guys. They're my
friends. My great big stupid friends."
    She looked up at me and smiled. "What's good to eat here?"
    I checked out the specials and suggested a couple of things. The salad bar was open
for lunch so I went and made up two salads.
    "Oh, good," she chirped. "Thanks. Extra feta and those good brown olives. Oh,
hey, one thing...I do have one little problem. When I lean down to eat, everything sort of
goes flopping around and I end up with my face in the dish. I guess that's OK while I'm
eating but I can't get back up. That's another reason I put my boobs up on the table at
home. So I don't tip over. Any how, I might ask you to help me back up later, OK?"
    "Sure. No problem."
    As she leaned into the salad it was real clear that her breasts fell forward, pulling
her into the edge of the table.
    "There," she said, with mild irritation. "There they go. Oh, well, long as I've got
my face in the salad I may as well eat. Mmm. Good!"
    I had ordered Spanikopita and Dolmos for Jane and a lamb dish for myself. She ate
directly from the plate, delicately taking morsels with her lips and eating as gracefully as the
next person. Actually, more gracefully, since I was the next person and not all that elegant
at the table.
    "Have you ever had Greek wine?" I asked.
    "Sure. I can't say I'm much on Retsina, though. Some of the others I like.  Hey.
Just had an idea. You want to come over to dinner at my place some time?"
    "At your place?" I asked, surprised.
    "Sure. If I'm going to be independent, I need to be able to prepare a nice dinner,
right? You mind being a test case?"
    I couldn't get any words to come out but somehow I was able to nod.
    "Besides," she continued. "You're the first guy I've met who didn't get all bent out
of shape over my no arms, no legs, big boobied body."
    "Gotta be honest," I said. "I really am fascinated with you and how you do things.
I think you're great."
    I kept my head down and continued eating. I wasn't sure I would get the right
reaction, and was a little scared to look.
    "I appreciate the honesty," she said. "I really do. I get such weird reactions from
people. Some act like I'm not even in the room  so they don't have to deal with me.
Honest.  Or maybe like it's contagious and they're going to catch it or something. Weird."
    She nibbled a last bite of spanikopita.
    "I don't mind talking about things. I mean, that's pretty much my whole life, right?
Just dealing with this body."
    "Maybe this independent living could be a joke, too."
    "Why?"
    "Easy. As Fafner and Fasolt put on the years, they're going to really be right down
on the floor. How in  the name of all the Greek heroes in the world am I going to be able to
move then?"
    She looked me right in the eye. She was really serious.
    "Backwards, maybe. Drag them around backwards."
    She shook her head.
    "I don't know. I just want to see how much I can do before I can't do anything at
all. I figure I've got a good year left. Maybe two. I guess I could get someone to make me
a pair of canvas bags to hang around my neck and carry these guys around that way, but
that's not right either."
    She started at her empty plate.
    "Tip me back up, would you please, Marty?"
    I figured we needed to go for a ride in the X4. Quick. She was really in a downer.
    I gave the waitress the card.
    "When you were little," I asked her, "What did you like to do?"
    "Oh, gosh. I use to run around all over the house on my little bottom. Run and
jump. I used to sort of jump along. I could move faster that way than doing the swivel.
Sometimes I'd trip and topple over and then I'd get back up and take off again. Get into
just
everything. Like any  little kid, I guess. Except for having a teacher come to the house
instead of sending me to school, my folks never made a big deal out of my disability, so I
didn't  either, I guess. I remember different things. Mostly I remember  being frustrated by
not being able to pick up things or reach things that were more than an inch or two from my
face. Then when I did get a hold of something I couldn't do anything with it. Like I could
hold a pen in my mouth, but then I couldn't get the cap off. That sort of thing. That used to
bother me. I remember one time, I guess I was about twelve, I was trying to pick up
something with my winky...Oh maybe I shouldn't tell you...oh, I'll probably tell you
sooner or later. When I was little I was just determined to use my winky to hold things."
    "Your what?"
    "My winky. You know. What girls have down below."
    "Winky."
    "Right. So I was squeezin' away at this thing...a colored pencil. Right it was a
pencil lying on the floor and I kept at this thing, squeezin', trying to get a hold of it and
all of a sudden I got all shaky and my poor little winky started to get all wet and I just
toppled over and started rubbing my stuff on the rug, oh gosh it felt so good."
    "What did your mom say?"
    "Oh, wow, I never told her. No way. She saw me doing that another time but she
never said anything. But anyhow, when I got sort of finished with that, I tried to pick up
the pencil again and I was still all slippery and I was more frustrated than ever. I finally
calmed down and did what I wanted, but one things for sure. I have to be real careful with
Miss Winky. She's real excitable."
    I helped Jane down from the seat and we made our way out to the Porsche. As I
buckled her in I asked her:
    "So when did these big guys become a major part of your life?"
    "About the same time. When I was twelve or so. They were really funny at first.
Just big pokey nips that stuck right out. They kept growing and growing. Sometimes
they'd get real hard and stick straight out like fingers pointing. Funny. I used to try to make
them do things too, but they never seemed interested. I tried though."
    "Didn't your folks want you to wear a bra?"
    "We made a deal. I promised I'd clean my room and help with the dishes if I didn't
have to get strapped up. I just hated the idea of being all strapped up. Still do. Like some
kind of prisoner being tortured.
    So then they started growing. I was like any teen-ager. Wanted to have the best
boobs in town. Didn't have any arms or legs, but at least I was going to have boobs, right?
I got some sweaters and stuff to look good in. With my nips sticking way out it looked
pretty sexy. At least that's what my thirteen year-old mind thought."
    "That sounds pretty much like my sister," I said. "She's a couple of years older
than I am. So then what?"
    "I tried making them do things, but they were strictly against doing any kind of
useful work, weren't you guys?" she asked, joggling her bosom.
    "The kept growing. Until I was fourteen, I was really pretty proud of them. I'd
bounce around the house making sure that everyone noticed my big, perfect  chest . They
were already big for a full-grown girl . I guess I was getting close to my fifteenth birthday
when mom started altering my clothes. That's right, because she'd gotten me this cute light
blue dress for my fifteenth birthday and she had to have it totally remade so that I could get
into it."
    "Sounds like you had to make some changes too."
    "For sure. By then I had to lean back when I walked and I pretty well had to stop
the jumping thing. These guys would bang around and ...well, Marty,  it hurt. So I had to
behave like a lady. By the time I was seventeen they were almost as big as they are now
and I was into t-shirts and sweat shirts, that kind of thing."
     She looked at her body.
    "I can still get around OK. At least for a while."
    We were back at the dealership. Doug was pacing back and forth in front to the
service door.
    "He's still not here. Called in with some cock and bull story about getting some
parts across town. Look, Marty, why don't you take the customer home in the X4. We'll
re schedule, if that's all right with her."
    "She thinks that would be perfectly all right," Jane piped up with a smile. "She
would like a ride in the X4 anyhow and she further has no problems with rescheduling."
    "Oh, gosh, sorry, Ma'am," Doug said.
    "That's OK," Jane said, "I get used to people acting like I'm not here. I'll take you
up on the ride home, though."
    Doug disappeared into his office. I gathered the considerable bulk of Fafner, Fasolt
and Jane in my arms and put them in the passenger seat of the X4 that was now parked in
front.
    "Whee, yippee, great! Jane chirped as I put the X4 through its paces. The air was
ruffling her curly locks and she was having a ball. "Right at the next corner," she said.
    Her apartment was on the third floor of a high-rise building.
    "I wanted one higher," she said, poking a button with her chin, "but I can only
reach the 3rd floor button. Sounds like that puzzle about why Mr. Jones always gets off at
the third floor and walked up to the fifth, remember that one?" She asked me.
    "No. Why?"
    "Because he was a dwarf."
    The car stopped and we stepped out.  Jane poked some information into a number
pad by the door an d it swung open.
    "Ain't technology wonderful?" she chirped, "C'mon in, if you have time."
    "Just a minute. or two."
    "This is the place," she said waddling in, "You can see the ramps and stuff Daddy
put in."
    She bent foreword and resting her two giants on the floor grabbed a corner of her
sweater in her mouth and pulled both the sweater and t-shirt over her head.
    "There. Now we're more comfortable," she smiled. "You've heard so much about
my friends here I thought you should meet them, first hand, so to speak. Martin, these are
my two friends, the famous giants Fafner and Fasolt."
    The two giants trembled before me.
    "It's OK, she said.. They can't shake hands with you, but if you just touch them
they'd appreciate it."
    I reached out, trying to keep my hand from shaking. Soft, warm. One of them,
Fafner, I guess, showed his appreciation by poking his nipple out until it was fully erect.
    "It appears that he likes you," Jane laughed.
    "So it does," I said, "So it does."
    "So are we on for dinner?" she asked.
    "Sure. When?"
    "How about Wednesday, say about seven?"
    "Shall I bring some wine?"
    "Sure. Anything but Retsina!"

    I headed back to the dealership. Maybe Manny would show up and she'd
reschedule soon. It would be a long wait until Wednesday.