If you're a minor or don't get a kick out of reading about cheerleaders growing huge breasts and becoming twice as strong as their boyfriends, go to the next post and don't read this. Besides, there's no sex. So proclaimeth Lingster the Great, humble author of this peerless and truly wondrous story. And I don't want any of you closet perverts, getting your rocks off surfing the net, to get any funny ideas about publishing this in any magazines or anyplace but the newsgroups and their archives. Just because I'm anonymous doesn't mean I don't have rights. Just like a superhero. Superman and Green Lantern ain't got nothin' on me, so I don't want to see any copyright violations, dig? Who the hell is "Donovan" anyway? And now back to our story. M I G H T Y M O R P H I N' A M A Z O N C H E E R L E A D E R S ===================T R A C E Y ' S D I A R Y========================= =======================P R I V A T E!!!================================ October 12, 1996 Dear Diary, I haven't been writing to you for very long, but I have a story I need to tell you. Putting it all down on paper isn't the smart thing to do, but I feel a tremendous compulsion to write it. I just can't help myself. Maybe I should've eaten more of the "Smart Powder". Over the last few weeks, I've told you about my friends Karen and Mary Margaret. Our lives have changed so much over the last year, It's hard to believe we're just barely old enough to drive! But if you think that's hard to believe, well, this story will blow your mind. I rarely see my two friends anymore, except on television. Mary Margaret just got a role on _BeachWatch_ after half a season as the letter-turner on _Wheel of Luck_. Everybody's calling her "Maggie Mams". Karen's also on TV, using the name "Tittania" (sic) on _American_Centurions_. I took the happy middle, crowned last May as Miss Fitness North America, and just finished my encore _Playbob_ Pictorial and first _Sports Illuminated_ Swimsuit Edition. But you know all that already. None of the tabloid reporters seem to have picked up on the fact that the three most amazingly developed 17-year-old girls in America are all from the same town in New Jersey - not yet, anyway. Sooner or later they will, though, and then the shit'll hit the fan. The Water & Sewer Department will be selling the tap water for 20 bucks a gallon, probably. It all started in June of last year (1995), at the beginning of summer cheerleading practice. Karen, Mary Margaret and I were, amazingly enough, the three smallest, scrawniest, and puniest girls on the cheerleading squad (Karen most of all - tho' at least she had large-ish breasts!). Our cheerleading coach, Mrs. Armstrong, wanted the squad to perform a four- level pyramid at the Homecoming Football game in October. There was a problem, however, in that three of our biggest girls had just graduated. We still had Carla, who'd been a gymnast until she'd had a growth spurt. She had big muscles for a teenage girl (or so they seemed at the time), and at 5'8" she was pretty tall, but there was only one of her. What we needed were four strong girls for the bottom row, three fairly robust ones for the row above that, and then three waifs for the top two rows. Waifs we had aplenty, mes petites and I were well aware of that, but of amazons we had only one. And let me tell you, Karen, Maggie and I were getting pretty tired of being dropped by the weaklings (though not so weak as we three) below. Karen suggested that we go out bicycling on the weekend coming up, and Maggie and I agreed. Maggie and I both knew that Karen was on the rebound from breaking up with her boyfriend (he'd gotten a little rough with her on their last date), so we agreed. Normally Karen went out mountain- biking alone, but it was reasonable to see why she might want company. 150 years of railroad consolidations, dear Diary, have left Central Jersey ideal for bicycling. Abandoned rail beds crisscross the state, and Karen suggested a route that would take us about 30 miles north on an old spur that runs up through farm country in the general direction of New Brunswick. We enjoyed a nice slow ride, but I couldn't help but feel that Karen was up to something. When Karen said we'd reached our half-way point, we got off our bicycles and had our lunch. As we ate, Karen told us a little bit about the clearing we were in. Up ahead about a half mile, she said, another rail line had once crossed this one. A small town, now long gone, had sprang up to handle the cargo transfer. The town hung on for a while, under the name "Coolieville" - so named because of the large number of Chinese immigrants who remained after the railroad left. There was a circle of mystics who also lived here - some Chinese, some of European and African ancestry - and they studied Oriental mysticism and the properties of herbs and rare minerals on a person's "chi". When Mary Margaret asked what a "chi" was, Karen explained that it was like a person's soul or essence. I asked what had happened to the town, and she said she wasn't precisely sure - there had been a fire. I started to ask her how she knew so much about the mystics but not about the fire, but she shushed me and stood up. I knew she was up to something, but what happened next surprised me. Karen stood up and took off her windbreaker. Then she took off her sweat- shirt. Her t-shirt was next. And then she reached behind her back, unclasped her brassiere and let us bask in her glory. Now I'm no lesbian, but those were some nice breasts, let me tell you. As big as they were, on a slender girl who didn't quite top the 5-foot mark, well, they were spectacular. Then she arched her back, raised her arms straight out from her shoulders and said, "C-Cups." I could hear Maggie breathing heavily, almost lustfully, next to me. Getting over my initial shock, I said, "So you've got bigger breasts than us, Karen, what's the point, what are you doing!?" This isn't verbatim, but it's pretty close to what she said: "I don't just have *bigger* breasts than you, Tracey. You two have no breasts at all. My breasts started growing last summer, right? By Sept- ember I was on the varsity squad and by October I was the Sophomore Class Homecoming Queen. And that's not all. I improved my SAT scores by 300 points from the first time I took them in November, and the second time in February. Growing breasts is one thing, but didn't you wonder how I got so much smarter? How I went from good student to class genius? Flat to fabulous? Scrawny to spectacular? Both times in just three months?" "Dumb luck?", I responded. She put her clothes back on, smiled, and said, "Wouldn't you like to know?", and started running like hell for the edge of the clearing. Maggie and I, of course, got up and ran after her. As we came around a bend in the deer trace Karen had run down, we saw and heard an old iron cellar door slam shut about 10 yards off into the woods. We walked over to the door and lifted it up. Mostly corroded away, it wasn't very heavy. There were winding steps leading down, two flashlights on the top step, and a note that said "Follow the Steps to the NEW YOU!" I could hear footsteps far below, echoing eerily. For the first time I realized we were standing in the middle of what must've been the first floor of a house, long ago burned to the ground. "C'mon Chickens!", I heard faintly from below. Picking up a flashlight and smirking at Maggie I said, "Well, let's go." We took our time getting down there. I counted the steps, they were each about 9 inches high. We finally hit bottom after about 300 steps. "How far underground are we?", Mary Margaret asked. "About 225 feet down." I responded. "Shit," was her measured response. I shined the light around, Diary, and realized we were in a vaulted room, about 40 feet by 60. We found a freight elevator near the stairway, but debris was blocking the shaft. We called out for Karen, but there was no response, so we began walking towards the only door, in the middle of the far wall. Karen had left us pretty good flashlights, but try and imagine, Diary, how black and dark this room was, more than 20 stories underground. It was damp, smelly, and cold, too. And I was scared shitless. When we were only a few steps from the door, it flew open! Karen came fly- ing through and sprawled on the floor, coughing and shrieking in pain. "My...BRA!! Get it!!! OFF!!!" She screamed. I bent down, and reaching up her back, moved to unclasp her brassiere. Once I had the flashlight on it, I could see there was blood all over Karen's bra, and cuts in her sides where the bra had dug in. I pulled the bloody thing off, to Karen's obvious relief. "What happened? Did you get it caught on something?", I asked. "No," Karen panted weakly, and then she started to get up. She was still in obvious pain, but nonetheless wearing a shit-eating grin. I couldn't fig- ure it out for a second, but then it registered. "You're as tall as me!", I shouted. "And getting taller by the minute," she replied. "I thought you said it took about three months to work," I asked. She replied, "Yes, but you get about 25% of the change in the first few minutes." I almost shrieked. "Twenty-five percent!? But you're three, no, FOUR inches taller *already*! In three months you'll be six and a half feet tall!" Maggie was just catching on. "Wait, Karen, you found something down here that makes you TALLER, too?" "Well, yes, I have. But that's not what I ingested," Karen explained. I asked her what she had ingested, and she pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to me. I played the beam of my light on it and read, with difficulty, "For the purpose of turning a weakling into a True Man." I shined my light back at Karen, but she was once again taking her clothes off. "You're turning yourself into a MAN!?", I screamed. (I was doing a LOT of screaming, now that I think about it.) "No, no," she said, "The formula only increases size and strength. It won't make me hairy or grow a penis - in fact it should *enhance* my, ah, feminine characteristics. More (gasp) robust." She had stripped down to her bloody t-shirt, and I could see she was right. Her breasts were easily 50% larger than they'd been in the clearing 15 minutes earlier. Karen seemed to have stopped getting taller, maybe at 5'4", (4 1/2 inches taller than she'd been), but her breasts were still... inflating. Before my eyes. Enthusiastically! I had never seen anything like it. The seams on her breast pocket began to pop as the fabric stretched further than had ever been intended. Karen was gasping ecstat- ically, and it seemed that each shuddering gasp that came out of her mouth caused an explosion in the size of her already-enormous breasts. Karen was breathing heavily as she reached up, grabbed the collar of her shirt and, with startling strength, ripped it off. As she did it, I noticed bulging cords of muscle along the top of her forearm. Her pumpkin-sized breasts bounced out of the shredded t-shirt, constrained only by her rock-solid arms. While she was oblivious to her growing muscles as she massaged her naked breasts, I watched as her biceps grew larger and thicker each time she tensed them to press her hands into her chest. Maggie, unlike me, was absorbed in Karen's breasts. All of a sudden, Maggie screamed, "Where is it!? I want big breasts!! I WANT TITS!!!," and began to run towards the door. I reached for her, but she pulled free. Karen grabbed Maggie by the back of her sweatshirt, easily pulling her back, delightedly noticing her own swollen arm muscles and increased strength for the first time. Effortlessly restraining Mary Margaret with her left arm, Karen flexed her right bicep and said, "This, THIS is what it feels like to be STRONG. My God, I'm SO STRONG. Look at these MUSCLES, they're HUGE. I'M huge, and strong, strong like a man. It's incredible, I feel.....I feel sooooo HARD, sooo SOLID." She grabbed Maggie beneath the armpits and lifted her into the air, spinning around and laughing hysterically, screaming "TWENTY-FIVE FUCKING PERCENT!!", a super-human, huge-breasted, lunatic muscle-girl in the darkness. Karen insisted we help her test her new strength before going to look through the potions and powders in the back. Arm wrestling her on the floor, Maggie and I finally managed to restrain her right arm when we both grabbed it, Maggie pulling and me pushing. But restrain her was all we were able to do. Karen kept her arm straight up. Her right arm alone had grown as strong as me and Maggie put together!! I didn't say anything then, but I knew that there weren't many boys we went to school with as strong as THAT. I was thinking, "How much of the strength increaser stuff did she eat? And will she really wind up FOUR times stronger than she is now?" Finally, though, Karen acquiesced and said, "Ok, now it's time for you little ladies to grow a bit." Oh, Diary! I've run out of time! I'll tell you the rest later. Love, Tracey