Copyright

  THE VIRTUOUS MAIDEN. Copyright © 2001 by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Warner Books,

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  ISBN: 978-0-7595-2199-5

  First eBook Edition: February 2001

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  1

  Once upon a time there was a virtuous young maiden named Miranda. She was quite pretty, in a dainty sort of way. She stood barely five feet tall, with tiny hands, tiny feet, and tiny, well, she was tiny everywhere. “I hate being a virtuous young maiden,” she lamented as she sat in the rocking chair in her room, sewing a new blouse for herself. “I never have dates like all of my friends. Fernando hasn’t ever asked me out, and the rest of the boys look past me to gaze at all the other girls in town. And I know why. It’s because I’m not . . . , well, big, anywhere.” She put her fists beneath the fabric of the blouse and pushed out the front in two places. “Especially here. I wish I had big, well, you know. . . .”

  “I do know, of course. Is that your fondest wish?” a female voice asked. “To be big?”

  Miranda jumped up, dropping the soft, white material on the floor. “Who’s there? Who said that?”

  “It’s just me,” the voice said. “Over here.”

  Miranda turned toward the sound, and there, in a darkened corner of the room, stood an older woman dressed in a fluffy white gown. Unlike Miranda’s dark hair and olive complexion, the woman’s hair was blond and her skin white and clear. Miranda stood, frozen to the spot. There hadn’t been anyone in the room when she entered and no one had opened the door since she arrived. “Who are you and how did you get in here?”

  “I’m your fairy godmother of course, silly girl, and I appeared because you called for me.”

  “Fairy godmother? I thought they only existed in stories.”

  “Well, obviously you were wrong, since I’m a fairy godmother and I’m right here.” Her exasperated gaze fastened on the beams in the ceiling. “They do make them dumber and dumber.” She returned her eyes to Miranda. “You haven’t answered my question. Is that what you want? A big bosom?”

  “Oh yes,” Miranda said, her voice soft and dreamy. “That’s what I’ve wanted since I stopped growing.”

  “And that’s all you want?”

  “If I had big . . . , well, you know, I would get everything else I ever wanted.”

  “Guys ogling you? Men pawing you, wanting to be with you only so they can touch and play with you?”

  Miranda couldn’t hide her grin. “Precisely.”

  The fairy godmother shook her head sadly. “I will grant your wish, but what about Fernando? He likes you for what you are, not for what you look like. Isn’t he the kind of man you want?”

  “Oh, Godmother, I want to know what it’s like to be popular, to have guys fighting over me. Can you really do it?”

  The fairy godmother crossed the room to where Miranda stood and touched her shoulder with a wrinkled hand. Gradually Miranda felt something change. Her clothing got tighter across the bust until it was seriously uncomfortable. “When shall I stop?” the godmother asked.

  Miranda looked down, now unable to see her skirt past her enlarged chest. “Oh my,” she whispered.

  “Stop?”

  “Maybe just a bit more.”

  “If you say so,” she said, and the godmother squeezed her shoulder a bit more tightly.

  The pressure beneath the top of her dress was almost painful, so finally Miranda said, “I guess you can stop now.” The godmother released her shoulder, and Miranda walked to her looking glass. She stared at herself and, despite the fact that she was uncomfortably flattened, she could see that she had grown several sizes. “Oh, Godmother, thank you.” She grabbed the older woman’s face and planted a big kiss on each of her cheeks. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll need an entire new wardrobe, dear.”

  “Oh, it will be worth it.”

  For almost a week Miranda stayed in her house, sewing new blouses and dresses to fit her new, expanded figure. No more high necks to hide her lack of assets. No, these had deep scoops that showed lots of cleavage. Finally she selected one of her new blouses, added a full, flowered skirt and threw a sweater over her shoulders. That way she could remove the sweater at the theatrically best moment and wow all of her friends, especially the male ones. She slipped her feet into soft shoes and headed for town.

  Since it was Sunday afternoon, all the young people were at the cantina, sipping strong coffee and chattering about the news of the past week. When they saw Miranda they called her over. “Hey, Miranda, where have you been? We haven’t seen you for a long time, and we missed you at church this morning.”

  “I’ve been working out. Someone showed me exercises to do to help my figure, and I’ve been very conscientious about it.” She removed her sweater with a flourish.

  “Holy cow, Randa,” one of the guys said. Several others whistled. “What a pair of t-t- I mean what a lovely shape you have.” All eyes were on Miranda’s new breasts.

  “Thanks. It’s been difficult, but I think the results are striking.”

  “Randa,” a twenty-year-old son of a farmer said, “what are you doing tonight? How about we go somewhere and, and, well, talk and stuff.” He snickered behind his hand.

  “No, Randa,” a worker at the lumber mill with large, powerful hands said, “forget that loser. Let’s go dancing. And whatever.”

  “No,” a third, a man named Juan who worked in the olive groves, said, “my folks are away for a few days helping my aunt with her new baby. My house is empty so we can . . . , well, you know, get better acquainted.”

  Miranda was in heaven. She hadn’t ever had this many offers. Which to choose? Her wish was not to be a virtuous maiden anymore so maybe she’d go to Juan’s house and learn what all the fuss was about. She gazed at him, lowered her eyes and smiled. “I’d love to see your home, Juan.” She noticed Fernando slowly walk away from the edge of the crowd.

  As she turned back to Juan there were several ribald comments, but eventually they agreed on a meeting place. At just after sunset, she met Juan at the edge of town and together they walked to his house. As they walked, Miranda nervously tried to make conversation. “The moon is lovely tonight,” she said. After a long silence she added, “And the air is so sweet with the scent of flowers.” All of her comments were met with silence. Juan seemed not to want to talk.

  They walked into Juan’s front room and he immediately grabbed Miranda around the waist. “Oh, Randa,” he purred, “all I’ve been able to think about is getting here. I can’t wait any longer.” He bent over and buried his face in the deep valley between her breasts. “Oh God,” he moaned, turning his face from side to side, licking and kissing the luscious plump flesh. He slid his hands up her ribs until he cupped her breasts, his hands filled to overflowing.

  Miranda was unimpressed with his lovemaking. “Hey, Juan, slow down,” she whined as he fumbled with the ties at the scooped neck of her blouse.

  “I can’t wait,” he moaned. “I want you so badly.”

  Soon they were both undressed and Juan’s hands were everywhere, grasping and kneading, poking and prodding. As hot as he obviously was, Miranda was still ice cold. “Slow down, Juan,” she said. “Let’s take a few minutes here.”

  “Oh, baby, don’t make me wait.”

  His hands were all over her, now tweaking and pinching her nipples, and soon Miranda grew impatient. She pushed him away and stood up, gathering her clothing.

  “Oh, baby, don’t be mad. Come back here and let me touch you. I know I can make you happy.”

  “Not a chance, buster,” she said, pulling on her blouse. “I want a little romance with my loving. And I’ve got my choice of all the guys in the village.”

  “But, baby . . .”

  “Don’t but baby me, Juan.” She slipped into her undies and skirt and pushed her feet into her shoes. “You’ve got the technique of a warthog so just forget it.” She stormed out of his house.

  Over the next several weeks, the scene was repeated in one form or another five more times. Each time the guy was so interested in touching and sucking her fabulous breasts that he took no time to even consider her pleasure. At the end of a month, Miranda was still a virtuous young maiden and the guys had started to stay away from her. The words tease, cold fish, and ice princess were whispered behind her back.

  “This stinks,” she muttered one evening while lying in her bed.

  “You’re right. It does,” the familiar voice said.

  “Godmother,” Miranda said, “I’m so glad to see you. Help me understand all this.”

  “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to get it, babe. You’ve got a magnificent pair now, and men can’t seem to look past that . . . them. And, of course, when you’re not as easy as they thought you’d be and you want some slow loving, they call you names. I told you before that you need a man who’s interested in you as a person, not as the support system for a pair of thirty-eight triple Es.”

  Miranda sighed. “I’m afraid you’re ri

ght.”

  “What about Fernando? He seemed to really like you and care about your feelings. Hasn’t he asked you for a date?”

  “I haven’t seen him since you were here last.”

  The godmother snorted. “I don’t wonder. He’s a really shy guy. I’m sure he’s afraid he can’t compete with all your other suitors.”

  “Oh, Godmother, you were right.” She rolled her eyes. “I hate having to say that but unfortunately . . .”

  “It’s okay. I knew you’d come around. Now, if you want I can put your body back the way it was. You can say that your little exercise regimen didn’t work.”

  Miranda’s sigh was long and deep. “Yeah, but then I’ll be back where I was. And Fernando will be further from making his move than he ever was.”

  “Maybe you’ve learned something, however. You know what you want. What’s stopping you from inviting Fernando to your house for some long, slow loving?”

  “Me? Ask him? He’s the man. He’s supposed to do the asking.”

  “Why? You know what you want, and you now understand what he wants as well.”

  “Big ones?”

  “Haven’t you learned anything? Listen. Men want hot sex, and many of the younger ones don’t realize that it’s a two-way proposition. Sure, they think that big ones are the answer. Maybe it goes back to the cave when big breasts were a sign that a woman was going to be able to successfully nurse babies. But who cares what they think makes a good lover. We women know better. I’m sure you can convince Fernando that holding and touching and loving has little to do with the size of the instrument and lots to do with the talent of the player. You’ve learned from those guys who were all over you, so go for it, babe.”

  Miranda grinned. “You’re right, of course. I hate that I’ve now had to say that twice. Okay, put me back the way I was.”

  For the next few days Miranda again altered her clothing. The following Sunday she sat through church with her sweater gathered around her. Afterward, she walked over to the cantina. When she took her sweater off all the young people stared. “I guess it didn’t work so well,” she said sadly.

  “I guess not,” Juan said, snickering, and he turned to talk to his friends.

  Miranda chatted with several people, then sought out Fernando. “Good afternoon,” she said.

  Fernando’s smile produced a fluttering in her belly and warmth between her legs. “Good afternoon, Randa.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  Fernando stared at his shoes. “I’ve missed you, too, but I know you’ve been . . . well, busy.”

  “I’m not busy anymore. As a matter of fact, I’m not busy this very evening. Would you like to come over to my house? We could have some wine and . . .”

  “Me? You’d like me to visit you?”

  Miranda’s smile was wide and warm. “I would like that very much. If you would.”

  Fernando looked into her eyes. “I would like that very much. Very much indeed.”

  That evening was exactly what Miranda had wanted all along, with mutual touching and kissing and loving. By the end of the evening she was no longer a virtuous young maiden, and she and Fernando giggled and laughed until dawn.

  Did they live happily ever after?

  What do you think?

 

 

  Joan Elizabeth Lloyd, The Virtuous Maiden

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