The Carolina Tit Epidemic of '82

It was a titman's dream come true - a mountain town where every young woman was gifted with immense, bountiful, bodacious ta-ta's. My assignment? To find the cause of this epidemic and to put an end to it!

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I had a couple of hundred assignments during my over ten years as an epidemiologist with the National Institutes of Health, but no single case stands out in my memory quite like the Carolina Tit Epidemic of 1982.

It began simply enough. It was a morning in May of 1982 when a new investigation request first crossed my desk. A country doctor named J.D. Suggs had written to the Institutes to request our assistance with a problem in his community. "It seems," Dr. Suggs had written, "as if our remote mountain lumbering community is suffering from a statistically improbable incidence of macromastia!"

Let me pause here to explain - for the benefit of those of you who aren't physicians and who don't have a medical dictionary available - that "macromastia" is simply Latin for "big tits." While an uncommon medical condition, it's certainly far from a rare one; it typically occurs once in every few thousand women and its origin is usually hormonal. What distinguished this particular situation as unusual was its frequency. According to the good doctor, the condition seemed to be afflicting every young woman in his area, between the onset of puberty and their mid-twenties!!

As a medical epidemiologist, I knew after reading the request that it would be my responsibility to track down the epidemic's cause. But as a died-in-the-wool titman I also knew it was a project that I would be undertaking with a more than professional eagerness!

After booking my travel plans by telephone, a short commercial hop out of Dulles International put me as close as possible to the rural North Carolina town of Coopers Gap. It was a rental car from there on and as I drove, the analytical side of my mind surveyed the genetic and environmental possibilities that might explain this unlikely situation. Meanwhile, my tit-loving thinking center - you know, the one wedged between the tops of my thighs - could only eagerly anticipate viewing the results.

It was the latter thought center that first zeroed in on Mona, standing by the roadside with a hitchhiker's thumb extended.

Her crudely lettered sign, eagerly held chest-high, read "Cooper's Gap." I don't normally pick up hitchhikers, but Mona's sign, pretty young face, and my desire for companionship swayed me. A quick rearward glance at her in the mirror as I passed and pulled onto the shoulder confirmed that I'd made the right decision!

My delighted eyes were treated to an inspirational vista of perfectly-shaped young assflesh packed into an obscenely tight pair of faded denim cutoffs. Fully half of her fine young rump hung out beneath the cutoff's frayed bottoms as a pair of pink and perfect hemispheres that were positioned atop a World Class pair of legs!

It wasn't until Mona opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat that I noticed the rest! Where the cardboard sign had obscured my view earlier, my unbelieving eyes were now feasting on an unobstructed vista of the two meatiest mammaries that I'd seen in months!

The sleeveless mens' undershirt she wore as a top did little to conceal the shelf-like projection of her massive flesh balloons; it was like trying to hide two identical copies of the Goodyear blimp under a circus tent. Her tits' cantilevered form jutted perpendicularly from her ribcage and at the tip of each hemispherical cotton bulge, the shirt was tented by jutting finger-thick nipples. The rose-hued duskiness of both nipples and areolas were simultaneously visible through the flimsy fabric.

My lower brain drank it all in.

"Hi... Mona McCluskey!" she blurted out enthusiastically in a heavy Southern accent, noting my fixed gaze at her bra-less whoppers and unconsciously readjusting her top for maximum effect.

"I hope I'm not embarrassing you..." she gestured toward her shorts and top, "but it's kind of warm and muggy today. Besides, my Momma always says: if ya got it, flaunt it! How far are you goin'?

"All the way...I hope!" I responded directly to her massive mammaries. "I mean... all the way to Cooper's Gap. And by the way, my name's Walt...Walt Carter."

"Pleased to meet you, Walt! Not many rides up this way, you know. Especially not with good looking guys!" Her eyes flashed suggestively. "Since you're going to Coopers Gap, too, suppose you can drop me off at the medical clinic? I just got off nursing school for summer break and I'm gonna work there with Doc Suggs."

"Well, you're really in luck because that's who I'm coming here to see!" I replied, marveling at how small the world can sometimes be.

"You're kidding! Really? What for?"

"Well, Mona, I'm a doctor, too, and I understand that the young women in Coopers Gap have a problem."

"Problem??" she inquired, wrinkling her cute little upturned nose, her blue eyes flashing inquisitively.

"You know...problem..." I said, making a backhanded gesture toward Hooter Heaven.

"Oh, shoot, you mean these little things?? Hey, this girl's got no problem at all compared to some of my girlfriends! You'll see!" she smiled, settling back into the seat and splaying her knees to either side to give me a clear crotch shot of the narrow strip of faded denim that lay centered there.

That denim strip wasn't even wide enough to conceal the fact that Mona was a natural blonde.

The latter view brought a sudden rush of blood to my lower brain that threatened me with a crotch blackout! But what echoed in my mind was the blonde beauty's three words: "These little things...". My eagerness to survey the problem jumped up five notches...as did my Peter Meter.

Mona and I quickly settled into a relaxed conversation, but despite her sensual drawl and casually flirtatious manner, it became disappointingly clear to me that there was no roadside quickie in the offing. Instead, we passed the time in sightseeing - she'd point out the window at one mountain panorama or another, and I'd take advantage of her turned head to ogle her own personal mountain panorama: a horizon-to-horizon vista of jutting jumbo jugs. The southern view of her scarcely disguised mound wasn't bad, either!.

When we finally rolled past its town limits sign a couple of hours later, I noted that Cooper's Gap looked like just about any other small North Carolina lumber town: generally run down. It had the look of an area where the average income was just enough to make ends meet and have a few beers on Friday nights. The only thing that clearly set it apart from a dozen other nearby backwoods towns was the physical appearance of the scantily-clad young women parading about on its downtown sidewalks. I quickly concluded that to be young and female in Cooper's Gap was to be mountainously stacked!

"Yes, Dr. Suggs, there is truly a statistical improbability here, " I mused.

By the time I pulled the car up in front of the doctor's small office, my unbelieving eyes had already feasted on well over two dozen improbably immense sets of jugs. And it wasn't just a few of the young women who were so bountifully endowed, it was all of them! Of the dozen or so that I noticed, the smallest set of tits were probably DDD-cups...and their "small" size was only due to the fact that their petite possessor couldn't have been an inch over 4' 11"!

I quickly unloaded my gear from the trunk and was escorted inside the clinic, eager to discuss this unusual situation with my fellow professional.

Contrary to my expectation, Dr. Suggs turned out to display a handsome youthfulness that belied his 50-plus years. After a few short introductions, he left Mona with Millie, his similarly stacked receptionist, and ushered me into his small office.

"By now I'm sure you've had a chance to observe the scope of our problem, Walt!" he said with a wry smile, offering me a chair and placing a stack of health records on his desk in front of me. "Let me share some hard data; from what I can figure out, it looks like this started around 1979," he said, opening the top medical chart. "And I believe this one was the very first!"

He gestured toward the chart's opening page:

Name - Sarah Winterston

Age - 24

Height - 5' 5"

Weight - 115

Measurements -- 36-DDD/20/32

"Sarah's mother brought her here in May of '79. She seemed to think that her daughter was turning into some sort of physiological freak of nature, so I did an initial work-up of her as a macromastic." He opened a thumbworn manila envelope and slid several 8X10 color glossies toward me across the desk. "You'll note the classically disproportionate figure."

The top photo spoke for itself. It was a fully naked clinical pose of Sarah standing before a wall scribed with height markings. Her eyes had been covered with a black bar to maintain anonymity, but all else was fully exposed. She held a tape measure firmly drawn around her inspirational breasts just below the nipples, with the 36-inch marking clearly visible where the tape's ends overlapped. Each mammoth tit was capped with a broad areola of dusky rose-colored tissue. And each immense areola was in turn centered with a husky, protrusive nipple - projecting outward in a ripe invitation for prolonged sucking. It was a precociously mature bustline that stood out in stark contrast to Sarah's visibly young and otherwise-petite figure.

I flipped to the next shot, becoming painfully aware that my lower brain hadn't missed a trick, either, and was busily tenting the front of my trousers with a painfully stiff erection.

"I think you can see the cause of her mother's concern even more clearly in this close-up profile!" His fingertip settled just in front of one bulbous nipple-pointed tissue zeppelin.

"Certainly can..." I mumbled, as I looked at the waist-up shot, finding it increasingly difficult to maintain my professional detachment.

In profile, Sarah looked for all the world like someone had attached two flesh-colored honeydew melons to her ribcage and then capped them with lemon halves that had been painted brown. The erected state of her fantastic nipples and areolas was far too impressive to go unnoticed.

"The highly erectile nature of the nipples and areolas seems to be a part of the pattern... as is their coloration," he explained, apparently aware of my focus. "Besides the weird stuff with the full moon, the other anomaly that all these young women seem to have in common is in the next photo.

"Full moon??" I blurted out in curiosity, before focusing my attention on the next close-up photo and becoming totally distracted.

I had to adjust my crotch as I ogled the life-size enlargement of Sarah's mouth-watering mound, its lips held widely open with a clinical speculum to fully expose her impressive clitoral development. If they had a category in the Olympics for genitals, Sarah's large erect clitoris could easily have taken the gold medal: in both size and shape it looked for all the world like the penis of a newborn male infant!

"They're all like THIS??"

As Jim Suggs nodded yes, I became eager to view the phenomenon firsthand. Meanwhile, I took advantage of his willingness to share another twenty or so records with me. He said that they were only the tip of the iceberg, although I'd guess from the overall good looks shown in the photo sets, that they were the foxiest patients. Of the twenty, there wasn't a single bustline that was under a DDD-cup. And some of them were so unbelievably huge that the visual impact of their measurements and cup sizes could probably be recorded on the Richter Scale.

Of the dozens of photos Jim showed me, it was the final set that stuck firmly in my mind...and my crotch. They were of a singularly impressive blonde beauty with a EE-cup bustline whose long, thick, suckable nipples; expansive pebbled areolas; and heavenly pussy inflamed my carnivorous instincts.

Despite her blacked-out eyes, I easily recognized their owner as Mona, my travel partner.

I went into my investigator phase that very evening, using the guest bedroom in Jim Suggs' home as my base of operations. I pored over the data for several long hours, seeking some common factor that could explain it all.

I finally decided that a trip to the local newspaper and to the U.S. Geological Survey in Raleigh would be required. I didn't crawl into bed until something after midnight and I eventually dozed off with Mona's lust-provoking photos in my hands.

To call my sleep fitful would have been an understatement! My dreams were filled with huge pillows of titflesh pressing at me from all directions...taunting, teasing, bathing me in rich warm sprinkles of mother's milk. My reveries were interrupted as I awoke with a start to find myself drenched in a cold sweat - suddenly aware that I wasn't alone in the room.

The room was bathed in cool blue light from the full moon. It was dark, yet light enough to make out my surroundings. I sucked in my breath sharply at the sight of a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"Walt?? I'm sorry if I scared you, but I need your help!" came a whispered drawl that was instantly familiar.

"Mona, how the hell did you get in here..." I mumbled in confusion. "What if Jim hears..."

She moved to the side of the bed and put a fingertip to my lips. "Sh-h-h...it was Jim who sent me in," she whispered, "He's busy partyin' with my friends Jody and Jamie. Didn't he tell ya?"

"Tell me what?"

"About the craving? You know, about the full moon and how all us young gals can't get enough...." her hands went to the buttons of the sheer white blouse she wore, wordlessly completing her sentence as my mind recalled Jim's earlier unexplained comment about weirdness and the full moon.

The blouse's whisper-soft fabric parted silently and she shucked it from her shoulders. In the moonlight, I could make out a lacey white brassiere of gargantuan proportions and, as her hands went to the top of one mammoth cup, I snapped on the bedside reading lamp for better illumination. The lamp's warm glow revealed Mona in the largest nursing brassiere that this physician had ever seen. Her fingertips were busily working at one cup's fastener. She deftly released both that tab and its mate before leaning toward my face and simultaneously lowering both hinged cups to bare her inspirational milky-white udders to my eyes. Looking up from the pillow, it was as if a matching pair of full moons had suddenly crested, immediately above my wondering eyes.

I stared in awe. Jim's photos simply didn't do Mona justice! Her bobbling nipple-capped beauties bounced and swayed ponderously above me as she released the zip of her tight white jean-shorts and snugged them down over her flawless young hips and buttocks. Her diaphanous panties followed suit, leaving Mona a naked vision of perfection...the kind of thing that only the best wet dreams are made of.

"I'm sorry, Walt, the full moon..." she drawled huskily, "I can't help myself...."

As she leaned over to toss back the covers and expose my naked cock, her stiffly erected nipples grazed my chest hairs. I felt a wetness there and a quick downward glance confirmed the fact that both naked knockers were emitting a fine spray of rich, white Mother's Milk from their tips.

At that moment, in almost perfect coordination, the bedstead in Jim Suggs' adjoining room began tapping an erotic tattoo against our shared wall. The sudden thought of him in bed next door with another pair of beautiful, young, sex-starved tit queens only helped to accelerate the split-second erection of my cock.

"Shoot, Walt, but this is the biggest cock I think I ever laid eyes on!" she exclaimed in awe as her fingers encircled my girth. "I gotta have it. I gotta have it NOW!"

Mona eagerly climbed aboard for a long ride, carefully positioning herself over my crotch to sandwich my stiff cock lengthwise in the warm wet cleft of her slit. Then she lowered her massive mammaries to my lips as slow thrusts of my hips dry-fucked the miniature hard-on of her prodigiously erect clitoris.

It took me only one or two sucks on each mammoth milkspout to get her flowing and then I alternated from one massive suckler to the other, gorging myself on her sweet white nectar while her pussy busily bathed my groin with cunt honey. It was several long minutes before my appetite was satiated and we reversed positions into a sixty-nine. Despite the ten-fold difference in our individual dimensions, we sucked each other's erections with equal skill and eagerness, both becoming excited to a hip-thrusting frenzy.

"I want you in my cunt now...before it's too late!" she pleaded, reversing positions and raising her perfect hips to grasp my cock and guide me into her tight young depths. The sensation was like sinking my cock balls-deep into a crock of warm butter and the first slow upward stroke ended with my cocktip kissing the mouth of her womb and her cunt hotly gripping my entire length in a spasm of response.

The sex was like the finest wet dream brought to life - a perfect pairing of rhythm, tempo, and passion. It lasted a long, long time, culminating in a prolonged upward hip thrust that held cocktip and womb in intimate contact as I bathed the very core of Mona's femininity with jet after thick jet of hot sperm.

We spent the remainder of the night locked in intimate embrace, my sleep interrupted repeatedly as Mona hungrily initiated further heated rounds of passion. We did it all and then some. Then, at the first light of dawn, Mona was quietly up and out. Through a parting in the drapes I watched her join her two massively endowed girlfriends, all chatting happily as they got in their car and drove off.

As I look back fondly on that week of daytime study and nighttime sex, I recall that The Carolina Tit Epidemic was one of my easier cases to solve. According to old newspaper accounts I located in Raleigh, a cargo plane had gone down in the Great Smokies during a powerful thunderstorm in the Fall of 1974. It was given up as lost after two fruitless weeks of helicopter searches. I would never have found the plane myself without reviewing the Geological Survey maps of the watershed feeding Parish Reservoir - the town's principal water supply.

It was in a heavily forested canyon above that lake that Jim and I found the disintegrated DC-3, buried under brush and undergrowth. Based on its incredible level of destruction, we figure it must have hit the limestone cliff face above the canyon at well over 150 miles per hour. The sound of its impact and the flames of its demise were presumably extinguished by the storm's loud thunder and record breaking rainfall.

A tattered cargo manifest we found in the remains of the cockpit indicated the plane's load of pharmaceuticals was headed for a drug distributor in Columbia, South Carolina. Thousands of shattered drug ampoules lay strewn as glassy shards in the wreckage, their powdered mixture of hormones slowly dissolving in the rainy Carolinas climate and leaching into the water supply that feeds the wells and faucets in Coopers Gap.

All the jigsaw puzzle pieces fit perfectly. It was the complex high-level mixture of estrogen, progesterone, and prolactin in the water supply that was prematurely converting the town's young women into precociously sexual beings, accelerating and extending their breast and genital development beyond normal bounds, and eventually converting their monstrous mammaries into non-stop milkspouts. It was also keeping them safely fuckable by being a naturally ingested form of birth control!

The excessive hormonal intake levels also appeared to be what led to the monthly sexual mania - although we still wonder how the full moon is so precisely involved.

I haven't been back to Maryland recently, but I understand from the television news reports that the National Institutes of Health are doing well without me. I returned there from my Coopers Gap assignment, only long enough to file a negative report, to assure them that the problem wasn't life threatening, and give two weeks notice.