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Foster's World	By : Wendell Urth Category: +1 through F > Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Views: 4137 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter 6: The Boy Awoke
The boy awoke, being rocked in the woman’s arms. She was different, her breasts had swollen three of four times normal size. Her reddish nipples had also changed into brown, distended teats, she brought a nipple to his mouth, he was too weak to suck, she squeezed the nipple and milk began to stream into his mouth. He coughed… but he drank. The milk was bitter like almonds, but he sensed the health and vitality it brought him.
He drained Frankie. She transferred every bit of health & vitality into the boy… and more.
She was given a choice. She could live here, but alone. Or she could save his life and lose hers. No one would judge her. There was no right or wrong here. There was only a choice.
She chose! She gave him every last bit of her life force.
Mac looked at her wide eyed and realized what he had done. He had killed her. Again, he had killed her.
“No! Not yet!” An aged voice in his heart called, familiar somehow. “Get her to the water. You’re strong enough now, but hurry. It won’t last!”
He half carried; half dragged the semi-comatose woman towards the water. His body was beginning to itch then burn again where is underwear touched him. He tried to peel a strip back and was horrified by the flesh and blood that came off as well.
“Hurry fool!”
He dragged her into the still water and suddenly the river began to churn, as if outraged by the touch of him! They were assaulted by waves and currents that threatened to tear them apart. Mac held on to Frankie who was now limp in his arms.
They were sucked under, blasts of wet sand in the waves scoured the last of his underwear from his body, leaving welts and hanging strips of dead skin. Pain. He didn’t care. He was nearly out of air, being rocketed in a maelstrom. He could still make out the light, he could swim to the surface. She was a dead weight in his arms, pulling him down.
He was given a choice. There was no judgement, no good or evil. He could save his own life. No one would blame him. He was just a little boy.
She would have wanted him to save his own life…
He didn’t care. He needed to hold onto her. The light faded, they were buffeted and he lost all sense of up and down. It didn’t matter. He would die here with Frankie, his Frankie. His only regret was that he had failed to save her.
Somehow, he found her lips against his. He breathed the last of his remaining air into her.
Darkness and pressure consumed them both.
She died because his life meant more to her than her own.
He gave up guilt and died because he loved her more than his own life.
Oblivion.
A day passed. That night three scarlet moons danced in the sky. Another day passed. A comet passed overhead, its tail dropping red & gold fire flakes into the silent landscape.
An old woman, shrouded in fog stood on a cliff looking at the river far below her. She tapped her cane impatiently, waiting for her children. “They’ll be the death of me yet!” she complained. Then stifled a laugh at the absurdity of her comment. “And I’m repeating myself!”
They slept on the beach, hand in hand. Lightly grasping, but never letting go. The woman’s breasts had returned to normal size. The lesions on the boy’s skin were healing.
“Cute as new born pups and just as naked.” The Goddess in the form of Madam Foster sighed. This wasn’t exactly what she had planned. But Mac keeping the clothing wasn’t foreseen. “Well, got to take the smooth with the rough,” she thought. Besides, as the Goddess of this world she didn’t want to know everything. Omniscience was such a bore... “No wonder the Creator had such a bad temper.”
She had planned to age the boy up a little, the woman down a little. 13 or 14 was the ideal age for a pair of eternal children.” But that wasn’t to be, she didn’t have the time or strength anymore. “So, the world would just have to make do with a woman in her 20’s and a boy half her age. Might be fun to watch!” The Goddess thought.
She looked down at the naked sleeping figures. Even in their sleep they held hands “Good” she thought. “Now things are as they should be…unless...Hmmm. Well, didn’t quite think this through, did I?”
The Goddess might not have thought of it, but Madame Foster would have.
Mac was physically a little boy. Since he wouldn’t be growing up, he wouldn’t reach a more mature size, but if he was going to please his woman…
She sighed and went down to them. The Goddess touched the tip of her cane gently to the tip of his penis. The boy groaned in his sleep. “Well dear, you are going to be more of a grower, than a shower!” She laughed. “Oh well, let’s give him the full package” and used her cane again. “Much more of a grower! This will keep her close to you at night!”
She leaned over and kissed his forehead, then whispered, “Mac dear, remember these words,
‘All Macs are Mac,
Some, are just so.
But some, are even more so.’
The Goddess turned to the naked woman. She was already nearly perfect, but the Goddess still felt there was work to do. “Why not? Let’s have some fun!”
A little touch of the cane here and there, Frankie’s ass grew wider, just a little, her hips adjusted. “She’ll have quite a sway when she walks.” Looking at the boy, she winked her dirtiest wink “You’ll never let her get far away from you with an ass that moves like that, huh?”
Then, “Oh, let’s give her the full treatment too.” Frankie had cute B cups again, nice little swayers, rosy tipped, slightly cone shaped. Pleasing. But now, they expanded to full round C’s… almost D’s. A bouncy rack to be proud of. “That’ll keep the boy busy at night… during the day too, if he’s smart.”
She kissed her granddaughter again and whispered in her ear. “Francis, my dearest granddaughter, daughter of my heart, remember these words,
              ‘All Frankies are Frankie,
              Some, are just so.
              But some, are even more so.’
“Well, I never claimed to be a poet,” she said. “But it’s the meaning that counts.”
“Whew,” the Goddess said, leaning on her cane. Working directly here in the world was exhausting. She had built this entire world from her studio on the moon, but working here in reality tired her out. “No wonder the Great Creator went on permanent vacation after only a week!” She would need to rest soon, but there was still more work to be done.
This also was outside Her original plan. She wondered how much of the Great Creator’s final work contained last minute improvisations… then shuddered. “Best not to think on it…”
She put two fingers inside her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Madame Foster had learned to do that in Paris in her youth. It was good for picking up cute Parisian boys… and girls. And just in case, calling the Gendarmes.
A bird flew out of the grasslands, crossed the river and landed on the head of her cane. It was the size of a falcon with the wings of an eagle and the head of an owl. The tail feathers were a burnished silver that glowed in the afternoon light. It looked at the wrinkled face of the Goddess for a moment, winked one of its dark intelligent eyes and rotated its huge head 90 degrees away.
The Goddess laughed, “Cheeky little devil!” Then as the bird began to chirp, she said “I have a job for you. It’s not the one you were created for, but I am going to need eyes and ears here while I rest. And a few tasks you will need to perform for kids.”
Then, all the life that remained on the little island was a sleeping woman, a sleeping boy and the silver falcon owl watching over them.
The boy and the woman awoke.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Foster's World