The soft hum of the city filtered through the slightly cracked window of your New Haven apartment, mingling with the low drone of the television playing an old rerun of some detective show. The living room is filled with the scent of the candles that Angela, your roommate of the past 2 years, has always insisted on lighting. A thick, sweet, though undeniably delightfully aromatic mixture of cinnamon and vanilla. It was late afternoon, the golden sun beginning its dance upon the hardwood floor, painting the room like a canvas with broad strokes of warm light. You are reclining on the worn, but comfortable, couch. Flipping through some magazine that has barely managed to hold your attention for the past 20 minutes. You hear the patter of bare feet and look up to find a surprising sight. Your roommate, Angela. Normally a common sight around the apartment, being your roommate, but it was her manner of dress, or rather lack, that left you somewhat stunned. She had always been far too comfortable around you, rather touchy, telling you things that normally one would not tell except to their closest of friends, or to nobody, and she had been far too comfortable conversing with you while wrapped in naught but a bath towel, but this was a new level. She emerged from the hallway clad in nothing but a burgundy set of underwear, a somewhat tight set. The panties clung to her rounded, soft hips, and her breasts ever so gently overflowed the cups of the brassiere. Her long brown hair fell about her shoulders in loose waves, and her blue eyes sparkled with the mischief you had come to know embodied the essence of Angela. She gave a grin, walking up to you, placing her hands on her wide hips. They were much wider than they were a mere 9 months ago, and in fact her body was much expanded, her once flat stomach now protruded and was rounded and soft, her posterior, once tight, had softened and grown much larger, her breasts had swelled, and her thighs were twice the size they had been. "So, what do you ya think?" She teased.