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Everyone’s body is different. Everyone’s got that thing that makes them unique. I get it. But let’s be honest, some of us are a bit more different than others. Then there are those who are so unique that they are perhaps better described as unusual. And then all the way at the other end, you have people like me. What people who are a bit less than kind might refer to as something else entirely. Freaks. Maybe they have a point. I don’t think there are many girls like me, none that I’ve met anyway, that’s for sure.
Where to begin? Well, no point in wasting time building up to it, let’s start with my chest. It’s what most people are forced to confront first anyway. I’ve got this condition. Breast hyper-something. I don’t really remember the name for it–memory’s like a sieve. Doctors diagnosed me when I was a teenager. Ginormous tits, is what most people would call it. Fucking massive ones. Bigger than your whole torso I’d bet. I mean, so big you couldn’t even lift one of them. They weigh 60 kg each and don’t fit in any bra in existence, so don’t even ask me if my back hurts. My health insurance provides this ridiculous support harness that I have to basically strap myself into to lift them up so I can walk around. It’s a chore and I hate it, and it renders all normal women’s clothing next to useless to me. So yeah, it’s quite notable, hence why I’m talking about it first. The size of my boobs essentially means that my chest takes up a good metre’s radius around me at all times and obstructs my view of everything below them. Good luck having a proper conversation with a chick like that.
Hope I’m painting a picture of how stupid my body looks, but it doesn’t stop there I’m afraid. Whichever God made me must have been high on some wacky shit, cause for some twisted reason, in addition to my boobs, I ended up 7’10” tall. Do I understand why? Hell no. Parents are 5 ft nothing. Brother is a pipsqueak too. Pretty sure he hates me for having turned into this giant freak of a woman. But there we go, that’s the card I got dealt. Tits big enough for two people to comfortably sit on, and the tallest living woman in the world. And yes, thanks to my height and this damned harness I’m forced to wear, my beloved 120 kg of boob is usually seen hoisted up over 6 feet into the air. Sound intimidating yet?
Well I’m not even done. You see, I’ve always hated my gigantic tits. I’m so tall that they make it basically almost impossible to talk to people properly or really do anything that involves tight spaces. So about six months ago, I decided to do something about it. Breast hyper-whatever be damned, I started going to the gym every day, trying to lose this weight. It wasn’t just my tits though, I inherited a huge fat ass from my Mom too. Worked at it for months and months. Absolutely destroyed myself at the gym. Nothing to show for it. Neither my ass nor my chest got any smaller. In fact, and here’s the really messed up part, all that working out made me bulky as anything. I mean humongous. And I never even asked for it! Although in hindsight I could have seen this coming. Cardio is a chore for someone with a chest like mine, so I spent way too long on weight-training. And now, all of a sudden, my biceps are huge, and my legs are like these two thick veiny tree trunks attached to a rock hard ass.
It’s just my damn luck. I know it sounds impressive, and I try and see the good in it myself when I’m feeling self-conscious, but honestly, I scare the ever-loving shit out of people. I know it. The fact I have no friends whatsoever is proof of how people don’t like to be near me. Haven’t had a real friend ever since my body started blowing up like crazy as a teenager. I mean sure, people comment on my height, or tell me I’m pretty, or compliment me on my red hair. But I see the looks on people’s faces. The scowls, and the gasps when I pass them in the street. My body is so absurdly huge, people think it’s some kind of sick prank. In a way it is I guess, just one that’s at my expense.
Well, you think it stops there? Think again. I know I already sound like a freak of nature, and I am. But I haven’t even gotten to the weirdest part. For whatever sick and twisted reason, I was born with a dick. Yes, a penis. I have no idea what the deal is with that. The name of the condition is on my doctor’s file or whatever. All I know is that I’m a girl who has a dick. I seem to be female in other ways, got the chromosomes and all that, but for some reason whoever designed me decided: “You know what that huge-breasted giantess needs? A great big juicy cock”. And yes, it’s big. I wish I could say it was a little underwhelming thing I could tuck snugly away in my underwear. But no, nothing about me is underwhelming. My dick is, sadly, huge. I swear, for most of my life I didn’t even realise that my dick was actually much larger than most dudes’. I remember overhearing one of my coworkers brag about her boyfriend’s dick, only to find out that it was only like 8 inches erect or something. Mine’s çukurambar escort bigger than that flaccid. Erect, it’s over two feet long erect and probably thicker than that dude’s forearm.
Anyway, I shouldn’t go off on a dick-measuring contest. It sounds like I’m proud of it or something. I’m not. I hate it. I hate everything about my stupid body. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be. Certainly not human. Sometimes I feel like I’m some new species who was born a few million years too early or something. That’s what my family seems to think anyway.
I lie in bed a lot thinking: should I have done something with the way I was born? I’m not creative, or hard-working, or even really that smart. Was there something better I could have done with this freakish figure of mine? The only thing that comes to mind is acting, but there’s really only one sort of acting where a body like this would come in useful. Couldn’t exactly do something like that, I’m still a virgin for god’s sake.
But still, I’m 24 now. Even though I never had any real dreams or ambitions, I didn’t think I would end up stacking shelves at a supermarket. I look around and see coworkers twice my age and think, “fuck, you really just got stuck here didn’t you?”. Is that the life for me?
If I’m being honest though, I don’t know how much this job will last me. They never do. Got fired from the burger joint after apparently “scaring customers”. I know I have a tendency to scare people, but the real reason was because my boobs were so big that it was dangerous for me to be back in the kitchen. They just didn’t want to be accused of discrimination so made up that story about me being rude to customers. In reality I tried my best to stay away from customers as much as possible, hence why I was in the kitchen all the time.
I can see this supermarket job going a similar way. I have plenty of room to move here, but since I’m so muscly now I freak people out more than ever. Most customers won’t approach me to ask where an aisle is and prefer to find someone else. The security at the supermarket also have to put up with complaints multiple times a day from people who don’t realise I even work there. In fairness to them, it’s not always obvious cause I don’t wear the same uniform as everyone else. The store-branded plaid button-down shirt doesn’t fit around my chest even though the one I have is this XXXL thing for obese people. So I usually just go to work with my shirt fully open and my huge black nylon breast harness visible to the world. Although technically it’s a form of lingerie, the thing is designed to be so large and strong that it more resembles two parachutes attached to a corset. I’m just lucky really that it doesn’t look enough like a bra for people to think I’m being indecent.
It hasn’t escaped my notice either that since finishing my training period, my manager has been putting me on warehouse shifts more and more to get me out of the way. Relegated with all the other oddities who are not to be seen by the public. But whatever, I don’t mind it. I moved to this backwater town precisely so I could avoid being seen as much as possible. I just put my headphones in and move shit around until someone comes along and tells me to do something else. Since I’m so big, in principle I should be a much better help than I am. Unfortunately, my boobs take up so much space that I’m pretty limited by how much I can carry in front of me.
Most people don’t even speak to me most days. But that is how I like it. Sometimes I’ll be forced into some inane conversation with my coworkers. I know that none of them like me. I’m not a great conversationalist on my best days thanks to a long life of solitude, but even if I wasn’t it would be hopeless. It’s practically impossible for people to have a proper conversation with me when I’m standing up to do my awkward proportions, and as it is, I’m standing for most of the day.
My evenings are non-eventful. Work pays me next to minimum wage, so all I can afford is a one-room studio consisting of a kitchen, living room and bedroom all combined into a single room. It wouldn’t even be big enough for someone half my size. My toilet and bathroom fare little better. My tiny box shower is so small I can’t even get my whole body inside of it. To wash myself I have to do two passes: one where back up into it with my breasts hanging out the shower door, and then another where I stuff my tits inside and attempt to wash them down as best I can.
Going to the bathroom like a normal human isn’t much better. Toilet cubicles in general suck for me. My chest is wider than most of them so I have to compress myself to even get inside. Then I have to deal with the fact that my dick is so long that I have to hold it up to stop it falling inside the toilet. Oh, and going to pee like a dude is off the table, cause remember I can’t even see the lower half of my body from my vantage point. The only time I ever get a good look at demetevler escort that part of me is when I lie down and put my two ginormous breasts over to either side of my body. I have a single bed so sleeping is never really that comfortable, one tit smooshed up against the wall and the other dropping down over the edge of the mattress and resting on the floor.
In a way it’s a good thing I’ve got no romantic interests to speak of because there is absolutely no room for them in this place. I am so lonely though. Quite often I lie in bed at night thinking how nice it would be like if I had some kind of relationship. Someone to just lie with me and keep me company. Then I remember who I am and those dim hopes are quickly put to one side.
It’s a nice day today. Sun is out but still a fresh chill in the air. I hate hot weather–boob and crotch sweat being somewhat major issues in my life. I lose myself in a daydream staring out of my window after I wake up. Happens quite a lot. Always have been a bit of a daydreamer; someone who prefers their own internal monologue over a conversation with others. Makes me late for things a lot though… Sort of like today. Fuck. 8:15 am already.
I decide to forgo a shower today since they take so damn long. I need all the time I can get just strapping myself into that wretched breast harness. I swear, this thing, or rather my tits, are the bane of my life. The only way I can get around with them is to literally climb into this infernal apparatus, scoop my ginormous heaving masses of boob flesh up into these huge fabric bags, and then hoist the straps over my shoulders. The thing is inhuman. I’m sort of used it now, but it’s always has been an issue, ever since I grew these things when I was 15. I have the back muscles to prove it.
Got the whole procedure of getting dressed down to a few minutes now though. I then drape my oversized work shirt over myself. Thank god they don’t force me to cover the harness, nothing short of a bedsheet would cover that. Next job is to tape my dick to my right thigh so it doesn’t flop around, and to put on my slacks. It’s never been the most attractive look: these slacks are a XXXL and still don’t manage to cover my shins. But they had the baggiest fit I could find, and that’s important as there’s no way in hell am I letting anyone know about this thing in between my legs.
Quick check in the mirror to see if my disgusting mass of long ginger hair isn’t too greasy, nope looks good. Well, not good, but acceptable. With that I’m done and out the door–quick duck as I leave to make sure I don’t hit my head on the doorframe on the way out.
I spot my new neighbour in the hallway, but fortunately he’s up ahead of me. Only seen him a handful of times but I’m already convinced I hate him. He’s some awful tech bro. Thinks because he’s jacked and tall and handsome that he runs the world. I guess in fairness assholes like him do run the world. But you know what, he’s stuck here in this decrepit apartment building just like me. Knock-off business suit ain’t fooling anyone. When he spotted me the other day he nearly shat himself at the sight of me. Guys like him are the worst. Always have been. They hate knowing there’s a girl out there who’s 2 feet taller than them and they try to find reasons to deny my existence. Better for me to just avoid him from now on. Just gotta make sure I leave before 8 am tomorrow.
The route to work is twenty minutes, but I’m a fast walker. Dunno why people refuse to walk around here. Everyone’s so car obsessed in this country. Even if it was possible for me to drive a car, I think I’d still wanna walk to work. Should be thankful in a way, fewer pedestrians means fewer people to stare at me. At least the people whizzing past me on the highway will have gone by too fast to figure out what that massive lump of woman is by the side of the road.
Deserted parking lot. Thank God this supermarket is unpopular. Would hate to put up with the hundreds of shit-for-brains middle-class women who spend all day at the organic mart across the road.
I wander inside and pour myself a coffee in the break room. Think I’m on warehouse duty today, hope so anyway. Shit. Manager’s here. Mr Tran, tiny Vietnamese guy, always disappears underneath my boobs like a little mouse if he gets too close. I try to avoid him but looks like he’s on my case for something. There’s a girl with him. Don’t recognise her. She’s even shorter than he is somehow; little petite blonde girl with a tiny waist and a fat ass. Fuck, she’s hot. Nice boobs as well, big but not ridiculous like mine. She’s got the kind of look that dudes go nuts over. I try my best to keep my cool, but good-looking girls like her always make me turn into a sweaty nervous mess.
Oh please no. They’re coming right for me. What do I do? I could make a run for it, but attempting to run around inside at my size is just asking for disaster. Game over. Mr Tran’s shouted my demirtepe escort name now. I wander over, looming down over both of them, making sure not to get too close so I can still see them past my boobs. I see the look in the little blonde girl’s face now. She’s freaked out by me. Of course she is. She’s got the same look everyone has the first time they see me. Something that says “is that an actual person?” or “good god she’s a freak” or “what’s with her breasts, why isn’t she covering her bra?”.
Mr Tran introduces the blonde girl, name’s Christina-something. Barely even waist height on me. She says “hi” in a high-pitched valley-girl accent. I give her a silent wave back. Mr Tran says something dull about how important it is to give new employees a good welcome. I’ve zoned out already though, transfixed on Christina twirling her hair. She keeps looking me up and down. Not like it’s anything new for me, but she’s definitely less subtle than most people. Keeps looking up at my chest in particular. Eventually I zone back in to hear that Mr Tran is asking me to show this girl around. I groan internally but I know I’ve got no choice.
I show the girl around. Break room, storage, warehouse, shop floor. She’s nice and chatty. Seems like the kind of girl who has tons of friends. I’m awful in conversation which I think she picks up on that straight away and does the talking for us. It’s hard though. Enough of a challenge for me to have conversations with regular-sized people and this girl can’t be over 5 feet tall.
My mind won’t stop wandering. I keep thinking about how cute she is but how foolish it is to even be having thoughts like that. Especially stupid because as I’m drifting off again I realise she’s asked me something. Ask her to repeat. “You have a very interesting look. How tall are you?” She asks abruptly but with an innocent tone. My mind goes into panic mode. Hate talking about this. I reply honestly, but round up to 8 feet because it’s not like she can tell the difference. She gasps in mock surprise, as if it wasn’t obvious enough already that I’m a giant. I expect her to start laughing or screaming, but for some reason she seems even more intrigued now. I watch her eyes as she scans my body up and down. There she goes again. She stares up at me expectantly and chews on her lower lip. God she’s cute. What does that mean though? That look. It almost looks like…
We walk back to the break room. I can’t be sure, but I think the new girl is trying to flirt with me. She keeps giving me these strange alluring looks. Could just be that I’m horny and inexperienced, and she’s just being nice. But then again, her eyes keep darting around my body whenever she thinks I can’t see–looking at my ass and my biceps, and my stupid enormous tits that are bigger than she is. Oh who am I kidding, what the hell would she want with someone me? I’d probably accidentally smother her to death if we ever found ourselves by chance in the same bed.
Even though my tour is over she’s still hanging around. She asks me to sit with her until our shifts start at 9 am. I pour her and I a diluted and tasteless coffee. Hands shaking now like an idiot, nearly spill it all over her in the process. She must be able to tell how nervous I am. Probably thinks I’m pathetic. This is just a conversation between two human beings for god’s sake. What is wrong with me?
I lower myself down across from her on the long break-room couch. Have to make sure I spread out my body weight on it cause I know I can crush furniture if I’m not careful. Now with my breasts resting on my lap we can finally look at each other face to face. There’s that lip bite again. What is her game here? I think I’m imagining things but then she edges closer to me. She thanks me for being so generous and showing her around. I say it’s no problem but can’t think how to continue the conversation. Too nervous. Luckily she carries on talking anyway. Turns out she lives close by, just moved here from California; boyfriend works in tech. Shit. Boyfriend? Right. Of course. Not only not single, straight too. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why would I even think there could be something here. Stupid.
We keep talking though. Until… God, why is she making eyes at me like that? People don’t usually look at me for this long, let alone girls like her. Even those teenage boys who come in to sneak photos of photos of me for some perverted use are more subtle than this. For a brief moment I swear I caught her looking at my crotch. Even though it causes me pain, I instinctively cross my legs. Can’t bear the thought of her seeing it.
She’s talking about her apartment now. Complaining that it’s small and in some gross building near to work. Wait a second. I stump up the courage to ask her where she lives. Lo and behold, she lives in the same damn building as me. This is just my freaking luck.
9:15 am. Time’s flown by. Mr Tran bursts into the room and tells us to get our asses to work. I’m in the back today and she’s supposed to be learning to work the cash registers, so I wave goodbye. As I’m stooping under the doorframe on my way out, at the last moment Christina shouts over to me, offering me a lift back. Like a fool I reply “Yes that would be lovely, thanks for offering”, and spend the rest of the day dreading it.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32