BBW Clubs, SSBBW and BBW forum

When I began this story I was trying to explain how a small man like myself could be considered lucky. For those who believe a man should outweigh his wife, and that thin women are the most attractive, such a message will be impossible to comprehend: they would believe that being a circus midget is a kind of horrific curse. But an audience that believes that big is beautiful, however, would uderstand why my life is fortunate, and one to envy. No one else understands. In the last episode I described my first love affair, beginning when a woman five times my weight took a shine to me. We enjoyed three ecstatic months while she grew larger, savoring the heady sensations of being a giantess: it was a fantasy fulfilled for her to be able to dwarf, overpower and overwhelm me. While she never exceeded 300 pounds, her power came from the difference in our sizes, because I was only about 40 pounds when we broke up. She had decided that she wanted to be smaller again, while I began to dream of finding a larger woman, so we parted, as friends. And I was in a kind of paradise for any man dreaming of finding a huge mate: the circus. While Barbara had grown somewhat during our affair, she was essentially an amateur, who had taught me to want a professional: a circus fat lady. Not only would such a woman be free of the pressure to slim down that so many women face, but she would be among accepting peers. We were a world of our own, that could only turn to each other for support, given that society saw us as "freaks". Late in the summer of my first year in the circus I met Amanda-Ann, the girl I would eventually marry. Mandy, as she was known, was a nice girl, but sweet as she was, I didn't know how to make the first move. I had been seeing Barbara, but she was not "one of us". I knew in my heart of hearts that I needed to find a partner for life from the circus world. Although Barbara and I parted, I could not figure out a way to get Mandy's atention. Mandy had been given the stagename "Fat Fannie"... which was not the only part of her that was fat. Mandy was billed as "A quarter ton of fun", and "The Mid-west's own Fat-girl". I had seen the signs, but could never seem to catch up to the fat-girl herself. Once my affair with Barbara was over, the idea took on an urgency that began to make me crazy with desire. I thought about her constantly, but I wondered if she would be interested in somebody as small as me. Finally, I went looking for her during one of my breaks, determined to find her once and for all. I went into her display area, only to hear loud laughter. She was alone with a pair of teenagers: a boy and girl wrapped around each other, while they alternated between laughing at her, and pawing each other. She was trying to ignore them, even though there was nothing else to distract her from their cruel attention, at least until I came in. I brazenly walked up beside them, and looked up at her, letting loose with the loudest wolf-whistle I could do. Neither of them had seen me come in, because I was so short, so you can imagine how my whistle made them jump out of their skins. Now that Mandy had something else to look at besides the teenagers they ceased to exist. She gave me a big smile, and hollered "well look at you!" I didn't miss a beat, but simply replied "I'd rather look at you, honey." Our eyes locked together. Maybe the idiots who had been razzing her left, maybe not. I could not believe what I was seeing: a huge young girl-child with a sweet disposition, sparkling eyes, who probably did not have a boyfriend. She seemed to be about my age or a bit older. Wow! I was in luck. But would I have any chance, given my size? After some more sizable sighs she asked "Where'd they find you?" to which I replied "your family sent for me because they knew you like big strong men. Did they do the right thing?" But apparently I'd said the wrong thing. She frowned at the suggestion, and jumped to her feet, startling me completely. How could so much girl move so fast? My Lord, but she wasn't just wide-- she was also extremely tall! Her passion scared me, and inflamed me at the same time. "They've never cared what I think. How do you think I came here?" "Me too" I said, wondering if that counted for anything. She suddenly realized that I was a colleague...perhaps it never dawned on her that I was smaller than most men, because she dwarfed ALL men. She shyly asked me where my display was. I pointed out my own display, now nervous as I had ever been in my life. "Please come and visit." Trembling, I blurted out the question that would make or break my entire life: "do you have a boyfriend?" Her eyes bulged at my query, but she retorted vehemently "Me? I scare them away." I somehow managed to reach one of her great hands, and grabbed it, marveling for that moment at its heat, moistness, and sheer size. I looked into her eyes, as she regarded me skeptically, as if I were some kind of snake-oil salesman. Or maybe it was simply that she had never imagined such a moment, and it was beyond her understanding. "Well the only thing that scares me about you is that I've just met you, and I'm pretty sure..." I took a breath, and then plunged on, following the wild impulse to its natural conclusion: "...I love you". I squeezed her hand harder, because I expected it to be snatched away any second. I wanted to remember the sensation all my life, in case it was never repeated. But as I continued to look into her beautiful eyes, I saw her begin to cry, just a little. She bent down towards me, and managed to kneel. The effort of shifting all of her weight was spellbinding. Bending further, she loomed closer: I didn't pull away, but remained snared in the firm grasp of those overflowing eyes. And...wow...she kissed me, dripping hot tears onto my cheek. I was confused. Her warm tears were as sensuous as any love juice I'd ever encountered in love-play. I wanted more. But I was moved by her obvious sorrow. Why was she so sad, I wondered? "Can I... can I ask-k-k you s-s-s-somthing-g?" She unveiled a huge stutter that I had never suspected. How strange to see this strong giantess stutter helplessly, fearfully... and where had these knots of tension come from? But I nodded encouragement to her question, at a loss for words in the presence of such emotion. "M-my m-mo-mother...." she stopped, as if the word itself upset her. I knew intuitively that her parting from her family had not been as carefree as my own. She composed herself, and began again. "You're kidding, right?" But I shook my head, and continued to smile at her, while holding on to her hand. And I think I may have shed a tear or twenty by now, which probably helped her to believe me. "My mother...t-t-t-old m-m-me... I'd NEVER....never have a b-boy-f-friend. Never, ever." She pulled her hand away, as if in pain, and turned from me, when I retorted "well what about me?" That stopped her from going, at least. She turned back, as if in slow motion. So much was riding on this, that I was mesmerized. Her warm, welcoming smile is like my orgasm: burning deep into me, seizing me and making me convulse in the knowledge that, yes, she might actually want to let me get close to her. All she says is "you're so nice to me" but I know what I need to know. I act on that knowledge immediately, stating emphatically "I have to be your boyfriend. Please: say yes!" It's a turning point in my life, but she nods, and says a quiet "of course." This simple pronouncement changed my life forever. I had fantasized about living with a giantess. It had initially been my former girlfriend's fantasy of power and control over a much smaller man, acted out on me, until I got hooked on the sensation of her big body pressing and pushing and surrounding me constantly. The only thing I can compare it to is swimming in big waves on a beach...heavy surf. The same way that you can feel the waves pounding on you hours later, I could feel her breasts, her hips, her stomach long after. Eventually I was addicted. My fantasy became a reality to explore every day: I eventually married a giantess. Mandy was not yet full-grown when I met her that summer, and not yet 500 pounds, even though the sign advertised her as "a quarter ton of fun". When she came to know my preferences she welcomed her growth as a blessing, enjoying my enjoyment of her size. That summer she had not finished her full growth spurt. I watched in astonishment as she continued to shoot up almost daily. When she was finished she was an astonishing 6-foot, nine-inch girl who had lost some of her weight. But nobody quibbled with her weight claim, because nobody had ever seen such a girl, and we had nothing to compare her to. The awkwardness of her sudden growth caused her sometimes to stumble, crashing into things while she got accustomed to her size. Her own inability to control her body, in its newly grown immensity made her a believable fatgirl. I watched her sometimes bump into people, while casually walking, and in the process send people staggering simply from the impact of her huge hips or her pendulous buttocks. And she wouldn't even know that someone had been knocked flying, at least until I started to tell her how much I enjoyed seeing her casual impact on people so much smaller than herself. The first time I saw her break a chair, and she apologized, I reassured her that watching the impact of her larger than life body was exciting for me, and probably a few other men as well. Now that I'm so much bigger I want to talk about the disadvantage of being a big man. The first time I saw Mandy I was about 37 inches tall. I grew to be almost 40 inches, and now weigh-in at a chubby 90 pounds. Mandy is six-foot nine, and demolishes the scale or anything else she sits or steps on. Last time we checked Mandy was approaching the magic number of 900 pounds: magic because I get dizzy thinking of a wife ten times my size. I wish I were smaller, and Mandy is starting to get turned on to this fantasy, imagining herself so much larger than me that I'm lost on her body like a mountain climber, perhaps fallen into a crevasse between her luscious folds of fat. And so, as Mandy has listened to me tell her my fantasies, Mandy has developed her own fantasy. She wants to create the most extreme contrast between us that she can imagine: she becomes the largest woman in history, while I become the smallest man. And why would I want to grow bigger when that growth makes my wife seem smaller? Mandy's fantasy now rules our lives. While she is not only willing, but obsessed with the idea of growth, every meal is a party, a celebration of her sensuality. The other side of the fantasy is me: I am to try to become smaller. Part of the meal-game is that I feed her until she is almost sated, and then when I try to eat have most or all of my meal stolen by a ravenous giantess. I used to think of Jack Sprat and his wife, who can "eat no lean", creating a different version of the nursery rhyme for us... Jack Sprat can have no fat His wife must not be lean So she eats everything in sight, Because she's so obscene. We're both turned on by how much she dwarfs me in every aspect of our lives. For example, picture the following scene in our living room, in our trailer. We have a couch that holds three average sized people... or Mandy and me. I sit as close to the arm as possible, for safety. When Mandy arrives the cushion I have been on gets contorted at a 45-degree angle by her vast wobbly thighs. I find myself on a slippery slope, falling down hill against her warmth. And does it matter what I was doing before? Perhaps I was reading, or listening to music. The moment of her arrival is as distracting as a twister ripping the roof off of your house, except that twisters don't say hello, or take requests. Twisters don't tickle your roof, asking what position it wants to be squashed in. Twisters don't bargain or make you beg. And when Mandy wants my attention there is nothing else I would rather be doing. We have some reachable objectives in sight. If I get down to 60 pounds, when she reaches 1200 pounds she will be an amazing 20 times my weight. For a 200 pound husband, that would translate into 4,000 jiggling pounds of female: two tons! Or, as that 200 pound man, picture the way you handle a 10-lb housecat... but don't sit on it. That's what I face at home. Every now and then she comes looking for me, and pretends not to see me. I'll notice the darkness, and wonder if she's playing or really unaware of my presence. That possibility always adds a life-and death element to the game. Somehow she always manages to sit beside me, or only put a little of her weight down... although I can't tell until it's too late whether she knows I'm there. I trust her to be careful, not only because this is her favorite game, but also because she'd have a hard time replacing me... but she feels there is more excitement in creating the illusion that she didn't see me before she sat down. While she's a pretty good actress, it's hard to make this believable considering that we play this game a few times every day... We've worked out a whole set of objectives for our joint diet, and even brought the circus management in with us. They stand to profit by our fantasy, as I become smaller, and especially as Mandy becomes a record-breaking fat lady. Not only are they footing the food bills for her heroic fattening efforts, but they even let us play our food game privately in our own trailer, by bringing the food there: because I've convinced them that Mandy would grow fastest if we play privately. We believe we'll reach that in less than six months, given Mandy's current progress: she probably passed 900 a while ago, and we're not sure when we'll weigh her again. Mandy suggested that purchasing a scale would be quite practical, because it would be very theatrical to have her step on the scale for the customers. So far the management are still thinking about her idea. Our next objective that I mentioned is the 20-time threshold, when I reach 60, and she reaches 1200. I have to go down to 50 pounds if she attains 1,500: 30 times my size. While her gains may become harder to achieve, I have to match her by becoming smaller. Our ultimate goal does not strain our imaginations, although the circus management doubts we can achieve it: for me to become her square root... 40 pounds times 40 = 1,600 pounds. But Mandy believes she will eat her way far beyond this amount. It's worth mentioning that getting Mandy to go from her current weight of 950 or so to 1600 lb is less than double her weight, yet by reducing my own weight, our size difference will go from 10 times to 40 times. Could you get your wife to become four times as heavy as she is now? This is the only way a diet makes sense: when the husband goes on it to make the wife seem even larger. Why would anyone want to be bigger than I am, once they've tasted the glory of a giantess? Each of her ARMS outweighs me substantially. We play a game called "Attack of the 50 ft woman", where Mandy goes on a rampage. Unlike the movie, this giantess eats everything in sight. To maximize the effect I lie on my back, while she jiggles heavily by me, as if unable to see someone as tiny as me. As in the movie, the giantess calls her husband's name, accusing him of cheating on her. When she finally finds me, she puts her enormous foot over my face, and says goodbye, leaning on me a little bit. But unlike the movie, there's a happy ending, when she realizes that I'm faithful. My favorite game from my youth is still seeing her destroy a chair. This is precious because it's too expensive to do often. She'll sometimes burst the arms off by wiggling until her torso is contained, temporarily. Or she puts a knee or foot through it like a bullfighter toying with it before administering a coup de grace. She plays with herself before the final crunching finale, climaxing noisily. But mostly, I administer to Mandy's needs. I love to kiss, cream and oil- massage her amazing feet, that take so much punishment. So many of our games involve face-to-foot contact that I've become obsessed with their health, their softness, & their comfort. I also make sure her toes are polished, and for that matter, her shoes, too. When cleaning her shoes, I will sometimes get lost in thought, particularly if there's an insect squished on the bottom of her sole. I think about the weight ratio if I were an ant, 1/4 inch tall, looking up at the equivalent of a 1,500 foot tall giantess unaware of the havoc she wreaks, weighing millions of pounds... Another sensual pleasure zone that continues to amaze us is Mandy's stomach. I spend more time there than anywhere else, including the obvious places to give a woman pleasure. Mandy loves hours of massaging and rubbing to every inch of her tummy, exhausting me by the sheer exertion of moving her flab around. When she gets hot, she'll get on all fours above me, and rub me sensuously with her stomach, sometimes knocking me off my feet, sometimes bashing me with her breasts, sometimes rolling atop me, making me completely invisible. She loves the sense that I am lost under all that perfumed whiteness, a lily-white mountain, rubbing me. She gets so excited that she becomes very aggressive, knowing how I am turned on. Her gut engulfs me so completely that when I lie on my back with arms outstretched I cannot find anything but hot churning stomach flesh in every direction! She is a velvet steam-roller paving me into the bed, and mashing me senseless. Most of her weight is on the bed, but at times I wonder if she wants to grind me flat, or absorb me into her growing body. My eyelids sometimes get yanked by her fleshy frenzy. I struggle to find breath, while I get completely lost in her, a pillow trying to smother me. She says she really loves trying to squish my little hard-on under her, and will say so while bucking on me. I hear her chanting voice coming through her body, repeating "I'm going to squish you, I'm going to squish you", while she bounces, and rolls and grinds on my whole body, takes me so deep into her softness that I spray madly with no resistance. I'm not sure if it's my terror of being crushed or my desire to be crushed that gets me off. And my excitement makes her wilder, pumping her pelvis in an apparent mad frenzy. She sometimes rolls onto her back because she is afraid of what she might do in her frenzy. Recently, she looked me in the eye, and said almost tearfully, that her fantasies were starting to scare her. She was beginning to fantasize about squashing me to death, and was afraid that at the crucial moment I would bring about the fatal conclusion by keeping silent when I was in danger. I laughed, because I thought she'd never hear me once her stomach avalanche had me engulfed: what difference would it make? This only scared her more, because even at night, lately, when she is half asleep and feeling horny, she has turned over onto me. She's right, because my own fantasies match hers: I dream of drowning in her vastness, of being pressed flat under her softness, of her thunderous