The Big Night

By Hi-Standard

I first met Rachel after I had landed my first contract as a network engineer.

I'd finished seven years with Computer Joe's Networking in my home town of Terra

Haute and was ready to hit the big time—or, at least land a position with a

major company that needed a fully certified NT Engineer. The Webb Organization

in Chicago was happy to have me—they had just leased office space in a building

near Oak Park that needed networking. I fitted the bill—I had experience in

everything from laying Grade 5 STP to debugging SQL 6.5. I stuffed my gear into

a rented U-Haul and ricocheted up U.S. 57 in my Volkswagen to Chicago.

Chicago was everything I expected—big, noisy, new. I flung myself into the job

immediately. My VW was kept busy as I drove from the small apartment I had

rented near Cicero to the Webb offices in Palatine. It was the beginnings of the

big time for me—I was a small fish in a big pond, and I was happy as hell. I

wanted to make a good first impression, and to that end I worked twelve-hour

days for the first seven days on the job. Webb's senior net engineer Sal, a

round, jovial guy with a goatee and a gold nose ring, watched me with

ill-concealed amusement for the first two days; then, apparently content that I

knew what I was doing, he left me to my own devices.

The invitation to the office break-in party was a bit of a surprise to me.

"A 'break-in party'?" I asked Sal. He grinned toothily at me.

"Yep," he replied. "It's a tradition with the old corporate heads. They throw a

party for the new office staff to help them get to know one another before

throwing them together at work."

Okay by me. I promptly arrived at the new building. It was perhaps a twenty-year

old structure, with a deli and restaurant on the ground floor, offices in the

middle floors, and a residence at the top. The party was held in the lobby area

off the elevator, where a new-looking kiosk that bore a placard with the Webb

company logo on it had been installed. I was surprised by the number of

partygoers. At least fifty people were there. After playing name tag for a half

hour I found myself in small talk with Phil, Webb's training director.

It was then I saw her. Rachel was standing by herself near the buffet table, her

attitude and expression pensive and perhaps a little bored. At first glance she

was plain looking—hornrimmed eyeglasses, an unrevealing blue-print frock, pale

panty hose and color-coordinated sensible shoes. As I looked more closely at her

I thought she could be much more attractive—her nut-colored shoulder-length hair

was lustrous in the office lighting, her unadorned face attractive. Her eyes

were a clear, deep, very attractive blue.

"Don't bother, Brian," Phil Said to me suddenly. I was startled by his

rejoinder.

"Why?" I asked. Phil put his finger alongside his nose in a knowing gesture. He

was the office know-it-all, that repository of useless trivia you find in

offices everywhere.

"For one, she's the building owner here—she lives in a residence above the

office levels—so her interest in lowly, working-class stiffs like you and me is

nil. Two, she can chill beer instantly by holding it in her hand. Trust me,

she's not worth the effort."

"How hard did you try?" I countered. Phil gave me a knowledgeable smirk.

"Hard enough."

After a few moments I managed to detach myself from Phil and wandered towards

the buffet table. Rachel was still standing there, exchanging small talk with a

group from Webb's real estate department. I pretended uncertainty over my choice

of hors d'oeuvres so I could look at her better. My favorable impression of her

grew. She was average in height and apparently quite well built—the frock she

wore was largely responsible for her apparent shapelessness. Her voice was

pleasant and she smiled frequently. I was quite taken with her, and I decided to

introduce myself.

As I offered my hand I saw her smile diminish a little. Her handshake was

perfunctory, her attitude professional. I was a little put off by her reaction

to me. While I will never find myself voted into the Paul Newman Come-Hither

Society, I did not think myself unattractive—my worst features were my pale

indoor complexion and the twenty extra pounds that tenaciously clung to my

six-one frame even in the face of vigorous daily walks. Our conversation ran

along professional topics. Such subjects generally run shallow rather quickly,

and I wanted to keep talking to her—her eyes were even more beautiful up close

than at a distance. I cocked my ear at the muzak burbling through the speakers

overhead and grinned.

"Too bad the people who make elevator music aren't jazz fans," I remarked. "I

would enjoy that stuff more."

Rachel's smile broadened a little and she chuckled.

"You're a jazz fan? What kind?" she asked.

"I like Dixieland style," I replied. "I've always had a passion for groups like

Sweet Emma or the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. I think the more traditional

bands have it all over modern ones like Brubeck's."

Her eyes widened.

"Sweet Emma? Which albums do you have?"

"All of them, I hope," I replied. Rachel's eyes got even bigger and her smile

became dazzling.

"I love Dixieland jazz!" she exclaimed. "However did you find any albums by

Sweet Emma? I've tried—they never seem to be anywhere."

Our conversation turned to jazz, and blues, and Big Band music—Rachel had at

least as great a passion for the music of the thirties and forties as I. I soon

learned she was twenty seven, unmarried and lived alone. Her mom was a former

anthropology professor and the current multi-millionaire owner of a

dietary-supplement company. She had twelve siblings, all sisters, all younger

than her. I whistled appreciatively and told her about myself—only child, twenty

eight, computer geek, Mom and Pop living in Terra Haute, single. With hors

d'oeuvres in hand we occupied the couch in the lobby area, talking until I

noticed that the party was largely broken up and gone. Phil was still there, his

expression unreadable. I decided to ignore him.

"I had a very nice time tonight, Rachel," I said, rising to me feet. She stood

up with me, nodding, her formally neutral expression happy. I reached out and

took up her hand. To my surprise she pulled it out of my grasp immediately and

her neutral expression returned. She smiled formally in apparent apology to me,

said good-night, and left. I was a bit stunned by her reaction. We have been

conversing so pleasantly that I couldn't imagine how touching her hand could

have offended her. Phil joined me as I left the building, rubbing his finger on

his nose again.

"See what I mean, Brian?" he said. "I think she's a dyke, myself."

I didn't, but I didn't know what went wrong, either.

I went to work the next day with Rachel on my mind. I kept thinking about how

attractive she was—and her reaction to my touching her hand. I worked hard that

week and surprised Sal with an installation plan three days ahead of schedule.

The Webb board went over my numbers with a fine-toothed comb, approved the plan,

and sent me back to the Oak Park office to begin a detailed site inspection.

I was glad to go. I wanted to see Rachel again. Fortunately I had a good reason

to see her more than once: as the building's owner all the wiring I planned

needed her approval. The telephone was the first medium of our re-acquaintance.

Her voice was wonderful—sultry, even throaty at times. We had a lot of technical

stuff to talk about, as the Webb Organization had leased space on three

different floors—it was going to be a long-term job getting the place wired,

configured and ready for the users. Then, while asking for her approval on a

change in the wiring scheme Rachel asked me for help with her own PC. I almost

said "hell, yes!" on the phone.

"Okay, then," she replied. "I'll let you up."

As I stepped out of the elevator I was more surprised. Her apartment was huge,

spanning the building. The individual rooms were as big as my entire apartment

and the ceilings were at least twenty feet high, and in her living and

recreation areas, almost thirty—her apartment took up nearly three floors' worth

of building. Rachel was dressed much the same as before—eyeglasses, sweats,

sneakers, no makeup. The sweats did a better job of reminding me of how

attractive she was. As she led me through her living room towards her desk and

her PC it occurred to me how sparse her furnishings were. Everything looked

simple, if tasteful—couch, chairs, a low coffee table, entertainment center

built into the wall, a broad formal dining table in the dining area,

carpeting—but there wasn't a lot of it. For someone with money Rachel's lack of

ostentatious objects d'art or extra furnishings were surprising. The biggest

thing there was a skylight—thirty feet across at least and, to judge from the

tracks on either side, retractable. I found myself liking this woman more and

more. Rachel pointed me to her PC.

"My modem somehow got lost," she said by way of explanation. I nodded. The PC

was on, so I had most of the info I needed already—Windows 95, Pentium

processor, the usual peripherals. I first looked around the PC's case. My

immediate smile puzzled her.

"Did you move your desk last night?" I asked. Now it was my turn to be

puzzled—Rachel started visibly at my question and her eyes widened. She nodded.

"How did you know?" she asked. I pointed to the outlet her PC was plugged into.

None of the plugs were pushed fully into the wall.

"I think I can fix this quick," I said. I shut down her PC, did my

sleight-of-hand routine with my screwdriver, and quickly opened its case. Sure

enough, the modem card had partially slipped from its slot. She must have tried

moving her desk without checking the length of the telephone line leading to it.

I seated it again, tugged experimentally at the telephone jack inserted into it,

then reassembled the case. With the PC on I instructed her to try a dial-up

connection. The characteristic squeal from the PC case told me the repair was a

success. Rachel sighed in relief and gave me an honest smile that made me melt.

Then her face clouded over again. I couldn't keep the disappointment from my own

expression, and she saw it. I excused myself and went back to work.

I soon had my own office at Oak Park. I talked to Rachel almost every day, often

on pretenses I made up. As time went by she became more friendly and less

reserved towards me. The day she accepted my invitation to a bagel and coffee in

the deli downstairs. It was the high point of my day. We began to meet each

morning, spending breakfast talking about the peculiarities of our families and

friends. She surprised me one day by touching my hand as we sat at our

accustomed booth one morning—her touch sent a spark up my arm to my spine. The

only problem was that she was treating me like an older brother, while my

thoughts about her definitely went another way.

Then came the Big Night.

By dint of a liberal amount of cash I had managed to get two tickets to a local

dinner theater which was hosting the Paragon Jazz Quartet for a one-night-only

show that sold out almost six months previously. With the precious tickets in my

hand I called Rachel and asked if she would like to go to the theater with me.

Her reaction was dead silence for almost a minute. I groaned inwardly. Rachel

only liked me on the telephone, I thought. I was like a big brother to her, I

thought. The world was really starting to suck. I fumbled for the tickets and

was about to tear them apart in frustration when Rachel spoke.

"Brian, that's wonderful," she said. "I'd like very much to see them with you."

Yes! The day of the concert came. I floated around the office on a cloud. Each

time I saw my watch or clock on the wall I would stop and will time to go

faster. After what seemed an infinity the day came to a close. I waited beside

the elevator expectantly. Right on time Rachel arrived downstairs from her

apartment. If she surprised me before, she shocked me now. Gone were the sweats

and frocks. She was wearing a white button-front sleeveless top and dark slacks

that hugged her hips. Every suspicion I'd had about her physical appearance was

confirmed, and then some—she was actually quite stacked. Her hair was neatly

coiffed, and her eyeglasses were gone. I had to restrain myself from grabbing at

her hand right away—I could still see a sense of reserve in her eyes. I

complimented her on her appearance and we went out into the warm summer night.

The show was perfect. Dinner was adequate, the Paragon Quartet brilliant. I

couldn't help but feel Rachel's warmth as I sat with my arm next to hers. Rachel

had looked at the drink menu and ordered a frozen drink called a Bahama Mama. As

the son of a bartender I'd seen just about any combination of liquors mixed with

pineapple or banana called by that name, and Rachel obligingly offered me a

taste of hers. The bartender must've been trained on Mars—not only was there rum

in the drink but I thought I caught the taste of Southern Comfort in it as well.

I desperately didn't want to spoil the night so I said nothing, even after

Rachel had ordered and consumed two more drinks. We sat and talked or listened

as the Quartet played, occasionally swaying or tapping our fingers to the sweet

music. My only disappointment was that the concert and the evening ended too

soon.

As I escorted Rachel home I knew she was feeling her liquor. I'd drunk a fair

bit too—I figured I was probably half in the bag myself—but she actually swayed

a couple of times as we walked back into her building. I was a little concerned,

and I offered to see her to her door. Rachel smiled and nodded in happy

acceptance.

I stepped out of the elevator into her apartment. I offered my hand to Rachel.

She took it up and smiled again.

"Brian, this was the best night I've had in a long, long time," she said. I

thought I could hear her slur her words slightly, but by that time I wasn't

sure—that damned bartender must've put Southern Comfort in every damned drink he

made that night. I smiled back to her.

"I'm very glad you liked it, Rachel," I replied. I hesitated for a moment.

"You're a very nice date. Thank you for the wonderful time."

Rachel smiled even more. I felt my caution slip away and I stepped closer to

her. She looked up into my face. I bent down and kissed her gently on the lips.

For a moment Rachel stiffened and began to pull away from me. Then, I felt

Rachel relax just as quickly as she had stiffened. Warmth rushed through me. I

slipped my hands around her waist. Her lips were everything I imagined them to

be and more—soft, moist, delicious. A little voice in the back of my skull was

warning me that it was probably the first and last time I would be able to kiss

Rachel, and that I'd better nerve myself to apologize when it was over.

Then it happened.

Rachel began to murmur. Her lips moving against mine sent a surge of excitement

through me. It almost sounded like she was purring as I kissed her. I felt her

arms slip across my shoulders. The feeling of her warm, soft hands around my

neck was entrancing. Rachel began to kiss my cheek, my chin, along the line of

my jaw. I heard her breathing become faster and my own breathing increased in

sympathy. I tried to kiss every part of her face, her nose, her ears. I drank in

the smell of her skin, her hair, her enticing perfume. Her hands began to rub my

neck. She almost mewed as I kissed her on the lips again.

I couldn't believe it. It was like a dream come true. It was if all Rachel's

reserve and indifference had been made to vanish by the snap of the fingers.

Rachel was nibbling at my lips, purring in pleasure at each kiss. I closed my

eyes and savored the moment. I drew her in to me.

"Mmmm, yes," she breathed as her breasts pressed against me. My excitement rose

as I felt her plush softness against my chest. I slipped my hands up her back

and squeezed her tightly against me. God, she was so soft, yet firm. I squeezed

her tighter yet, until I felt her flesh touch my arms.

"Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes," Rachel said. With every word her lips moved

against mine. I felt my manhood surge in my pants in reaction. Her hands gripped

around my neck more tightly, keeping her bosom crushed against my chest. I moved

my hands back down her slim, tight waist to her hips. As my hands contacted the

swell of her hips I could not resist. I let my hands continue to travel down,

across her firm, pliant butt. Rachel's loud, throaty reaction made me even more

excited. She began to grind her hips against mine, rubbing her front against my

erection—

I suddenly felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over me. She was

grinding her hips against mine. Our hips were at the same height? I opened my

eyes. Rachel, her eyes half closed, her mouth open, was licking my face, her

throaty voice seductive. Our eyes were level. As I tilted my head I could see

her sleeveless top was pressing into her skin, outlining her bra. Gaps were

visible around the buttons running down her front. I could see her flesh bulging

around her bra cups, making bumps against the cotton cloth. Her pants too were

like a second skin, telegraphing every flex of her hips and butt. Rachel kept

caressing my face and neck, her lips nuzzling mine. Her eyes her half-closed and

glazed, her expression sultry and euphoric. Her throaty moans were becoming

steadily louder and louder. She pressed our lips together with a strength I

would never have given her credit for.

"No, don't stop, Brian," she breathed. "Please make love to me. Please. Please

don't stop."

Rachel put me in a lip-lock like I'd never experienced. I put my hands on her

hips to steady myself. Her hips were now above mine. Under the grasp of her

hands I found my head steadily tilting higher until I was craning my neck. Her

breasts were pushing against me more and more, spreading across my front.

Rachel was growing, bigger and bigger, right in front of me! I felt something

give under my hands. There was a loud, staccato sound as her slacks shredded

around her hips. Another noise heralded the sound of her bra coming undone.

Rachel gave off a sensual bark as each piece of her clothing became disarranged.

Her top began to separate at the shoulders. There was a chain of noise. I felt

several stings on my skin and something hit me in the eye. It was the buttons of

her top, surrendering to her growth, shooting away from her like bullets. Rachel

wrapped her arms around me, pressing me closely into her flesh. I felt her hips

swelling, widening, rising under my hands. More tearing, rending noises followed

as her panties and pantlegs gave up the fight to clothe her. Her butt blossomed

outward. In a few seconds I couldn't get my hands to meet around her buttocks.

Her hips pressed my forearms apart.

As Rachel got bigger I felt myself slipping down her front. Her lips rose

steadily from my mouth to my nose, then my forehead, and finally the top of my

head. I could feel her hands sliding across my back as her arms lengthened. I

looked up at her face. It was Rachel's—her lustrous brown hair wrapped around

her chin, her clear blue eyes looking down at me, her expression desirous. And

it was rising steadily higher and higher above me.

"Make love to me, Brian," she cooed. Her voice was throaty and penetrating.

"Make love to me."

A gamut of emotions robbed me of speech and thought. Rachel had to be seven feet

tall and was still getting bigger. I watched her shoulders broadening, her neck

lengthening. Her eyes, those beautiful hypnotic eyes, kept getting larger and

larger. I think I went through every possible emotion I'd ever experienced, plus

a few added in for good measure—fear, longing, desire, surprise, and sheer

terror—simultaneously. Rachel bent herself almost double and planted her lips

against mine again. She kissed me so hard I thought my front teeth would bend.

Then her hands loosed their hold against my back just long enough to grasp the

shoulders of my jacket. She yanked, and it tore apart in her hands. She ripped

it from my arms and back. My shirt quickly followed. With my chest bare Rachel

again pressed me against her. Now her breasts were at my head level and I found

myself lost in their softness. I could feel them growing around my head,

spilling down onto my shoulders. All I could see was her round, plush flesh. It

was almost smothering—yet, incredibly, incredibly erotic. The taste and smell of

her skin. The salty sweetness of the perspiration. It was like an aphrodisiac,

and to my utter amazement my erection surged. But I had to breathe. I reached up

with my hands to try to grip her arms. I felt my hands brush a nubbin of skin on

either side of my shoulders. Rachel suddenly gasped and squeezed me all the

harder, pressing my head deeper into her engorging cleavage. I started waving my

hands more quickly, brushing against her. I heard her gasp and moan with each

touch, louder and louder. It abruptly occurred to me that I must be touching her

nipples. I waved my hands until I felt those nubbins of flesh again. Rachel gave

off the most sexual moan I'd ever imagined as I rubbed my palm across the rough

texture of the plum-sized object. To confirm my suspicion I felt her nipple grow

warm and it expanded inside my hand until it felt like it was the size of a

baseball.

Suddenly my feet left the floor. Rachel was still growing. I could feel her

hands steadily expanding across my back as she pressed me against her. Her

breasts were two immense pillows completely surrounding my head. I could hear

her heart pulsing loudly in her breast-flesh. She was moaning and purring like

she was in the throes of ecstasy. Then, she giggled. The pressure of her hands

against my back lessened, and I slipped down her front to the floor. With my

head free I was able to blink and clear my eyes. Then I looked up.

I was overwhelmed by a sense of awe. Rachel towered high over me. She bent at

the middle so she could see me over her massive breasts.

"I love you, Brian," she whispered. "I want you to make love to me. I want you

inside me."

Sheer terror won the emotion steeplechase. I began to writhe in her hands.

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" I cried. Rachel only smiled—and grew some more.

Now she was easily twelve feet tall. She took my head in her huge hands and

turned me to face her front. Her womanhood was right at my head level. Rachel

giggled again. She pressed me into her vulva. I knew I had to do something, but

rational thought had taken a sudden leave of absence and left no notice of

return. She pressed me harder into her hips. My nose slipped inside her. I tried

to jerk away. In doing so I stroked her in the just the right place instead.

Rachel screamed in sheer carnal joy. All I could smell was her womanhood, her

readiness. Despite the utter panic that was making me struggle to get free I

could feel my erection return. Rachel was almost howling with delight as my

contortions continued to stimulate her. Suddenly I was below her vulva, my

flaccid arms being pushed apart by her expanding, lengthening legs.

"OH, THAT'S GOOD," Rachel cried. "OH, THAT FELT SO GOOD. MORE, PLEASE, BRIAN.

MORE, MORE, MORE! I WANT YOU INSIDE ME ALL THE WAY!"

Rachel began to slip her great, strong, warm hands down my back. I knew she was

heading for my pants. Instinct yelled out some real short instructions inside my

head. I ducked under her legs. I was half-naked. Rachel's juices had dribbled

down my chest and belly. But I was free.

"PLEASE NO, BRIAN," she thundered. I spared one look over my shoulder. Rachel's

head was now pressing against the ceiling. She stooped and turned on her heel—I

was amused later that my engineer's mind took notice at that moment of the

shredded condition of her shoes—and reached out for me. My twenty extra pounds

were forgotten as I dropped to my hands and knees to dodge her outstretched

hands. I ran like the wind, not knowing where I was going. Everything went by in

a blur as I felt the solid jarring that could only have been the floor's protest

to Rachel's pursuing me. Instinct took over again and I flung myself headfirst

under what I later discovered was her dining table. My contact with the floor

stunned me and made my chest smart like hell. Adding insult to injury,

adrenaline made me jump up too fast. I discovered just how solid the table was

by cracking my head against it. I heard myself yelp in pain. Stars danced in

front of my eyes. Instinct was yelling instructions again and I started to

gather myself back together when an almighty thump shook me off my forearms and

two huge hands grabbed my legs.

I seized the legs of the table and used all the strength I had to try to pull my

limbs out of Rachel's grasp. What I lost instead was my pants. My boxers only

surrendered halfway, adding to my problem. As I tried to pony-walk from under

the table Rachel seized me fully and drew me up into the air.

And up, and up. My God, she had to be fifty feet tall or more! Rachel was far

too big to stand. She slipped onto her buttocks as she drew me closer to her.

Her smile was purely carnal and she gave off an exclamation of satisfaction as

she cradled me in her huge, huge hands. She slipped one finger down my chest and

belly, pausing to caress my erection. Her touch sent a shockwave racing from my

shaft through my spine, making me shiver. Her finger slipped down further. Her

fingernail hooked my boxers and she flicked them away.

"GIVE ME WHAT I NEED, BRIAN," she said. 'MAKE LOVE TO ME. GIVE ME WHAT I NEED. I

WANT YOU INSIDE ME, BRIAN. I WANT YOU TO MAKE LOVE TO ME."

With that she braced herself up against the nearest wall and spread her legs.

She straightened me in her hands. I was being aimed like an arrow into the slot

of her womanhood. I tried to wriggle out of her grasp but it was no use. Feet

first, she began to slip me inside her.

"OMIGOD, I'M GOING IN!" I cried. Her womanhood was incredibly hot and strong.

Rachel uttered a moan of pure satisfaction. The smell of her readiness was heady

and overpowering. She pressed me in, deeper and deeper. In a few seconds I was

buried up to my shoulders inside her. I could feel her muscles throbbing and

pressing against me. I tried to press back against the contractions that were

squeezing my chest, my belly, my legs. Every motion I made provoked another

reaction. Her flesh began to swell around my shoulders, squashing against my

neck until it reached my chin. The heat inside her was tremendous, the pounding

of her pulse staggering. Looking up, I saw her tremendous hand was just above

me. I reached up and grabbed one of her fingers, then tried to pull myself up

and out of her. Rachel almost screamed in delight and I was suddenly awash in

her juices. She pressed me back down inside her. Again and again I tried to get

out. Again and again Rachel would cry out in lustful joy and press me back in.

Soon I was half-drowned from her juices and too tired and sore to move. I was

slipping towards the precipice of complete lunacy when I passed out.

I woke up stretched out on a warm, rumpled mattress that smelled very familiar.

I tried to move. It was a bad idea. Every part of me ached. I wondered briefly

if any aspirin was available and whether I should go and get some. I groaned at

the idea and decided the soft-if-lumpy surface I was resting on would do just

fine until I figured exactly what had just happened to me.

"I'm sorry, Brian," Rachel said. Her voice was sad and fearful—and it sounded

like it was high over my head. "I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

My eyes snapped open. I was lying on the open palm of an impossibly gigantic

hand. Instinct yelled, screw the aches and pains. I did my best imitation of

Superman's up, up and away. The floor was five feet down and I made it in one

leap and continued to frog-jump. A wall got in my way but I couldn't stop. I

turned just in time to let my shoulder take the impact. The wall helped me turn

the rest of the way to face into the living area of Rachel's apartment.

Rachel was crouching against the wall. All sixty feet or so of her. Her hand

still lay open beside her feet, which she had drawn together. Her hair was in

disarray, her eyes moist. She reached out to me in a gesture of concern after

I'd done my billy goat routine with a hand that was as big as I was tall. As it

came near me I heard somebody yammering incoherently. I realized it was myself.

At my hysterical reaction Rachel drew back. She pulled up her knees until they

pressed against her breasts and wrapped her arms around her legs. I managed to

quiet my heart sufficiently to ease the sensation of it trying to escape my

chest via my throat when Rachel put her head down on her knees and began to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Brian," she said quietly through her tears. "I'm so sorry. I

didn't mean to hurt you or frighten you."

"What-? How-? How could you-?" I babbled. Rachel raised her head. Tears were

streaming down her eyes. She offered me a sad smile.

"It's not a long story, but a pretty strange one," she replied. "I'm living

under a curse."

"A curse?" I was dumfounded. She nodded.

"It began when Mother was a graduate student, back in 1968," she began. "She was

a confirmed bachelorette. Being a feminist she detested the idea of marrying a

man and being chained to a family, so she kept working on her

specialty—primitive peoples in the Pacific rim. During the course of her studies

she heard about a previously unknown tribe in Indonesia which was ruled by

females—something almost unheard of in Asian and pan-Asian cultures. The idea

fascinated her, and she decided to do a study on them. She got a grant and went

looking for them. She spent almost a year looking and had almost lost hope when

she found them. Or, rather, they found her."

"Mom was in the mountains in northern Malaysia, driving up a mountain road,

heading back to her camp with supplies. It was getting dark and she started

driving faster. Suddenly a girl appeared in front of her. She tried to stop but

the jeep went out of control. Mom got thrown out of the jeep, breaking her leg.

She was just beginning to realize how badly she was hurt when she surrounded by

a group of tribeswomen."

Rachel looked away from me, out towards the dark windows. God, she was so big.

Her legs looked like they went on forever. Even in a crouch her hair brushed the

ceiling. Her expression was profoundly sad, so sad I felt like comforting her.

"The tribeswomen grabbed her. She passed out from the pain. She later woke up

when someone splashed water in her face. It was hard for her to see them in the

light of their torches but as she looked around she realized she'd found the

tribe she was looking for. All of the people around her were females. There were

some males, but they stayed away. The females were clearly in charge."

"The Queen of the tribe came and spoke to her. Mom couldn't understand the

words, but when the Queen suddenly pointed to a body lying next to her she

realized the girl she'd hit was one of the tribe. It was a young girl, twelve

years old. The Queen shouted at Mom, then stopped, as if expecting a reply. Mom

knew Tagalog and some pidgin but their language was neither. Mom tried using

Gari, a local dialect. She tried to say she was sorry, but it came out

wrong—instead she insulted both the Queen and the dead girl. The Queen summoned

a witch, who began to chant and gesture at Mom. A small pot of water was put on

the fire, and the old woman dropped leaves and roots into it. After while the

Queen stopped the witch and spoke to Mom. Mom remembers every word the old Queen

said to this day—she was even able to get it translated properly later. The

witch made one last gesture, then poured the contents of the pot into a hollowed

gourd. Other women grabbed Mom. The witch pulled open her mouth, stuck the open

neck of the gourd between her lips, then forced her to drink the potion she'd

made. It was hot and it made her ill, but they wouldn't let her vomit.

Eventually she passed out."

"She woke the next day. She was in the same spot as the previous night, but the

tribe had just disappeared. Her leg had somehow mended overnight and she could

walk. Mom had no idea what they forced her to drink, but she thought at first it

was some kind of poison. She remembered what some of the things the witch used

looked like. She spent the next few days gathering anything that looked like the

stuff that made up the potion, then returned to civilization to get the stuff

tested."

"Right after Mom got back she found her whole attitude changed. Suddenly she

couldn't wait to get married and have kids. She met Dad and got pregnant almost

immediately. It was part of the curse—Mom was incredibly fertile. D'you know

there's only a ten-year difference between my age and my youngest sister's?

Every ten months Mom had another baby, and couldn't wait to have more, until all

twelve of my sisters and I were born. When my youngest sister Cindy was born,

Mom suddenly went into menopause—she went from very fertile to infertile

overnight. That was the first part. Then, when I was fourteen, I discovered the

second part. I was really attracted to this boy. One night he touched me. It

felt so good I encouraged him to do more. Suddenly my clothes didn't fit me

anymore, but I didn't care. I just wanted him to make me feel good. I grew that

night like I grew with you, though not so much—the boy managed to get away from

me and ran screaming out of the house."

"That was when Mom told us about the curse the old Queen had put on her. The

twelve-year old girl was the Queen's daughter and the only surviving member of

her family. There were no other royal members in the tribe. The Queen couldn't

remarry—and Mom had just killed her only child, the only way her royal line

could have continued. To make it worse, Mom's attempts to communicate with her

ended up insulting her daughter, calling her 'scrawny' and suggesting she would

never have children. The Queen's daughter only lived twelve years, so the Queen

cursed Mom to have twelve daughters and no other children. Without her daughter

to continue their royal line the Queen was the last of her kind, so she cursed

my sisters and I to love and want men, but never to be able to have one—that

way, our family line would not continue. Since Mom said her daughter was small,

we would become the opposite—but only when we want sex. So each time any of my

sisters or I become aroused, we suddenly grow bigger. The more we're aroused,

the bigger we grow. The bigger we grow, the more aroused we become. No normal

man will ever be able to fertilize any of us so none of us will ever have

children. To top it all off, since her daughter died in her arms the Queen

cursed Mom to live until she saw all of us die. That's the curse."

"Mom had given up being an anthropologist right after returning from Indonesia.

She had every sample of leaves and roots and insects that she had gathered

around the site where the witch had drawn her ingredients for the potion. The

labs made some pretty amazing discoveries—natural serums that could help build

muscles, a very powerful substitute for human growth hormone, some other

things—but nothing that was found to cause our gigantism. Mom found great

success in marketing the things she discovered, though not here—the FDA said

everything she suggested was a drug and had to be regulated. Mom made a lot of

money overseas and in Europe. She invested for each of her daughters, which is

how I got this building here."

Rachel choked. "That's why I act and dress like I do—to keep men away. If I'm

attracted to a man at all, I start busting out of my clothes. But you're a

really nice and handsome, and you were so kind and nice to me, and we had so

much in common that—that I fell in love with you. That's why I accepted your

invitation tonight. I just wanted to feel good around a man. I'm afraid those

drinks I had—"

"Yeah," I breathed, nodding. "The guy fixing the drinks at the theater was

adding Southern Comfort to that frozen drink. I thought I tasted it in yours

when you let me take a sip, but I wasn't sure."

Rachel nodded. "Those drinks loosened me up too much. When you kissed me, I lost

control. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I honestly had no idea what to say. Rachel held her hand out to me in a gesture

of apology, as the tears streamed down her face. I stood up and nerved myself to

walk slowly towards her. She was still so big.

"Rachel," I asked, "how can you live like-like that?"

She smiled in self-derision. "That's another facet of the curse. After we have

sex we begin to shrink back to normal. I'm starting to shrink right now, but it

goes much more slowly. I've never grown so big before. It may take a couple of

days for me to return to normal size. I'm only a giant when I'm aroused,

remember?"

"Do I ever," I replied. I couldn't help the grin that crossed my face. Rachel

gave me a shy smile in return. I was being pulled by several emotions. She was

gigantic. Her hands looked big and strong enough to crush me. Her breasts,

squeezed against her thighs, were immense pillows of smothering flesh. Her face

was fetching, surrounded by a halo of thick, gleaming hair. Her eyes were sill

the same, but shiny with her tears. It had to be the most inappropriate thought

I could ever have had at that moment, but I couldn't believe how pretty she was.

I found myself rubbing my head in indecision and confusion when my eye fell on

her PC desk. A completely irrelevant, distracting thought connected inside my

head.

"Were you-you-when you moved your desk there a few days ago?" I asked. I

couldn't help the blush that reddened me. Rachel blushed deeply, too—it was

amazing, seeing that much skin turn pink—and nodded.

"I was thinking of you at the time. I was twenty feet tall when I finished. I

had pushed my desk with my foot. It's the only way my sisters and I can—can

satisfy ourselves without possibly hurting someone. We can't possibly tell

people about the curse we're under—we'd all end up in some laboratory someplace.

So, we live by ourselves and keep to ourselves." Rachel paused for a moment. "If

it helps, you were amazing, Brian. I've never felt so good and satisfied before.

Thank you."

"I-ah-I-you're welcome," I replied. I didn't really. Rachel growing into a

giant, some sort of curse, our incredible lovemaking—it was all too much. That's

why there was so little furniture in her apartment-if she were suddenly to grow

it would be tumbled around like dollhouse fixtures. Things made sense, in a way.

In another way, they made no sense at all, especially what I was feeling towards

the amazing, gargantuan woman sitting against the wall opposite me.

"Brian?" she asked. I looked up at her. To my surprise she did look the

slightest bit less tall—I thought she could move her head without her hair

rubbing the ceiling. I nodded.

"Can I just—can I just hold you before you go? I promise I won't hurt you. I

just want-want to hold you in my hands again. I love you, Brian. I know you

can't love me, not now. But I'd like to just hold you one more time."

I have no idea how long the two of us looked at one another. I, standing, Rachel

sitting against a wall, both of us naked. I rubbed the back of my head again. My

skin felt sticky everywhere. I was still sore as hell. My brain was burning

itself out on gigantic sex and evil curses. But I found my eyes looking up into

Rachel's over and over. She was beautiful, and big—real big. She was also

pleasant, kind and had just declared her love for me. As I looked at the

expression of gentle entreaty that decorated her features an even more

surprising and revolutionary thought occurred to me. I remembered hearing a

saying that if one falls off a cliff one might as well try to fly—you've nothing

to lose. I lowered my arms and forced my feet to move, one at a time, taking me

into her grasp. Her eyes widened as she saw me walking towards her. I reached

out towards her with one hand and she cautiously extended both of her own around

me.

Rachel slipped her hands around me. I felt giddy as she lifted me into the air.

I found myself just under her chin. Rachel was smiling and crying at the same

time.

"Rachel," I said slowly, "I-I love you, too. I haven't the faintest idea how

we're going to do this, but I'd still like to try. You are a very nice person,

and a pretty, pretty woman. I-I don't know what the hell to say, dammit."

Rachel choked and giggled at the same time. I reached out and touched her chin.

Her skin was wet from her tears. I managed to balance myself on her hands. I

looked into her huge, blue eyes. Reaching out my hands I touched her chin. I

suddenly felt her fingers rub my body. It scared the hell out of me, but only

for a moment—she was stroking and caressing me, gently and cautiously. I was

enthralled by the sheer sensuality of each touch she applied to my body. I

kissed her chin. Rachel felt what I did and lifted her hands a little higher. I

looked at her lips. They were each as thick as my hands were long. I leaned

forward and kissed each one. They were just like I remembered them—soft, moist,

delicious.

"Rachel?" I asked. Rachel moved her hands away from her face so she could see me

fully.

"Yes, Brian?"

"After we're married, what do you say we try this again? I promise I'll do my

best for you. Maybe I'll have super motility, or something—"

I had to stop. What I just said sounded so ridiculous. But then Rachel began to

smile. A huge, stunning smile. I found myself lost in it, and in her eyes. She

began to lift me up to her lips again, puckering up to kiss me.

"What the hell am I getting myself into," I muttered. Rachel began to laugh,

softly.

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