The Girl in the Museum

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Babes

You know, I’ve always thought it was strange how hard it’s been for me to find a girlfriend. I mean, we lesbians don’t have it easy, I get that. But seriously, I don’t know what more I could be doing. I’ve never found it a challenge to approach women. I love women. All women. I love talking to them, finding out about the diverse and fascinating lives they lead. I love the way they sound and their gorgeous little bright-eyed smiles whenever they talk about something they’re passionate about. I think we’re all simply amazing.

It’s fair to say that I’m probably one of the loudest and proudest gay girls around. But it’s been like 5 years since Jana, and since moving to this town, I’ve had fewer dates than I can count on my hands. Why can I not find someone I like? I’m getting a little desperate here if truth be told.

Now, I suppose I could predict what anyone might say right now. “Oh Erika, you’re just too picky!” And the truth is: I’m really not that picky. I mean, I have preferences, sure. And yes, I know those preferences are a bit on the stringent side of things. But that’s exactly why I don’t force women to meet them. If any woman were to try their luck with me, I am always game. Without question. People think that women must be falling over themselves to talk to me, but believe me when I tell you, it hardly ever happens. Maybe I intimidate them? Well, okay, I definitely intimidate them. But surely there must be some hot girls out there who are up for the challenge?

So my preferences? Well, I probably have far fewer preferences than you would think based on everything I just said. Weight, background, race, looks, personality, it’s all good. But there is this one thing though. I’ll tell you, but bear with me for a second: I’m not as insane as this will make me sound, okay? I want someone taller than me. Look, I get that a 6’6” Latina barbie doll-looking bitch saying she wants a girlfriend taller than her is idiotic. Don’t think I don’t see that myself, I am well aware. But I can’t help what I’m attracted to. I just want to feel small, is that so much of a crime? I don’t know why it is–I know I come across as some domineering boss queen, but I secretly just want to be that little submissive princess. I tried being the dominant one with girls in the past, that’s what women usually look for me to be, but it just never does it for me. I hate it, I just want some big burly girl to make me feel small. Jana was big, I mean she was a bull of a woman, but she just didn’t have the height, and that always bothered me. I dunno why I had to grow to this ridiculous height, while at the same time turning out to be a little sub in need of protection. Maybe those two things are related? Or it could just be that the Universe is cruel and hates me.

Okay, so let me tell you about my life, but you’ll have to prepare yourself to be bored stiff. I work in this institute. It’s kind of part library, part museum. It’s a huge building which stores tons of artefacts, books, and tomes, all ancient crap like that. To be honest, a lot of it is just worthless garbage donated by some dead old rich dudes. But we store it all in this huge climate-controlled storage room, and it’s all neat and orderly. I work in the part that is open to the public. I’m supposedly a curator, but really all I do is explain what the different pieces of trash are that we have on display. I did my degree in archaeology but didn’t really have a knack for fieldwork, so this is where I ended up. I’m pretty smart, and I know a lot, but honestly most of the time I’m just regurgitating information on the placards for people too lazy to read.

So I work 9–5 Mondays to Fridays. Sometimes I have to stay late to do inventory or take some of our exhibits back down to our basement storage area and pick up some new ones to display the next day. Then I just go home and hang out with my cat while drinking probably too much red wine. Back a few years ago, when I was a student, I used to go out to clubs and bars, get wasted and probably end up in some kind of stupid fight. But those days are behind me. I’m 30 now, and I like my nice stable life where nothing too exciting happens. And look, I have hobbies okay? I like hiking and climbing, and will never say no to an arthouse movie, but I just don’t feel like I’m looking for anything really new these days. The only thing I need is a nice wife and a house to live in, and then maybe some kids someday. Yes, I’m on the track to a dull adult existence, but honestly I couldn’t think of anything better.

Unfortunately, these grand aspirations of mine are not going well. It’s seriously unfair how badly the gay scene sucks in this town. These days I just cannot seem to find anyone even interested in me, let alone a woman who meets my dumb physical standards. When I was a student and living in the city, I used to just be able to walk into any bar and instantly the head of every woman and man would turn to look at me. At least then, there was always the kaçak iddaa chance I would run into some female basketball player. We could have some one night stand and get along well before she realised that I hate sports and we never see each other again. Those were the days. These days, on the rare occasions I walk into a bar, people just avoid me.

And look, at the risk of coming across as big-headed: I know I’m good-looking. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I think that makes me any better than people who aren’t as lucky in the looks department. If anything, it probably makes me a worse person because a lot of things have just come to me because of it. I literally just won a genetic lottery, that’s it. I can’t explain why my skin is so good or my face is so symmetrical, or why I never seem to put on weight in any places other than my boobs or my ass. I certainly can’t explain why I ended up being over 2 freaking metres tall, and nor can my parents. I guess that last one some people would say is a bit of a disadvantage, but it’s really worked out well for me, and people compliment me on my height almost every single day. I guess cause I’m pretty and have a narrow waist, wide hips, and big tits, people just look at me and think I’m a model (or maybe more likely a porn star), and my ridiculous height just adds to that. It’ll surprise you to know that I actually never wanted to do anything like that. I know you’ll just groan at this, but I kind of always just loved history books and museums too much, and that’s actually the truth!

***

Anyway, let me tell you about what’s been going on recently at work, cause it’s been turning my world upside down. So recently, the museum came into a massive endowment of old texts after some rich guy popped his clogs and his estate donated his entire library to us. So right now, we have a warehouse full of these gigantic crates of boring old (probably racist) texts. My boss, the owner of the museum, wanted this all sorted through so they could be properly added to our collection. But there was just way too much. So we started hiring a bunch of new people–temporary workers and interns, teenagers mostly–to move these boxes around and start sorting through them. They’ve been going through this for the last few weeks, including some of them working through the night, I guess because it’s their second job or some part-time thing.

I haven’t interacted with many of these people since I usually work upstairs in the museum, but I met a few, and they seem nice, albeit kind of weird. I guess that is to be expected given the sort of job this is, not exactly a lot of direct sunlight involved. Every few days, I’ll go down to get something, and I’ll bump into one of the sorters driving around in the little crane lift we have down there, loaded up a fresh set of organised texts ready for storage. I’ll say hi and maybe try and start up a chat, but usually I’ll only get a grunt in response. A couple of these young pimply guys will occasionally stop what they’re doing and try to talk to me with some forced conversation, though this usually seems to be just an opportunity to stare at my boobs.

Then the other night I had to work late. I was in charge of changing over a part of our exhibit and had to move a bunch of stuff between the basement and the museum. It took me way longer than it should have, and by midnight I still hadn’t finished. I was getting extremely bored of doing this, and to be honest I was just exhausted from it all. I’m an extrovert through and through. I need human contact to survive. So I decided to explore the basement library to see if one of those sorters wanted to chat for a bit.

At first, it didn’t look like anyone was around. Usually I would hear them scuffling around or quietly talking to each other, but the place was silent. Then through the gaps in the shelves, I spotted someone moving. I was desperate for any kind of conversation, so I practically ran over there to say hello. I made sure to step loudly so I wouldn’t startle whoever it was. It was pretty late after all.

Then I came to the aisle the person was working at. When I rounded the corner, let me tell you, I nearly passed out. The person was a woman, a big woman. I mean, seriously huge. Probably the biggest woman, no, human, I have ever seen in my life. I walked up to her, and she just kept getting bigger and bigger. To give you a picture, this basement is made up of aisles of shelving units that are 5 shelves high. It looks kind of like where you pick up your items in Ikea, if you’ve ever been there. I think if I tried I could lift something up onto the second shelf maybe, but would need to use a ladder or our crane lift to get anything up higher. When I first saw her, this natural wonder of a woman was reaching up and putting something on the fifth shelf. And she wasn’t even standing on her toes.

At first, I thought I must have been hallucinating. There was just no way in hell a person could be that big, surely? kaçak bahis I thought she must have been some kind of statue, like a giant model woman or animatronic or something. But she was moving around and lifting these huge boxes up with such ease. How did she grow so huge? She had on this jumper and a pair of jeans, where the hell did she get these from? Who made clothes that big? What was her life like? I had so many questions by that point that there was no choice. I had to approach her.

When I finally got near to her though–and this is the first time this has ever happened to me with another woman–I was actually nervous. I’m 6’6” remember, but my head didn’t even clear the waist of this woman, each one of her legs was longer and thicker than my entire body.

Oh, and let me tell you about this woman’s body. It was even more impressive than just her size. This creature was a beast. A solid unit of woman. She was thick and robust. Her legs were like two solid redwoods, and she had the arms and shoulders of a silverback gorilla. She was obviously a powerhouse, but she wasn’t toned, or muscly, or lean like some roided-up bodybuilder. No, she was bulky, heavy-set. Like she had all of this meat on her from just raw physical strength. And yet, at the same time, she was in no way masculine looking. Her body was undoubtedly a woman’s. Part of that was the elegant way her hourglass waist accentuated her hips and how colossal her ass was. But definitely, most of this impression of femininity was given by the two gigantic breasts that hung from her chest and protruded outwards by several feet. Each one looked big enough for me to lie down on like a nice bean bag chair.

So I hope you can understand how I was feeling when I approached this woman for the first time. I have never been so nervous before in my life. This was something all too new for me. I probably don’t need to be so explicit with you, but yes, I wanted to have sex with this beautiful giantess, more so than I have ever wanted anything in my life. Or rather, I wanted her to have sex with me. Part of my initial hesitation before talking to her was simply me wanting to prolong this fantasy just that bit longer, before I inevitably discovered that she was straight, and if not, was already taken by some other giant.

So I walked up to her. She had her back to me at first and didn’t seem to hear me coming. I cleared my throat and said as cheerily as possible, “hi, how’s it going”. Now, have you ever seen the film Dumbo? The part where the little mouse goes and scares all the giant lady elephants, and they all scream in terror and start climbing each other to try and escape? The next thing that happened was exactly that. The giantess heard my voice and practically jumped out of her skin. She turned around and stared down at me all those feet below her with terror. She was carrying one of the crates that held the texts in her arms — these things are way too heavy for any normal person to lift, by the way–and she quickly pulled it against her chest as if to protect herself from me.

In that moment, it was like everything flipped. I had been so petrified of the unimaginable enormity of this woman that I thought she would be about to pick me up and squish me (not that I would have minded that one bit). But when I spoke to her, it was like she thought I wanted to attack her or something. This girl was so scared of me, it almost looked like she was trembling.

To calm her down, I simply started talking. Gradually, she seemed to relax as she realised that I was only there to have a conversation with her. She didn’t talk much though. I started asking her how the job was going and whether she liked working late, and all I got back was a “yeah it’s okay” and “I don’t mind it.”

Realising that I wasn’t gonna get much out of this girl, I decided to just ramble on and hope that she would open up as I told her more about myself. I don’t know how long I spent talking, but she didn’t interrupt me once. She just kept staring down at my puny self standing in her shadow, nodding meekly. As I ran out of things to say, something started to come over me. I was panicking. I started to speak total nonsense. It was like I was prolonging things just to spend more time in her presence. I was terrified that the universe would suddenly realise that someone this perfect shouldn’t exist, and she would just vanish out of existence.

And I haven’t even mentioned her face yet. Let me tell you, this girl was cute. And I mean cute. Yeah, she was pretty, and had attractive features and all that, but the thing I thought most of all was just how goddamned adorable she was. There was just no way a face as angelic as that should be sitting on top of such a towering frame. She had long brown hair that was a bit messy, and this tiny little pixie’s face with rosy cheeks and freckles, and small pink lips. She wore these super thick glasses that told me she probably had god-awful eyesight. Imagine you got someone illegal bahis like, I dunno, Zooey Deschanel, or someone waify like that, and you replaced her body with that of the Incredible Hulk. Only with tits the size of boulders. That’s the kind of lunacy we’re talking here.

As I kept rambling on incoherently, the woman did seem to relax a bit more. Eventually, I realised that I had barely even introduced myself and decided to ask her name. She replied, “Felicity”. I mean, what!? What kind of name is Felicity for a beast like this. Surely Ursula, or Rhonda, or Titania? Something to accurately reflect the magnitude of this giant. But whatever, that was her name. I managed to get a few more details from her after that. She lived pretty close to the museum, it turned out. She had only worked this job for a week and only ever worked nights. Apparently she had been forced to get this job by her parents, which immediately set off some alarm bells in my head.

I tried to slyly ask her questions to figure out why this beastly woman was taking orders from her parents, but I already knew what the answer was going to be. Sure enough, it turned that she was somehow, and I have no idea how, only 18 years of age. I nearly collapsed when she told me that. But suddenly, it all made sense. Her adorable little face, her feeble mouse’s voice, and all the immature phrasing she used when she spoke. If it wasn’t bad enough for me already just knowing that a woman like this existed, now I would have to put up with the fact that she was only 18. I’m 30, for goodness sake, she would be far too young for me even if it did turn out that by some miracle that she was into girls and was single.

Anyway, by this point, I was getting the sense that just the act of talking to me was stressing her out, so I decided to back off and leave the rest of my questions for another day. I have introverted friends, okay? I know that I can be intense. So even though with all of my heart I wanted to stay and learn more about this magical creature who had just materialised in my life, I decided to leave her be. For now.

***

The next few days were hard. You have no idea. Well, maybe you do. When you were younger, did you ever have a crush on someone? Did you ever crush on them so hard that it was like the image of them barged their way into your brain and started destroying everything in the vicinity until there was nothing left to think about but them? Well, I had that a couple of times myself when I was an adolescent, but never like this. I never thought that at the age of 30, I could become obsessed with someone so terribly. I was hopeless. I could barely even string a thought together without Felicity and her monumental body stampeding into my thoughts and knocking me to the floor.

The next day I was practically useless because of it. I tried to avoid the museum visitors as much as possible because I knew that if they tried to talk to me, I would be able to do nothing more than mutter the name Felicity over and over again. It’s embarrassing to admit this, but I must have gone down to the basement 50 times that day, even though I knew she worked at night. I just wanted to be sure. While I was down there, I had a couple of brief conversations with some of the sorters. I considered asking them directly about her, but something stopped me, like I didn’t want them to find out about her or something.

Needless to say, I decided to stay late that night, even though there was literally no reason for me to, and actually, I probably would have been told off by my boss if he knew I was there unauthorised. I wandered around the basement for hours pretending to do things, but there was no sign of her. There was just one short chubby ginger guy who looked like he was barely 16. After a few hours of this frustrating endeavour, I did end up trying to talk to him. I don’t know what he must have thought of me talking to him. He looked almost as startled as Felicity did.

The kid didn’t seem to have a lot going on upstairs, so I decided it probably wouldn’t arouse any suspicion to just ask him to show me the sorters’ work schedule. Then at least I could just find out for myself when her next shift was. All the sorters were part-time, so there was going to be no way of predicting it otherwise.

Annoyingly, Felicity’s next shift wasn’t until Friday, which was 3 whole days away. On the bright side though, no one else seemed to be on shift at the same time as Felicity. I asked the kid, whose name was Brian, I think, whether he knew who Felicity was. He said he didn’t, but when I gestured with my hands to suggest that this person was, uh, large, suddenly his face dropped. “The tall girl?” He said. I thought that “tall” was underselling it by quite a large distance, but I didn’t bother correcting him cause I needed to know more.

Unfortunately, Brian didn’t know her. Although he did know of her. She was a few grades ahead of him at his school and graduated only recently. Brian said that he never spoke to her and found her ‘scary’, which I could sympathise with. I asked him if she had many friends and he said that he didn’t think she did. Most people were scared of her.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Leave a Reply

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir