The Amateur (Based upon a true story) by delicious Being a midget is an advantage when you love big women. The people who call me "freak" imagine that to live in this tiny body is a curse. Although I'm just over three feet tall, I'm one of the biggest freaks in the show: a star attraction in our circus. But I never think of myself as a "freak". People sometimes call us that, but living and working beside the bearded lady, the siamese twins, or the rest, you only use the word as a joke, as in "only a freak would eat this meal"...and then the cook laughs, and we eat it anyway. Clearly, I don't sound cursed, do I? I'm actually the luckiest man alive, and wouldn't trade with anyone, any size, because my height is an advantage. Addressing an audience who understands that love comes in all sizes will make this easier to explain; those who think of tall and thin as the only way to be beautiful would be advised to stop reading now. When I was twelve years old I was even shorter than I am now. My family was quite poor, and knowing I'd have trouble finding work--being so small--we tried the sideshow at the circus. I was torn by a dilemma. Yes, I had hated schoolyard bullies, and wanted to get away from them, but a whole new world was opening up for me: girls! Before my family drove off, leaving me to new life at the circus, my mother cried; but my father shook my hand, and said "be a gentleman". Mother gave him a confused look, but I nodded, because we had already explained most everything I'd need to know. They displayed me at a desk with a sign saying "the little schoolboy". I was at a desk, on a kind of pedestal that felt like a mountain, putting me much closer to the people walking through....although most days it was so quiet I fell asleep from boredom. One afternoon, I was roused from an afternoon snooze by the low whistle of a solitary woman coming into my tent. When I opened up my eyes she exclaimed "so you ARE real." But she still looked at me as if I were only a toy. God, but she looked big. I noticed her bosom jiggle at every pounding step she took. "Hello" she said, in a powerful deep voice coming from far above. I knew I should look up, to meet her eye, because I had been staring at her moving breasts. My father told me that women want to be appreciated, but also need to be treated politely. But I couldn't tear myself away. Her breasts were unrestrained but enclosed in her clothing like two rowdy sisters wrestling in a small room. It was as if each had separate plans, and tried to escape, only to bounce this way and that. When I managed to look up, to meet her knowing smile, I instantly went hot and wet in my pants, panting... and she saw it. "And thank you for the compliment" she added. I stammered a weak "you're welcome", while she turned away...but she merely closed the entrance to the tent, flipping the "open" sign around to read "closed"; then she shut off the light. She turned, coyly sighing "I'm glad you're closed now, because I don't want to be disturbed. Can you really use those to draw?" She was pointing to my art supplies, while opening her bodice. I nodded, noticing that she seemed even more excited than I was. I tried to draw the big sisters--her bouncing breasts--as they came closer. She hunched her shoulders, crowding their impossible length towards me, like a wave about to collapse. They were as creamy as cheese, veined with blue; my hands shook almost as much as they did. By now, the sisters were not in front of me, but on either side of me, as they flopped out of their brassiere each going its own way. I had once measured my desk as 20 inches, which was much wider than I was, yet the desk was not as big as those two breasts that flooded around me. "Please keep drawing" she gasped, adding "I want to inspire your art". But the breasts were not so polite about it, pressing my head and shoulders, covering my hands, surrounding me completely. With every deep breath they surged up and down, like an ocean. Then she circled behind me, with a hand pushing each breast around my back, the warm sea of flesh closing around my torso. As her urgent need increased the tempo of her movements she whispered "keep drawing, my little artist". She scraped her nipples roughly against me while hunching her stomach against the back of the pedestal I was on, jolting me so hard that I almost went flying off the chair. But she caught me in mid-flight, smashing my face into one of those pounding, pillow soft boobs. I wondered if she might smother me between her wildly insatiable breasts. "Help me", she sobbed quietly, as if demanding release. She kept repeating "help me?" She stood, looming above me, with her breasts pressed into an impossibly beautiful configuration between her hands while they hung heavily above me. Again, I wondered if I should fear all that softness yearning for release, craving friction against my face. She put each nipple in turn before me to suck, but her whimpers only increased. As her hips began to rock against the pedestal in a circular motion, the only steadiness I could find was her breasts, that she held continuously before my face. Her frustration was building to a crisis. Her solution was also the answer to every prayer I had ever had. Big soft hands shred my clothes. My shirt turns to rags in her hand, and I'm half naked in a moment. My trousers only last a moment longer, as those cool, silky-soft breasts caress my trembling body. Her panting lust pulls me into her hungry cleavage. How many times have I come by then? I lose track of the outside world deep in the crevasse of her mountainous breasts, aggressively piling on me. I found out later that she had a fantasy that I helped her to live out. In her exaltation she begins, creating what was to be my own best script for the rest of my life. Solemnly as in a ritual, she commanded "worship your goddess. Bow to me. Tremble, for I am gigantic, and all men are mine to crush, or caress, according to my pleasure." With every word she became wilder in her movements, abandoning herself in an ecstasy that terrified and delighted me at the same time. Taking a breast in each of her hands, she pressed them together around my torso, lifting me into the air. She massaged me between their tingling sensitivity, but it was still not enough for her, as her breathing began to sound pained. My chest was deep in her warm canyon, but my legs dangled above the floor, that seemed to be miles below. I saw her own feet so far below my own, as she began to sway her hips. "See my power" she sighed, while swinging her great soft hip into my pedestal, that had seemed so solid, knocking my little chair off, onto the floor. "Pay attention" she instructed, as she daintily brought her toe down to that little chair, for, yes, it was little under her great foot. I had entrusted my weight to that chair, putting my ass in that chair, yet her foot was bigger than the chair. As a ballet dancer on tiptoe daintily seems light as air she carefully put her big toe on the chair. "I'm too much, too much woman for you." That my chair was so tiny under her seemed to arouse her further, as she abused my face with rough kisses from her large red lips, biting me as well. "I like being dangerous" she said, squeezing her breasts tightly. She asked "Do I take your breath away?" ...but I was too breathless to answer. Just think," she said, as the legs of the chair crunched under her weight, "this could be you... if you want." Although I was still imprisoned between her breasts, I felt the ease with which we sank through the remains of the chair, noticed her fearless swagger. As she rotated the ball of her foot on the chair remnants like the coup de grace for a flattened insect, she murmured "this could be you under my foot, if you want it". Before I'd even thought it through I said "yes I do want it." She smiled at this thought. "I don't think you really want that.. " She now looked at me in a new, respectful way, as if I had challenged her somehow. "I won't crush you....yet". And as she looked at my eyes widen, she laughed. "Do you trust me? You don't even know my name!" I began to say "Pleased to meet you, my name is..." but before I could speak, she had stopped my mouth with her hand, saying "not yet. Show me your trust... lie down, and be silent." She compelled me to lie on the ground before her, just by the weight of her arms on me. When I resisted momentarily she said "I can make you anyway". Kneeling, she still towered over me. Her breasts swung arrogantly above my head, while her arms found my shoulders. I looked up into her eyes, following those arms, that piled all that breast flesh together before her. "Kneel, my little one" she said affectionately, while putting her weight onto my shoulders, buckling my knees instantly. I thought of the crackling of the chairlegs, noisy as eggshells under her weight, and thought of her putting her weight on me. I obeyed quietly, because her pressure was irresistible while my head screamed a thousand questions. Do I trust her? It suddenly occurred to me that I knew nothing about her, as her mass compelled me down, her soft hands pushing me as insistently as though I were dough and she were about to knead me into bread. Of course this idea was in her head as well, because she playfully pressed her knuckles into me, and said "I knead you, oh how I KNEAD you".... and she did knead me. ...I lay down on my back, looking up at her, as her hands leaned into me like dough, that she could have squished into any shape she wished. She sighed as she leaned into me, pressing the air out of me, then releasing me when I started to turn colours, gasping for lack of air. She rose from her knees, to stand above me like a skyscraper..."Stay down, my little one. I am far from finished with you. I knead you still". She towered as she reached her full height, indeed a skyscraper, but with breasts. "Remember what I did to the chair" she said, holding her shoe above my body like a threat. "Close you eyes" she said. I balked for a moment, but then realized I was in no position to argue, whether my eyes were open or not...so I did as I was told. "I want to tell you a story." I hoped she'd do something to me, so I didn't mind. "There's a tribe that worships a goddess that is never seen. Every year she demands a tribute: the handsomest young man is left for her lying blindfolded. He is never seen again. One year the tribe refused... and all the fields full of crops were crushed, stamped into the ground until everything was muck. Everywhere there were footprints... gigantic footprints. And the tribe starved that winter. So the tribute has continued. "You are this year's tribute to the goddess. No one else has ever seen her...Brace yourself... here she comes...Keep those eyes closed," she hissed again. Lying there I might have laughed out loud, if it were not for what came next, that terrified me utterly. Did she jump or step? There was a heavy thump. After a pause, there as another: like the footsteps of a gigantic creature. She made a deep moaning sound, as if she were an animal in heat. The stomping noises came closer, until they resounded around me, as she moaned loudly. I felt like a human sacrifice, staked out for a pagan ritual. "No one who sees her returns to the tribe. What you are about to see is sacred. Open your eyes, and worship!" I looked, and saw nothing but darkness. Confused, I started to sit up... but couldn't. My head crashed into the cause of the darkness: her foot, now bare, had been poised, just inches above my face. Thinking I was trying to escape, she lowered the boom: her foot pushed me back. There was no mistaking the force that pushed me down: her huge weight advantage, and she thrilled in pointing it out. "Feel my weight, how it controls you, overwhelms you." She lifted the foot before I was injured, then lowered the big toe into the same balletic posture she had used to squash my chair. I was fainting with excitement, looking up her calf, although there might have been some fear..."You tremble for your life. Look upon me in my immensity, and feel terror...for surely I am too much for you". When she jumped again I shot off heroically, looking up at her calves and thighs flexing, seeing her fling herself into the air. She jumped from one side of me to the other. For the voluptuous instant that her weight flew through the air above me, I saw the bottom of her foot pass over me before hammering the ground just beside me. Imagine a building hopping from one side of you to the other and you've got the picture... provided that the building is also huge-breasted and horny. At that moment of sweet femininity I longed to feel her weight in spite of the danger. "Prepare to be tested". Before I could wonder what that meant she began the ordeal...at least I thought it would be an ordeal, from the way she spoke. "What do you think it feels like under me?" She stood swaying above me, giving me a good look for the first time. Each calf was almost my size, let alone the swelling thighs above. Her buttocks and torso were massive beyond my ability to imagine. "Do you think you can take me... all of me?" It was a playful question she asked between giggles, a question that wasn't meant to be answered. Before I could think about it, she said "here I come", and began to lower herself. For a moment, when she put her great belly on me, I thought I wouldn't be able to breathe. But I was not only alive: I was hooked. And that was how I discovered the advantage of being a midget. I was then only 28 inches compared to Barbara's 66 inches, and her weight which had seemed so staggering was only 192 lb , or about 5 times my own 37 pounds. If a six foot man weighing 200 lb. fancied the same experience that I described, he'd be out of luck for a number of reasons. The proportional woman would be 13', and weigh 1,000 lb., but no woman has ever been even 9' in height, no 1,000 lb woman could jump from one side of her boyfriend to the other, and a woman that size lying on her boyfriend would cave in his ribs like a REAL eggshell...although with a woman like Barbara I found the painful image appealing. But not me! Because I was compact, I could take her weight easily, even if she grew bigger. In her fantasies she was a giantess reveling in the pressure of her body on her tiny lover: therefore it was only a matter of time before Barbara began to eat aggressively, hoping to grow even bigger. In no time she surpassed 200 pounds. Her feeding was a joyful project for both of us, taking her beyond 250. Although Barbara's breasts grew, she was becoming more bottom heavy, to her great delight: she kept trying out her new size right on top of me. As she approached 300 pounds her growth, and our enjoyment slowed. The jumps became fewer, and then finally stopped. Although I did not believe I was close to my limit, Barbara began to fear the effect of her weight on my body. Moreover, Barb decided that she wanted to become smaller again. While she had taught me a great deal about women and how to bring them pleasure in our months together, it was time to split up. Her growth had been an extraordinary fantasy come true while it lasted... ...But she was ultimately an amateur. After all, what else would you call her weight gain, given that she quit before reaching 300 pounds? We parted as friends when she realized that my destiny was to be matched with a professional, and that I was in the perfect place to meet such a growing woman: the circus. As she said, in our last conversation, "You might be the man to make the fat lady sing". [Part II, where I meet my dream girl: The Professional ]