Too big
By Diana the Valkyrie, artwork by Robolord
Elaine woos and wins Jeremy, despite feeling that she’s too big


Jeremy used to dream about cheerleaders - which boy doesn't? Long blonde hair,
short skirt, high boots and the pinnacle of athletic perfection. How could
anyone fail to appreciate their dance routines and the demonstrations of their
toned bodies?

Eighteen years old and above, obviously.

But wouldn't it be great to have such a gorgeous girl as your girlfriend?
Imagine watching as she displayed her gymnast body, and thinking "That's my
girl!". Yes. Jeremy, and millions of other boys, dreamed about cheerleaders.

But Jeremy didn't just dream. Jeremy did something about it. Jeremy was a bit
undersized, at five feet five and 130 pounds, but he realised that his best
chance to meet cheerleaders, was to join the college football team. Obviously
he couldn't be one of the heavyweight battering rams, but maybe he could be a
quarterback? Or at least some sort of runner? The problem with that, is that
he couldn't run fast.

But Jeremy's ambition wasn't to be a great football player; it was to meet
cute cheerleaders, and all he needed for that was to join the training squad -
so that's what he did.

It was a good plan. Not a great plan, but sound. Except that it was doomed to
failure. The cheerleaders all liked the big hunky battering rams, not the
small guys like Jeremy. So, once again, his size ruined his ambition.

Until he met me.

He met me because he'd joined the training squad (to get closer to the
cheerleaders) but I wasn't a cheerleader. I wasn't a trainee cheerleader. I
wasn't even a wannabe cheerleader. I wanted to be on the football team, so I
had joined the same training squad that Jeremy was in. Claire was a trainee
cheerleader - she was focussed on getting into the cheer squad, and didn't
welcome distractions like Jeremy. But rather than just give him the brush off,
she introduced him to me, because she knew that I preferred guys that were
small and weak.

They made me feel protective and, yes, motherly. And they tended not to have
oversized egos.

At first, Jeremy thought that I was a cheerleader. I'm an averagely pretty
blonde (although nowhere near as pretty as any of the cheer leaders), about
the same height as Jeremy (maybe a little taller?). A bit wider, and quite a
lot deeper. Very deep. Too big, actually. He couldn't take his eyes off my
tits, which he guessed had to be more than forty (actually, a whole lot more
than that, they were far too big), and they were probably the biggest he'd
ever seen. I know that, because a lot of guys are told me that. It didn't
occur to him that with tits like that, I couldn't possibly be a cheerleader -
much too big. Can you imagine what they'd be doing if I bounced and cavorted
and turned somersaults like the cheer leader squad did?

So he tried to get to know me better, under the misapprehension that I was as
close to a cheerleader as he was likely to get. Meanwhile, I was willing for
that to happen, because I was under the false impression that Jeremy was
either on the football squad, or close to getting on it. Plus, he was cute,
rather small and he looked so soft and weak that my palms were sweating (and
also downstairs was getting more than damp).

At our college, Sweet Valley Institute, there were rules about football
players, specifying body armor, helmets, size, weight and such like. But
someone had revised those rules using a word processor, and had substituted
"man" with "person", because this was "less sexist". So, the rules as they
stood now, said nothing about whether a girl could be on the squad. Of course,
the coach was always going to choose the best players for each match, but he
couldn't discriminate on gender.

As part of his courtship of me, Jeremy offered to carry her bag. That,
normally, is a good idea, because it declared his interest in a traditional
way, and I could accept or reject the offer, and at that point, no-one was
committed to anything.

And I accepted his offer, it was like accepting his declaration of interest.
But I wasn't thinking. I wasn't carrying a few books and some make-up. I was
carrying some of my workout weights. There was 150 pounds of iron in that bag.

So that offer backfired, spectacularly. Jeremy tried to lift it, and he could
hardly move it. I laughed, which was probably a bit rude, but it did look
comical, and I lifted it with one arm, which was definitely more than somewhat
humiliating for Jeremy.

"What have you got in here?" he asked, "Bricks? Lead piping?" I smiled and
explained. "I'm about to go to the gym, but I have to go to the women's
section, and they don't have weights that are heavy enough. So I have to bring
my own." Jeremy was flabbergasted. "Especially for leg days. I have very big
thighs, and I need an extra 300 pounds more than they have, in order to give
them the stress that they need."

"300?" said Jeremy.

"But today is mostly arms, so I only need an extra 150 pounds."

"Only?" said Jeremy.

"You can come to the gym and watch if you like," I offered.

"Like!" said Jeremy.

So Jeremy watched as I ran five miles on the treadmill, then did pull-downs
with a weight that Jeremy couldn't even guess at, followed by squats. Jeremy
checked the weights I was using. On each side of the weight bar, I had four
100 pound weights, a 50 and a 25, for a total of 950 pounds. Jeremy thought
about the force that my thighs were exerting, and realised that it would be a
very bad idea to get between them without a very explicit invitation.

I finished my exercises with one-armed press-ups. "What do you weigh?" asked
Jeremy, "I'm 130 pounds." I wrinkled my nose. "Two seventy, but quite a lot of
that is my boobs, of course. They're much too big, and I don't know what I can
do about that." "I don't think they're too big," Jeremy declared. I smiled.
"Really?" I asked. This was starting to sound really promising. "No, they're
just fine the way they are," said Jeremy. And then he took the plunge. "Would
you like to come out to dinner with me at the Golden Mangal?"

"Wow," I said, "that's really posh. I haven't got anything that I could wear
to a place like that. It's the same problem, it's really difficult to find
clothes that fit - I'm just too big. How about burgers at the Double Triangle?
I could wear my grey top."

"I still don't think you're too big," said Jeremy gallantly, "and I think you
look just fine in your grey top."

The date went well. I talked about my hopes and dreams to become part of the
football squad, and Jeremy said "From what I've seen of you, I think you'd
make the team, and you'd batter down any player on the other side that was
foolish enough to try to stop you." "But I'm just too big," I said. "I don't
think so," Jeremy replied. "I though you liked slender flexible girls like
Claire," I said. "I did," admitted Jeremy, "but that was before I met you!" I
grinned. "You mean, too big?" "I mean, built like a bulldozer. I can tell you,
if we were on the football field and I saw you running towards me, my instinct
would not be to tackle you, it would be to get out of your way and hope that
you didn't decide to take me down."

"Two hundred and seventy pounds of tits and muscle would just flatten a little
guy like you. Oh, and did I mention that I'm also thinking of trying out for
the wrestling team?" "Girls wrestling I like that idea," laughed Jeremy. "No,"
I said, "Not the girls team. The team. The team that used to be the men's
team, until they changed the rules and replaced "men" with "people". I've
watched the boys side of the gym, and most of them are lifting half the weight
that I'm hoisting. Five hundred pound squats? I'm nearly up to a thousand. And
if I get one of those boys between my thighs, link my feet and straighten my
legs, it's game over. Either he submits immediately, or his ribs bend, then
bend some more, then start to break." "The referee would stop the bout long
before you broke any ribs." "True," I said, "but that's a win for me."

"I have a confession to make," said Jeremy. "I'm not going to be picked for
the football team, not now, not ever. I'm too small, too light and I'm not a
fast runner." He looked down at his feet sadly. I took his hand in mine.
"Jeremy, that's not important. I'm not joining the squad so that I can get
close to the massive hunks that are on it. I'm joining because I want to play
football, and I think I'll be good at it. Better than most of the guys.
There's a lot of things that I'm too big for, but that's an advantage on the
gridiron." "You want to prove that girls are just as good as guys?" asked
Jeremy. "No, no," I replied. "Look, if that happens, then that's just a side
effect. What I want, is to play football, at the highest level, and if I'm
good enough, I want to be a professional player. And I don't actually care if
I'm the only girl on the team, just like I don't care if I'm the only blonde
on the team."

"Also," I added, "I think you're cute." That was my cue bid. Jeremy's had been
to offer to carry my books, mine was a declaration of cuteness. We play these
games, don't we? People don't just say straight out "I want to fuck you". We
have to flirt, use suggestion and innuendo, and dance all around the subject.
I don't know why we do this, but it is what we do.

The date went off very well, and Jeremy was smitten. Cupid, son of Venus, had
aimed his bow and hit Jeremy in all the places that mattered; his heart and
his groin. Me too - Cupid's arrows didn't discriminate between a small and
sweet guy, and a heavily muscled female hunk. When the arrow struck, I was in
love. And Jeremy didn't seem to mind that I am "too big".

"Another date?" I suggested. I wasn't going to rush things along, but neither
did I want this to terminate. I'm not the sort of girl who would have sex on
the first date (because that's all part of the great sex game), but neither
was I going to let this fine catch get away.

For our second date, I thought carefully. My old grey sweatshirt wouldn't cut
the mustard, and I had nothing else suitable. You can't get a dress for
someone as big as me, in an ordinary dress shop. So that meant
made-to-measure. And that meant big bucks.

I spoke to the girls on the cheer team, but none of them had any difficulty
getting clothes that fit them well. So I went to the only likely shop in Sweet
Valley, a place called "Kingsize", but all they could offer was big shirts,
big pants and big jackets. Menswear. That was no use at all, but I talked with
one of the shop assistants, and she told me about a local dress maker that
might help. "It isn't cheap," she warned. "I know, I know" I said sadly, "I'm
too big."

I visited the dressmaker, Wanda. Wanda looked at me and said, "Hmm. You need
to undress, so I can measure you."

And then Wanda said, "Huh. What sort of dress do you want?" "Something
suitable for a really important date. Sexy, but not too blatant. Something
that's a bit slimming, so I don't look quite so big?"

Wanda looked me up and down. "A long dress, I think, so that those big thighs
and calves aren't so obvious and intimidating. Something that mostly, but not
entirely, covers you breasts, so they don't look quite so huge. We can't do
much about your arms, but if you mostly keep them down by your sides, the
biceps won't be quite so prominent." "I like the way you're thinking," I said,
"make me look more feminine, so I don't scare him off."

Wanda got busy with her tape measure, writing everything down in a little
book. "Your waist is only a bit more than I'd expect," she said, "but
everything else?" "Too big," I said, "tell me about it." "First, the good
news. Your waist is only thirty inches." "And the bad news?" "I wouldn't call
it bad news, but you certainly are bigger than any of my other customers.
Bust, fifty four. That's partly because your back is so broad, but you also
have a very prominent bust line, even if you leave off your bra. Hips, forty
six, because your gluteal muscles are, shall we say, very well developed.
You've also got very big thighs and calves, but that won't matter at all
because they'll be completely covered by the long skirt. And some lace to
semi-conceal your cleavage, which otherwise would be very deep, maybe about
twelve inches or so? Most women are less than half that."

"And now the big question," I said. "What's this going to cost?"

Wanda rubbed her chin. "The amount of cutting and sewing is going to be about
the same as for anyone else. But the amount of fabric? I'm going to need about
twice as much as usual, and that's the main cost. So. $200 for the labour,
including this session for measuring, another fitting session and a final
finishing session. Material, including the lace for the cleavage and the
bottom of the skirt, $400."


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