Big Girl (Outspoken Authors) Page 2
[redacted].net (excerpt)
Why am I being harassed by the FBI and other law enforcement for posting pictures of this hot-ass teen giant? She’s a big girl. She looks grown-up to me. For fuck’s sake, she could crush my skull with her thumb—can she really be a victim? Talk about unrapeable. Kiss me goodbye and flick me to Oregon if I climbed up that mountain of round ass.
[redacted].com (excerpt)
Nobody inched along the giant’s neck, taking measured little steps. Her breathing was like a hot wind that caressed him all over, whistling around his erection like a breeze through the trees.
“Who’s there?” she rumbled in her huge, deep voice.
“Nobody,” Nobody said, trembling.
“Oh, I don’t think so. You can’t fool Mommy like that.” The giant pinched Nobody around the thigh and lifted him high in the air. He screamed in ecstasy and terror. She dropped him into her massive maw and swallowed him whole.
He was engulfed in the warm, wet folds of her enormous throat. Muscles worked all around him, forcing him downward, squeezing him tight. He slipped into the total darkness of the giant’s stomach, the acidic heat suffusing him with deadly desire.
Nobody felt along the stomach lining until he found a comfortable, groovy place to grind his aching member against her pulsing insides.
The giant gurgled happily in her sleep.
@WTFFFacts: Bianca Martinez, the giantess of the SF Bay, has a heart as big and as heavy as a Volkswagen Beetle.
@BarelyLegal99: Countdown to Bianca Martinez’s 18th birthday: bit.ly/98yTpA3
New York Times
I first met Bianca Martinez sitting on the beach in Marin County. She had been shot several times by park rangers after an altercation involving the now-deceased photographer Mark Hanhofer. Ms. Martinez, in her attempt to stop him from photographing her genitals close-up as she slept, pulled Hanhofer’s left arm off his body. He died immediately from blood loss.
Bianca sat cross-legged on the pebbled beach, squeezing bullets out of the skin of her forearm like a patch of blackheads. She had to whisper to me; anything louder was overwhelming. There was no hope of privacy.
I asked her if she was under arrest.
She shrugged her massive shoulders, a hypnotic, rippling, rising and falling wall of flesh. “They say I am, but they can’t cuff me or put me in jail. So I guess I’m ‘in trouble.’” At this, she made air quotes with two fingers, each the size of a full-grown dolphin. She glanced over at the park rangers, her brown eye as big as the driver’s side window. “I guess they could chain me to something. Maybe.”
In the days that followed, she was approached by several different branches of law enforcement, as well as DHS. The helplessness they shared was palpable as they failed to come to a decision on how to govern the giant girl’s behavior. In the end, they decided that she had killed the photographer in self-defense and gave up, driving their squad cars and sport-utility vehicles off the beach. The two of us were left with the gulls and the constant sound of drones trying to come near enough to film her while staying out of reach.
I asked her what she missed. With her massive face laid on the warm rocks beside me, she whispered things that any teenage girl might name.
“My friends,” she said as an elephantine tear slid down her face to pool on the rocks. “My school. My clothes. I miss wearing clothes so much. I’m cold all the time. Nothing anybody has offered is even close to big enough. I just hold it against me. I dream every night that I’m back in my bed, but then I wake up and it’s raining.”
Yesterday, Karl the Fog, the popular personification of the ever-present San Francisco fog, tweeted at Bianca that he would like to marry her. The last time I saw her, she stood up on that beach and made for the Marin Headlands, a wooded area sparsely populated by some of the richest people in the state. Local papers report that homeowners there fear her presence and the possible damage she might do. As she reared up to her full, terrible height, the fog wrapped itself around her like the soft gray fur of an arctic fox.
Karl might be the only match for this monster of a girl.
@buttstuffedpizza: I went to school with Bianca since we were eight. I feel so bad for her.
@candleinthewind: this has gone on long enough someone needs to help her #baybe
@giantsfan87: We finally have a real SF Giant! Too bad she’s got cramps and can’t play.
@BBCBreaking: Bianca Martinez, the giant of San Francisco Bay, found unresponsive on the beach. bbc.in/uG5hk6
@oaktownratz: BEACHED WHALE! [Image redacted]
San Francisco Chronicle
Bianca Martinez, the Bay Area’s mysterious giant girl, was found unresponsive, lying on the beach near Point Richmond yesterday evening. Footage from the KPIX newscopter shows that her abdomen is slightly distended and she is bleeding from her vaginal area. Attempts to rouse her by sound or pressure applied by car have failed. Her parents were present, along with their priest, who reportedly gave the girl last rites sometime after sundown.
EMTs on the scene detected Martinez’s pulse and confirmed that she was still alive but could not determine the cause of her unconsciousness. Attempts to cover Martinez’s body or move it back from the encroaching surf have failed.
Snapchat Story: She’s So Heavy (SF)
An EMT in whites takes Martinez’s pulse by leaning against her neck, forearms pressed to the skin, head turned away from the massive body as he tries to count. The vibrations of her pulse bob his head slightly, slowly.
A crowd of girls in UC Berkeley gear pose a few feet from the body, smiling until one of them realizes her shoe is sinking into the bloody sand.
Martinez slowly lifts one hand, its shadow passing over the morning beach walkers and their dogs. All heads turn. A woman screams and her small dog barks self-importantly, punctuating the sound.
Martinez’s hand drops into the surf and the giant rises. She drags her knees through the wet sand, digging trenches large enough to drive a Jeep into. Her right hand leaves a perfect print as she pushes up off the beach.
Caked sand falls from her breasts and belly as she reaches her full height. Chunks come raining down, smashing apart on the ground when they hit. Cameras trained on her face pick up only a black shape against the early-morning light.
The giant walks into the sea, washing away blood and sand, saying nothing.
sfgiantwatch.com
It’s been 413 days since we last had a sighting of Bianca the Giant.
Rumors that she has fled to the Farallón Islands remain unsubstantiated. The islands are out of drone range and no ship has spotted her or brought back pictures. Aircraft have not been able to locate her.
Is it possible she’s dead? Did she just walk into the sea? We need answers.
The giant belongs to all of us. She’s a symbol of the fantastic, the awesome, the unknowable reach of human potential.
Every time a lighthouse on the Bay makes its circle, I hope she knows it’s searching for her.
California State Department of Justice: Featured Missing Children
Name: Bianca Rosalba Martinez
Report type: Runaway juvenile
Sex: Female
Race: Hispanic
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Height: 370 ft.
Weight: 200,000 lb.
Date of birth: 8/16/2002
Clothing: None
Last seen: 8/28/2017
Dental X-rays available: No
Bianca Martinez was last seen on the beach near the Sutro Baths.
Bianca didn’t know the name of the island she was on, only that she had it to herself. There were caves and rock formations on one side, flat beach on the other. She caught dolphins that wriggled helplessly between her fingers and cried while she dashed their heads against the rocks to kill them. She didn’t know how to light a fire. In time, she learned to deal with their raw flesh in her mouth.
She cracked whole coconuts between her teeth and cherished the
warm drips of milk and sweet flesh. She tried not to eat them all but could not help herself. She caught tangles of kelp and ate that, too, hoping it was like a vegetable. It was salty and she hated it. She grew thin.
She watched the sun come up alone and go down occasionally in the company of the moon. She slept during the day, her broad brown back soaking up the sun. She walked the island at night, building sand castles two stories tall.
She tried to befriend seabirds, offering them shreds of fish and letting them walk on her hands. They shat on her and kept to themselves.
She thought she would die of loneliness, but every time she lay down she would wake as soon as she got cold.
She jumped at the sound of airplanes.
Almost two years had passed on the islands before she realized something was wrong. The seagulls in her palm were getting larger. Dolphins were too big to eat; she left parts strewn on the sand and watched crabs and flies swarm over them.
She tried to measure herself against the rocks, gauging whether she could see over the top from one day to the next.
The change had happened overnight the first time. This time, it crept into her body like a thief. She doubted it was real; she had wished for it too often. But the day came when she was shorter than the rock she could see over only a month before.
It took days for her to gather the courage to take to the water again. She had swum out to this place when she was too big for anything to stop her, too huge to care about any obstacle.
She knew there were things in the sea bigger than herself. She acclimated herself to daylight and chose a morning with a clear sky.
It took half the day to swim back. The pull of the tide yanked her farther and farther south. She came ashore in Monterey Bay, exhausted and with seawater in her lungs.
Santa Cruz Record
Santa Cruz police positively identified Bianca Martinez yesterday after her spectacular reemergence from hiding. The girl formerly known as the Baybe has shrunk substantially, coming in at only 100 feet tall. Local government officials scrambled to help her, noting that she has lost a considerable amount of weight and her massive ribs and hip bones are very prominent in her frame.
The Walnut Avenue Family and Women’s Shelter has offered to assist Ms. Martinez, securing transitional housing and food donations for her. At her reduced size, they were also able to offer her something resembling clothing and she is said to be resting comfortably in a large structure somewhere in Santa Cruz County.
Experts are baffled as to why the Baybe has suddenly lost so much of her famous mass, and police report that the girl herself could offer no explanation. More on this story as it develops.
Hangar Inventory
2 pallets dry goods, donated by Grocery Outlet, contents unknown
16 king-size sheet sets, salvaged from Hotel Durant fire sale
2,000 gallons water, donated by Home Depot
2 pitchforks, donated by Home Depot
35 books, large print, donated by Santa Cruz Public Library
1 case Hershey bars, donated by Hershey
1 iPad, donated by Apple
Instagram account belonging to
@streetprophetesss, 2,875 likes
Image: Bianca Martinez kneels between two A-frame ladders, seen from the back. Two women wielding pitchforks labor at detangling her hair, which hangs to her waist.
Caption: Every girl deserves to feel pretty! #justgirlythings #baybe #browneyedgirl
KPIX-TV News
Footage of Bianca Martinez emerging from her hangar rolls as a reporter speaks.
“It’s coming-out day here in San Francisco as Bianca Martinez, the so-called Baybe, has agreed for the first time to speak on camera. We’re all here, watching with bated breath as she approaches. As you can see, Martinez is much smaller than she used to be and is now able to wear clothes. It looks like she’s about to reach the microphones—let’s listen to what she has to say.”
The reporter turns her back as the camera switches to a view of Bianca, microphones tiny in front of her chin. She opens her mouth, but no sound is heard. After a few moments of this, her face grows confused. The reporter turns to the camera again.
“It looks like we have a slight technical difficulty here. Let’s take a moment and review the history of the Baybe phenomenon while the crew works it out.”
Footage rolls from Bianca’s debut, blurs and black bars obscuring her nudity. The prepared clips end but the audio has not improved. Bianca turns her back and crouches to reenter the hangar. No further word is issued.
@dev4dev4: Man, now #baybe wears clothes? Who authorized this?
@veryslimitude: Did anybody else notice that Bianca isn’t as hot as she used to be?
@redlizardy: I wonder if the #baybe is going to be normal sized again. Can she just go back home? Is that allowed?
Bianca noticed her sheets were bigger and bigger on her every day. She woke up disoriented, unable to balance. Her hair was far too long, tickling the backs of her thighs.
When she was only twenty feet tall, she walked home. Cameras and drones followed, but not as many as before. She hardly noticed.
SF Examiner
Baybe has babe!
Bianca Martinez, the girl formerly known as the Baybe, gave birth to her first child today at Kaiser Permanente Medical Center in Oakland. At 15 feet 3 inches, Martinez is the tallest woman ever to have given birth. Her daughter, Inez, was born weighing eight pounds exactly and is only 18 inches long.
The child’s father, Ricky Arden, a 32-year-old man from Oakland, laughed and joked with reporters this morning when asked about the birth.
“She just slid out!” Arden exclaimed, offering a gesture to illustrate. “She was so little, and Bianca is so big! Must be the easiest baby ever born.”
Ms. Martinez was unavailable for comment. However, a source from the hospital informed us that Martinez left the hospital two feet shorter than she was at intake.
When Ricky left, Bianca was just over six and a half feet tall. Inez was four years old, perfectly normal and well adjusted in every way. She had not been close to her father and did not miss him for long.
It was Inez who pointed out to Bianca how short she was getting. Bianca’s parents never liked to remark on her size. They had accepted her back home the day she was able to fit into their house again and never talked about the intervening years. But there was no denying it when Bianca’s ten-year-old daughter grew taller than she was.
The mark on the wall said 4’11”, but Bianca disliked numbers.
The college fund had come through anonymous donors years before, intended for Bianca herself. She had never gotten around to using it, but the people at the bank said yes, she could use it for her daughter, too. They had to put a box of computer paper on the floor to help her climb into the upholstered chair to sign her name.
The counselor at CSU Hayward was very sensitive to people with disabilities and went out of her way to make Ms. Martinez feel welcome. She had never registered a student whose parent was a little person, and the double minority status made her giddy as she entered Inez’s information into the computer.
When Bianca got back to her car after dropping Inez off in her first dorm room, she found that her pedal extender was too short to reach the gas. She had to adjust the length to drive herself home, sitting up on her booster seat and peering over the dash.
Inez was the last person to see her mother. She came home one day in her sophomore year with a bursting laundry bag to find Bianca pacing back and forth across the wide pages of her scrap-book. It lay open to the images she had printed off the Internet: her own towering silhouette beside the Bay Bridge. Her feet made no impression as she walked across the heavy paper and back, no taller than a dragonfly.
Inez reached out her hand, unsure if she could touch her mother without hurting her.
“I’m in here somewhere,” Bianca said.
The next day, try as she might, Inez could not find her mother at all.
 
; The Pill
MY MOTHER TOOK THE Pill before anybody even knew about it. She was always signing up for those studies at the university, saying she was doing it because she was bored. I think she did it because they would ask her questions about herself and listen carefully when she answered. Nobody else did that.
She had done it for lots of trials; sleep studies and allergy meds. She tried signing up when they tested the first 3D-printed IUDs, but they told her she was too old. I remember her raging about that for days, and later when everybody in that study got fibroids she was really smug about it. She never suggested I do it instead; she knew I wasn’t fucking anybody. How embarrassing that my own mother didn’t even believe I was cute enough to get a date at sixteen. I tried not to care. And I’m glad now I didn’t get fibroids. I never wanted to be a lab rat anyway. Especially when the most popular studies (and the ones Mom really went all-out for) were the diet ones.
She did them all: the digital calorie monitors that she wore on her wrists and ankles for six straight weeks. (I rolled my eyes at that one, but at least she didn’t talk about it constantly.) The strings like clear licorice made of some kind of super-cellulose that were supposed to accumulate in her stomach lining and give her a no-surgery stomach stapling but just made her (and everyone else who didn’t eat a placebo) fantastically constipated. (Unstoppable complaining about this one; I couldn’t bring anyone home for weeks for fear that she’d abruptly start telling my friends about her struggle to shit.) Pill after pill after pill that gave her heart palpitations, made her hair fall out, or (on one memorable occasion) induced psychotic delusions. If it was a way out of being fat, she’d try it. She’d try anything.
In between the drug trials, she did all the usual diets. Eat like a caveman. Eat like a rabbit. Seven small meals. Fasting one day a week. Apple cider vinegar bottles with dust on their upper domes sat tucked into the back corners of our every kitchen cabinet, behind the bulwark of Fig Newmans and Ritz crackers.