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Tall Love By TeleNick

Page history last edited by PBworks 15 years, 2 months ago

Tall Love

by TeleNick

 

I. Divorce

 

'Hi Mom. Hate to admit, but you were right again. Less than a year after our wedding, Margaret left me - just as you predicted. But despite your forecast, not because she was half a head taller. She just didn't like me being away all the time, and claimed that even at home I spent too much time writing my articles and not paying enough attention to her. Now, she said, she was going to find somebody as far from journalism as one can possibly be.

 

But don't worry, Mom, I've already recovered. Actually, I think, she never loved me, only my career prospects, so I'm okay now. Meanwhile, Nick (you met him on my wedding) takes care of me. He just invited me on his birthday party in a few days time. He came back from Japan not long ago and has plenty of impressions to share, so I think I'll have fun and another good reason to get rid of my memories.

 

Kiss you and Dad. Yours, Rob.'

 

......................................................................

 

'Hi Mom. I'm all right, thank you. You don't need to come along, really. Of course, I'd love to see you here in London, but I'm gonna be damn busy in coming weeks. Can't even guarantee that I'll be here at all: all these Iraqi things may require my presence in the Middle East. Yes Mom, I promise to be very careful and make all precautions including vaccination and stuff, don't worry.

 

You do remember Nick well: indeed, he was the best man. His birthday party was a huge success, I should say; very good and warm Japanese sake, very good and warm company, including young ladies, so I didn't feel abandoned, believe me.

 

You'd be surprised, but several of those girls were models - not supermodels so far, but they have all their lives ahead and all essential features too.

 

Predicting your opinion, I'd like to say, they weren't stupid at all, in fact, they were charming and very intelligent whatever papers (shame on my colleges!) gossip. I hope, someday you'll meet one or two of them in person and, just like me, understand that stereotypes lie.

 

Okay Mom, gotta go. All the best to both of you. Rob.'

 

Robin sealed the envelope and left a cafe. Now, as he fulfilled his promise to write at least once a month, he felt relieved. Meanwhile, he was about to meet his old and new friends in half an hour.

 

II. How Tall is She?

 

On his way to Covent Garden, he recalled their first encounter. It was, indeed, on Nick's party. Robin didn't tell his mother, but apart from sake, there was a waterfall of wine and spirits, and close to midnight, he found himself really drunk and hugging a pretty girl. They were in a lounge with 12 or 15 others, and they were sitting on a sofa, and Robin understood with his subconscious that something was wrong, but his intoxicated brain couldn't catch the exact reason of it.

 

The girl's mobile rang, she began to talk. Of course, Robin knew that mobiles nowadays tended to be smaller and smaller, but this one seemed particularly tiny. This, again, caused some sort of discomfort in his mind, and again he couldn't quite understand it. He wasn't bothered too much though since the girl was a great kisser with long blonde hair, big blue eyes, thin waist, and fairly large breasts - just the type he'd always liked, the same as Margie belonged to. Once again, he felt bitterness that never left him altogether lately, but this time it was more sweet than sour.

 

He excused himself and went upstairs: the toilet on the ground floor was engaged. As he came down the stairs to the lounge, he met her again. She was standing there with glass of orange juice (screwdriver?) in her hand. Gosh, she's beautiful, he thought and preached himself for not being able to recall her name, and was grateful when she started talking to him herself.

 

He was amazed: in addition to her stunning appearance, she was very intellectual, too. He couldn't understand why he noticed all that only now, when the party was nearly finished, but there was a black hole in his mind, and he felt that something else inside kept disturbing him, and again he was too weak to realize exactly what.

 

It was only several minutes later that he lowered his eyes. Immediately his jaw hit the floor the girl was standing on. The girl, but not him - that was the point! He rewinds his memories 10 or 15 minutes backwards: he is going down the stairs from the first floor; he is seeing her standing on his way; she is intercepting him in the middle... There: in the middle! Only now Robin realized that he never finished his way down. He was still standing where she stopped him - several steps away from the floor. Away and up!

 

It was clear now what kept his mind busy ever since he woke up after that strange dive into alcoholic inexistence. Her size! She was bending down kissing him while sitting on sofa. It was her hand that made the phone look ridiculously tiny. It was her height that made him nervous as they were talking to each other at this very moment. He was looking UP at her face despite he was standing several steps higher than she (he couldn't afford to be inattentive to her words for a long time - and long time he needed to concentrate and count the steps).

 

How tall is she?

 

She must be wearing heels, was his saviour thought. He did not dare to look directly on her feet, but it was unlikely that she would have come to the party on a circus spikes, wasn't it?

 

How tall is she for God sake??

 

He couldn't guestimate; his only idea was he'd never met anyone even close to her height, but this admittance didn't help much. So, he just stood there, listening to her and not hearing. The girl paused. A second ago she made a question mark - he could judge on intonation of her voice, but he would never recall the question even if destiny of the whole world would depend on it.

 

'Pardon?'

 

'You weren't listening to me, were you?' the girl laughed. 'Where are your thoughts if you don't mind me asking?'

 

'Um... Erm... Just how tall are you?' Robin felt embarrassed. Never before had he asked a girl a question like this. Even his wife. Oh, ex-wife, corrected he. Margaret was some five inches taller than him, so he concluded she was around 5'10". She wouldn't talk about that: she considered herself too tall - for him especially - and was reluctant to emphasise their difference in height in any way.

 

'Taller then you,' the girl laughed again. 'Much taller, apparently.'

 

He decided to accept the game.

 

'I can see that. The question is, exactly how much. You seem to be taller than me even though you're standing one or two footsteps lower!'

 

He couldn't believe his own words. An average footstep is somewhat eight inches high. If he's right, then 2x8=16. My brain's gonna explode... No, I'll manage somehow... The level difference is sixteen inches. Plus her eyelevel is couple of inches higher than mine. That means she's around 6 feet 11 or 12... But 6'12" is actually 7'. SEVEN FEET?! No way! A foot high heels, maybe? Do they do heels that are a whole foot high?

 

His calculations were promptly interrupted.

 

'Well,' the girl smiled, 'In fact, you're tree footsteps higher.'

 

That was too much for him. Robin gave up and decided just to finish his way down - all the way to the floor.

 

No rush.

 

On every step he would stop and look up at her face. More and more up. And with every step her face with those laughing blue eyes became more and more distant. It wasn't something he'd experienced before. And with every step his head became more and more clear. The situation, however, became more and more sophisticated at the same time.

 

Can this be true? No, of course not. There are no women in this world - let alone young and beautiful women - as unimaginably tall as this slender blonde tower in front of him. She must be not shorter than Big Ben, and against all odds, here she is. Three steps - three new equally incredible dimensions of his experience - three brand new levels of himself next to her.

 

While they were chattering, he was staring directly on her chin.

 

First step - and his eyes levelled with the girl's chest. He can now see her well-formed breasts without lowering his head, therefore without hesitation. Her yellow blouse is tightly stretched, and he can swear, these twins make a deep valley between them, and only fabric hides it away of his view.

 

Second step - and her bosom's now much higher than his eyes. I wish Margie was here and see what the words 'tall woman' really mean! She probably couldn't be able to suck this girl's nipples, even on her tiptoes. The idea makes Robin excited, he's starting to imagine his wife... his ex-wife... next to this incredible girl and what could two beauties make to each other, how could they play... and he almost faints. His body moves forwards by itself, he's holding the rail - and makes

 

Third step.

 

If he was sober, he'd probably call to his tabloid's office at this very moment and persuade an editor to reserve 200 lines and a space for picture on the first page, then arrange photo session and interview with - no doubt! - the tallest woman on Earth. He would, of course, publish it under his nickname: he's a respectable current affairs reporter, not a member of Yellow section... But who knows, he might even be considering to put his real name on the interview which would definitely attract a lot of attention, and he could become a star, THE star in fact, not just one of hundreds respectable current affairs reporters...

 

But he wasn't sober, and all those thoughts had come and gone in the blink of the eye, which was now - after the third step - at impossible level of the girl's hips.

 

Hips? Yes - he turned his head left and right - no mistake, hips. Hips, for Christ sake!

 

He looked down. No spikes, or even high heels, just casual shoes on an inch-thick sole. How damn tall this girl is?!

 

His eyes go up. A fraction of second - enough to have a good look on two legs each as long as his mother if not longer, legs that upper half is hidden under a navy midi-skirt with a belt as high as the top of his head. No way! Just too much rum and sake and who knows what else inside of me!

 

He is keen to ask her a question, but to do that he needs to look her in the eye, so his look continues to move further upwards.

 

Waist now. Not seen under the blouse but surely thin, very thin for such an immense frame. And higher than his 5'5" plus tropical boots on his feet. My, my!

 

Up, up, where're her eyes? Oh, it's still a long journey ahead. Chest. Well, this chest would be certainly able to comfort the most requiring BBW pervert...

 

Question, I must ask her a question... Which one? Name? Height? No, this can wait! Is she real? That's the question! Or is he dreaming? But why his dream took a form of impossibly tall female? Yes, his wife is... was... whatever - she's fairly tall, and he loves... loved her, but he had never even considered to dream about a girl of Big Ben's height!

 

Where are her eyes? Unexpected obstacle: boobs. They obstructed his view, and his arm even moved up instinctively to get rid of unwanted - or wanted? - next time, next time, now I must ask her - barrier, but he realized, the breasts were probably to high for him to touch. Now what?

 

She helped him: leaned forward and let him see her face. With a broad smile.

 

'Got lost? No worries, it's OK for a diminutive guy like you!'

 

'I'm not diminutive! I'm five feet five - almost normal for a guy, so don't offend me! It's you who's abnormal here!'

 

He instantly understands that he's rude himself. That he's gonna lose her right now, and his exclusive interview, and his prosperous future as a tabloid superstar.

 

'Listen erm... I'm truly sorry. I mean it. I beg your apology. I'm just a little drunk and confused with your... um... unusual appearance... Please, please, please forgive me!'

 

His speech's so passionate; she can't just go away now. He cranes his neck even more as she straightened up after his defiant words, and finally he sees a forced smile on her lips way, way, way up above him. Like Cheshire Cat on a high tree.

 

She gives up. Sits on a footstep, holds her glass with both hands. 'I've heard a lot about my... abnormality. That hurts, you know. But your apology seems to be genuine... Please, don't do it again. Ever.'

 

He feels it's inappropriate now to ask how tall she is. But the main question is more neutral - and much more important for him. He sits down beside her. A step higher, in fact.

 

'Are you real?'

 

No hint of surprise. She glances at him and shrug her shoulders. 'What do think?'

 

If only he knew. 'I'm not sure. I can touch you, I hugged and kissed you half an hour back, I can see your face, your legs, your...' his eyes stopped at her breasts, 'your whole figure, but you are the most incredible thing ever happened to me. It's strange, you're so beautiful and so tall, and I've never been attracted to taller women, maybe...'

 

He cannot finish. She seals his mouth with her lips.

 

She is a great kisser. And this time Robin enjoys the sensation even more: a mysterious bug at the back of his mind has gone.

 

III. Interview

 

'Hi Mom, I'm very good and miss you as always. See, I even write a letter to you a week ahead of the deadline. How are you? How's Dad? I hope his leg's better. What doctors say?

 

Don't worry about Margie and my feelings towards her: I'm sure, in a year time she'll become only a distant memory for me, no more.

 

And my Iraqi trip delayed, my newspaper now think that I'd better stay in London and cover some glamour stuff - you know, all this celebrity stuff - and all this because of my interview with one of the models I described earlier, so you can load off your mind and relax in full.

 

Love you, Rob.'

 

He phoned her couple of days after the party. During their conversation, he suddenly imagined how tiny the mobile used to look in her hand, and it made him weak. Nevertheless, he gathered himself and asked her to come along to the paper office to make photos ahead of the interview. Unfortunately, he couldn't be there at the time: he covered anti-war rally in Central London, but when he came back, he found an e-mail by the photographer. Apparently, the guy was extremely excited: he wrote Robin that the girl was 'absolutely amazing', not only because of her height 'which itself is a priceless asset', but also her professionalism: 'she must try herself as a model, man!'

 

Then he called her again, and the next afternoon they met in a restaurant, and he conducted an interview. Before that, off the record, he finally asked her full name (it was essential for the story, of course), her age and - breathlessly again - her exact height.

 

He learnt that Breta Sorenssen, 26, was born and grew up in Sweden, that she stood (oh God!) seven feet eleven and a half inches tall, fortunately ceased to grow up five or six years ago, that she was a professional model, that she has met Nick in Japan, they had some sort of romantic relationship, but it didn't last long because after they came back Nick immediately fell in love with her younger sister. He also learnt that, unlike himself, Nick was a huge fan of very tall women, and this fact could have been a reason for him to dump Breta because while her sister was shorter than her, she was still growing.

 

The interview was an exploded bomb. Indeed, it provoked plenty of feedback and even a cash bonus in envelope signed by editor-in-chief. But more important, it made him famous: no one before had an open conversation with eight feet tall beauty, let alone exposed her dreams and feelings of being literally standing out of a crowd. There was not a text-only version: a full height colour picture with scale on it on the front page, and four more inside, including the girl's head and shoulders close-up, the girl with members of general public, the girl with a tall man in a smart suit next to her (up to her armpits), and the girl at the entrance of underground car park on Park Lane with crossbar stated 'Head room 6 ft - 183 cm' right under her breasts.

 

The last one was Robin's favourite; somehow, he felt an instant turn on whenever he saw it - and he did see it quite regularly. Do I have something in common with Nick's fetish? he thought. He didn't know the answer and didn't want to know, he just enjoyed the picture and Breta's company time after time.

 

IV. Going out

 

'Dear Mom, how are you? My life is better than ever before. I'm well paid, famous (people even recognize me in the streets!) and it seems, I'm in love again. Yes, that girl from Sweden - your feelings can't be wrong, can they? She's very nice, sweet and lovely. I'm sure, you'll like her at the first sight; one just can't resist her charm and aura, believe me. It's too early to promise, but I'll try to take her with me next time when I come to you. I'm happy to hear that Dad's fully recovered, pass him my love, Rob'.

 

Their meetings were seldom: his job required him to travel a lot; her job required the same. But they both loved to see each other. At first, their dates took place only in her or his flats: despite he loved her, he felt uneasy to show in public with stunning blonde three heads taller than him. Even at home he tried to avoid mirrors: he didn't like himself seen next to a girl whose lovely breasts were full head (full breast?) higher than the top of his head. He was like a dwarf at the side of fully-grown young woman.

 

As the time passed, however, he got used to be with Breta, to feel her immense presence, to look constantly up - way up - at her, to tilt his neck whenever he wanted to talk to her, no matter was she standing or sitting: even when sitting on a chair or a kitchen stool, she was much taller than he was. The only exclusion was a deep leather sofa in his flat. When Breta lowered onto it, he could come closer and, standing up next to her, look her in the eye with no need to crane his neck.

 

He got used to her tallness so much that already couldn't imagine he could have relationship with somebody shorter than her. In fact, he couldn't imagine he could have relationship with somebody else at all. Apparently, she felt the same. Her only complain was their loneliness; couple of times she hinted that would be nice to go out - to cinema, cafe or a disco, and finally he agreed.

 

'Hi Mom, don't hurry please - I will visit you and hope, it'll be soon, but work and stuff make the decision too hard to make. I promise to call you as soon as I know the date of my trip to you for sure, okay? And yes, I certainly try Breta to make it too. But this factor only makes it more difficult: she's got one show after another and can't find a window in her schedule so far. But we keep working on it, and eventually it'll be solved.

 

Take care and don't be upset: look, winter is already over! Kisses, Rob'.

 

Their first time out was a test for his self-constraint. She wore the lowest shoes available, but still towered over him like a telegraph pole. He knew, she was more than 30 inches taller, and all the people around knew that too. They moaned and gasped as Rob and Breta passed them, but she told him, it could have been worse if she was alone. 'At least, nobody asked me whether I play basketball or what's the weather up here, or can I see a flat in the first floor, or openly compared their heights with mine, or asked me to walk through a door to watch me bending... This is a real achievement!'

 

'Do they do those weird things often?' Robin was unpleasantly surprised to hear that.

 

'All the time. It's not easy to be 'the tallest human being on this planet,' she quoted his interview. 'And that picture with car park crossbar - it only seem to be fun to have things like this at the level of your stomach, but have you ever walked into an entrance which top is up to your chest?'

 

He was confused.

 

'Then our next trip should be to the Legoland,' she laughed. 'You know, they have a whole town there scaled down for little kids. I think you could find a proper door there to try on.'

 

They finished their coffee and stood up to come to a cinema. She chose Odeon in Leicester Square. 'They provide fairly good legroom between rows,' she added. This was an unbeatable argument. Frankly speaking, he liked the place too and would choose it as well, if only... If he was alone. This time however it was hell. Every single person stared at them. Tourists pointed cameras on them, and all he could hear was myriads of clicks, and all he could see was shrapnel of flashes. He tried to imagine two of them to be a movie stars rushing to a premiere, to ignore the looks and kept walking proudly by his gorgeous towering companion through the crowd to the ticket office.

 

Once they reached the end of the queue, he asked her to bend down and as she did, whispered into her ear, 'Let's sell tickets for them with permission to stare!'

 

'Why, do you think I'm a circus freak or maybe giraffe?' she pretended to be offended, but in a second burst to laugh. 'It could be a good idea, you know. At least, we'd make some money of my unbearable highness.'

 

'Who told you that you were unbearable?' Breta already stretched up, and he almost shouted these words to be heard by her. 'You are more than bearable!'

 

She laughed again. 'I'm glad to hear that, but I doubt you could bear me. I mean, in physical meaning.'

 

'What, lift you?' He liked the game: at least, it made him able to switch his attention off those annoying eyes around. 'Can your highness wait till home?'

 

They were already at the ticket window when Robin realized, he forgot his wallet at home. He checked the pockets and found only a fiver and some change - obviously not enough to let them in.

 

'Sorry Breta, do you have any cash? I'll refund it as soon as I get my cards.'

 

She couldn't hear him: she was too high above. She realized he was saying something, but couldn't bend this time: they were surrounded by dense crowd gathered at the cash office. Therefore, she did something that was purely natural for her, but people around were shocked. She lowered on her knees almost levelling herself with Robin and said, 'What?'

 

He was stunned too, but managed to repeat his question.

 

'Oh yes, of course I do,' she said and stood up again to reach into pocket of her custom-made jeans. 'Oops, no cash, but they take Visa.'

 

Another bend, this time to the window. This innocent act made the crowd gasp.

 

The windowsill was up to an average person's middle chest. For Breta, however, it was at mid-thigh level. She turned back, apologized to people behind, took a step backward - and lowered her upper half to the window while her legs fully stretched. 'It was my usual fitness exercise,' she told him later when asked why she'd chosen to do that instead of bending her knees.

 

It was a marvellous sight from afar: longer than life pair of legs in tight blue jeans, then cute round bottom, or rather 'uppom' due to its position above ground, then 80-degree angle, then pink suede jacket, and finally - slightly lower than bum - beautiful blonde head.

 

The sight was so unusual that some guy came to Breta from behind, turned his back towards her, and smiled to his friend's camera with his head at the level of that nice round bottom of hers. Luckily, Robin didn't see it: he was busy asking the cashier which row had the most spacey legroom.

 

V. Couturier's Challenge

 

'Hi Mom, everything's all right, I'm back from Milan and back to work. The Fashion Week was fun, you should attend one someday. My girlfriend was modeling there too, and I swear, she was the prettiest among all of them! Actually, it was the first time I saw her working, and if I was her employer, I would double or even triple her wage: you can't imagine how much applause she got, and how much attention from public and couturiers as well. They certainly approached her to offer a job, but she's reluctant to talk about it and she's gonna stay in London for a while. Hope, one of her reasons is me... Well Mom, I'm in hurry as usual, kiss you and Dad, yours R.'

 

It was in Milan that he saw her wearing heels for the very first time. He nearly fainted when she came out on podium on one of highest spikes he'd ever seen, putting other models into hopeless shadow, towering over even tallest of them by at least two feet. Their pretty faces were as high as her midriff, and their shoulders only made it up to her pubic area.

 

She was drop-dead gorgeous in a very short snow-white wedding dress that covered only her torso and hips. Her splendid bosom was half-visible through light white lace with big pink rose on her left breast, and her micro-mini revealed the full length of her legs enveloped in pink stockings, and each of them was long enough to wrap a shorter man or woman from top to toe. Those incredibly long, slender and toned legs of hers that began at the level of all other models' chests, ended in shiny white shoes with spiked heels at least seven or eight inches high. Yet they didn't seem somewhat exaggerated in conjunction with the whole excitingly feminine frame of more than immense height.

 

Robin couldn't help but stared at his lover as if he saw her for the first time. The most thrilling sight was when the show finished, and the couturier came out to the podium. It was a prominent Russian designer called Valery Yudashin; he was handsome, but unbelievably short, only up to the girls' breasts or shoulders. They smiled and laughed enjoying success, and he walked all the way along a row of models, embracing theirs waists, and they bent down to give him a kiss and whisper something into his ear.

 

As he reached Breta, he stopped with an expression of perplexity on his face that was right next to her upper thighs. He kissed on of her legs that looked incomparably sexy in pink stockings; the edge of her skirt touched his head, then he tilted his neck vertically up and raised both his arms towards her. Breta giggled and folded down. Now, with her knees touching the floor, and her bottom resting on her heels, she hugged Valery, and he, rising on his tiptoes, finally managed to kiss her in the cheek.

 

'I'm sure, tomorrow we'll see this picture in papers all across Europe,' he said to the audience as Breta easily stood up again holding his hand in hers. This way - with his left arm stretching up to the limit, and her body slightly bending in the waist to let her lower her hand low enough for him - they left the podium accompanied by storm of applause.

 

VI. Genetic Puzzle

 

'Hi Mom, it seems that I'll take a week off in a month time or so, and hopefully come to you and Dad. Apparently, Breta is also free at the time and will join me if you don't mind. She already heard plenty about both of you and can't wait to meet you in person. Is that all right?

 

Actually, I must warn you not to overreact at the time you see her; she's not that type of a neighbourhood girl, you know, she's very different in a way, but I'm sure, you'll love her. And especially Dad. Ok Mom, I'll keep you informed on our plans. Take care, Rob.'

 

He smiled as he sealed the envelope. His father George, retired army colonel, has always been attracted to taller women. Robin recalled when he was a child, they used to argued as Mom was jealous seeing her husband's eyes followed all girls and women more than six feet tall. She couldn't forget an incident happened long before Rob was born. His father, then young and handsome lieutenant, already married, fell in love with a legged barmaid from Bristol who was six feet two or three. He even left family with her, but pretty soon came back begging for parole. When asked by Robin's mother why he dumped 'the whore double his height,' he said she was stupid as a wood and her only interest was shopping. It took a long time for Mom, a petit 5'2" blonde from Sussex, to forgive her rebellious husband who, by the way, was not much taller than herself - just about 5'3" or so.

 

Rob obviously inherited his not very impressive height from both his parents, but he never thought that father's fix towards tall women could be genetically transmitted too. His mom, however, wasn't that sure and warmed him when he met Margie that due to six inches difference in height she might have been not an ideal match for him. Robin only smiled, but mothers are never wrong, and family life didn't last long. Whatever the reason.

 

After the trip to Italy Rob became suspicious that dad's nature indeed overcame his apparent indifferent attitude towards women's heights. He found himself enormously excited whenever he saw not just a tall woman, but super-extra-tall woman, his woman, especially on heels. All of a sudden, he liked to feel small next to her, and the word diminutive didn't sound offensive anymore.

 

On her birthday, he presented her black silk single piece lingerie with matching stockings and belt with suspensions. He couldn't find the item in shops, even in Long Tall Sally near Baker Street, so he spent a fortune to have it custom made, but the result was worth it. When after candlelight dinner in a French restaurant they came to her flat and she tried the gift, he asked her to put her highest heels on.

 

'Well, maybe you right,' she answered looking at a full height mirror. 'My thighs becoming a little fat, so let's try and make them look slimmer.'

 

When she came back to the room wearing her 8-inch mules, Robin's mouth froze open. Never before has he seen anything more sexually tempting. He stood up, came closer to her, embraced her upper thighs with both his hand, and craned his neck looking up at her stomach wrapped in black. As he did, he felt her knee against his crotch, and his chin touched sleek fabric covered her pubis. 'You're seducing me,' he said.

 

Later, when they rested on her double-king size bed, and he tenderly caressed her long, long body, he told her his father's story. Oddly enough, he added, looks I'm in the same league.

 

'I've noticed that already,' said Breta. 'I wish I was a psychologist and knew why did you prefer me to thousands other girls? Don't get me wrong, I love the fact, but can you explain why it was me, a woman who stands almost twice your height?'

 

'I really don't know. I just liked you from the very first sight, remember? By the way, at the time I didn't know you were so tall. And now... You're different. I love to feel your height, love to look up at you... It's indescribable, I suppose. Consider it a perversion of a sort...'

 

'Quite a common perversion,' she said.

 

'What do you mean?'

 

'I noticed that almost all men just melt down standing next to me. I don't think all of them find me sexually attractive, so the reason must be in my height. Even the tallest guys I've seen never missed a chance to compare themselves with me and became very excited to lose'.

 

'Who was the tallest guy you've met by the way?'

 

'An 18 years old American boy. He stood just a little over seven feet and played college basketball. It was back in Stockholm. I was 16 then and was just about to reach my current height, so he was a full head shorter. He approached me at my classmate's birthday party and declared that I was a perfect match for him. I replied that I didn't like him at all, and that was true. He wasn't upset a bit and asked me to pose for a picture together, which I agreed. I still have the photo somewhere by the way.'

 

She stood up and opened a cupboard. It was of a standard size, so she lowered on he knees to reach a midsection. After a short search, she produced a wooden box and brought it to the bed where Robin still lied enjoying her awesome height and grace of the way she moved. There were dozens of old pictures in the box, but she couldn't find the one.

 

'It doesn't matter,' she finally gave up searching. 'I remember him being really big and absolutely amazed by the fact that top of his head only reached up to my neck. On the picture, he looked up at me with that stupid expression of unbelief, very funny, you know... Robin knew: he felt that his own face looked the same way every time he'd observed Breta's frame from the lowness of his height.

VII. Studying the Case

 

For some reason, her description made him arouse even more. Later he tried to analyse the phenomenon, and concluded that he loved seeing his lover towering over anybody, no matter how short or tall a person was. Maybe tall even better. Or not? It would be nice to make a picture of her with a dwarf, then with an average man or woman, and then with some very tall guy or girl and to check afterwards which picture would make him excited most of all. He liked the idea so much that considered to share it with Breta and make the experiment happen. Maybe, he thought, only maybe, if it works, he could write an article or even a brochure on the issue that up until now hasn't been studied much.

 

He didn't know how Breta would react on his plan, but was afraid; she could find it offensive, like he would make her guinea pig or something. Meanwhile, he buried himself in the issue more and more, searching related materials in the internet and even in a local library. He learnt that human history knew quite a few giant and giantesses (the word he wouldn't like to apply to his beautiful girlfriend, he'd rather call her a very tall or extremely tall woman), but even among them Breta was without any doubt one of the tallest, at least when it came to a recorded cases. Also, as far as he understood, she was truly unique: despite being eight feet tall, she didn't experience any major health problems, at least didn't seem to.

 

He found out that his father and, arguably, himself weren't alone in their fetish (he'd prefer not to call it this way, but couldn't find a proper alternative); many males and even females were attracted to extremely tall women, particularly to theirs unusually long legs. To make them look even longer, he learnt, many giantesses in past and present would wear very high heels, and common people would just love that. He couldn't argue: he knew it already on his own example.

 

One day Breta, who by the time had a key of his flat, caught him studying height related materials. 'Sorry,' she said, 'I didn't mean to breach your privacy.'

 

'It's all right,' was the answer. 'You know, I've been thinking a lot about what you've asked me the other night: why I was so much fond of a woman who is twice my height.' He kissed her in the nose as she sat down on the floor next to his chair. 'Unable to find the question by my own, I started to read all this stuff and, to my surprise, discovered that the issue is pretty much terra incognita. So I decided to study as much material as possible and then summarise everything in a serious article. To clarify the matters once for good.'

 

Breta laughed and kissed him back. 'Be careful, you could be involved into this Tall Women stuff too deep and end up in Oxford as a professor of height related psychology. But I like the idea: it would be nice to get an answer on my question, so let me be the first person to read your article when it's finished. All in all', she giggled, 'I'm not the shortest human being in the world, and the height issue plays a prominent - should I say notorious? - role in my life. And if you need a help from me, just ask.'

 

'You said that!' And Robin described the idea of comparisons. Breta thought a little. 'Sounds interesting,' she finally said, 'but it could take some time to find several people of different heights who would agree to participate. Why meanwhile not to conduct a similar experiment which would only take you and me? At least we could try two situations: very tall woman with a normal handsome man and very tall woman with a very tall handsome man.'

 

'How do we suppose to do that?'

 

'Well, you are a handsome man of an average height, aren't you?' she smiled and added, 'Or just a little bit shorter, but who cares of couple of inches when only feet count? So let's make a picture of us standing next to each other as we are. And then, if you will lift yourself up by couple of feet, you'll be as tall as that guy from America. It'll be fake, of course, but still can give you impression of how I can look next to a supertall man. The only picture that you can't get this way is myself with a very short person.' She paused. 'Even with the heels on the height difference won't be that significant, but I'm sure, you'll find somebody in a due time.'

 

The idea was brilliant. And Robin even thought, there was a solution not to miss the third comparison. He didn't tell Breta, but found in the web a Dutch shoemaker specialized on extreme styles and all sorts of fetish footwear, and ordered boots on platforms of maximum thickness possible. Her size, of course. The e-mail stated, they were going to be 51 centimetres high, and to cost a whooping 660 euros. He could afford that: his recently emerged status let his income to rise considerably, so he didn't hesitate to enter his debit card details.

 

VIII. Mail Delivery

 

'Hi Mom, things are going well, I can't complain. The job is all right, you can judge for yourself just reading the paper I work for. I've already gotten couple of interesting options, one of them is to head a section in a brand new youth BBC TV channel. The section covers life of celebrities, but they offer quite a low wage as a starter. Several months ago, I would catch the opportunity without second thought, but now I have a range of proposals to choose from.

 

Our visit to you will definitely take place, don't worry. The only question is now when, but I can advise you to keep the oven warm.

 

And don't be afraid please: she's not unpleasant in any way! You interpreted my word correctly, she is kind of tall, but unlike Margaret she's not fixed on her physical appearance, she's a lovely companion in any conversation. And she plays bridge, so you're gonna have a good partner!

 

Okay, Mom, I'm really looking forward to see you and Dad, kiss you both, Rob.'

 

The parcel arrived just in time. That afternoon they were making comparison photos in Robin's new spacious flat. When the bell rang, he was busy with camera and lightings and asked Breta to open the door. Needless to say, the delivery guy was shocked to see an ideal female figure that despite being barefoot could be seen only up to her shoulders through seven feet high door. She bent down so that he was able to see her beautiful face, smiled, and asked how she could help him: he just stood there frozen in awe, completely forgetting the purpose of the visit. It took him nearly a minute to return to reality, he apologized and handed her a huge box wrapped in plastic. She thanked, signed a confirmation paper, smiled way down at him one more time, and closed the door.

 

'They won't believe me,' thought the guy imagining how he would come back to his office and share this impossible experience with others. 'I wish I asked her to pose for a photo with me... No, it was just a ghost, so it wouldn't appear on a film anyway!'

 

Back in the flat Breta cut plastic open revealing a logo Jellys Shoes.

 

'Have you ordered anything from Jellys Shoes,' she asked Robin.

 

'Yes, I have. I'm surprised how sharp their delivery is! You can open the box if you wish'.

 

'Well, well, instead of climbing on a chair you've spent a fortune on elevating shoes,' she said as she saw the boots. 'Wow, I've never seen anything like this before! You gotta be careful: if you fall down from them, you're gonna break you legs!'

 

'This is not for me,' he was still dealing with primary and secondary flashes and didn't see the boots yet. 'It's for you. I mean, I thought, it could be a way to imitate the 'handsome dwarf next to a very tall woman' comparison.' He finished the hard job and turned to her. 'What do you think?.. Oh my, they are huge! I mean, they stated height in centimetres on the website, and I thought the platforms were gonna be high, but... Anyway, what do you think?'

 

Breta who smiled broadly ever since she shut the door after the delivery guy, now laughed. 'For me? These monsters are for me? It took me two weeks to get used to my eight inches heels, and these are close to two feet, I suppose!'

 

'But you don't have to walk on podium with them on!'

 

'And out of podium too, right?' her blue eyes were shining, and her smile was playful. 'Since you promise you won't ask me to use them otherwise than indoors, I could try to put them on. But I can't guarantee I'll succeed.'

 

She ordered him not to enter the bedroom upstairs unless she would call for a medical assistance, grabbed the box, kissed Robin and went upstairs singing The Queen's I'm Going Slightly Mad.

 

IX. Jellys Shoes

 

The photographic stuff was finally fixed and tested, and Robin opened the Jellys' e-mail, pasted '51 centimetres' into a decoding website, and got the result: 20.0787402 inches. His mobile rung. Breta informed him that the first stage of operation 'The Highest Madness' went smoothly. 'You can come in now,' she said.

 

As he went up the stairs, his heart was pounding: he was just about to see something completely out of this world: an eight feet tall girl on nearly two feet high platform. Was he the first man ever to see a real life 9'8" woman? According to his research, he was indeed. He thought it's good he's wearing jeans instead of shorts or trousers made of soft fabric, and knocked the door.

 

Nothing unusual. She was sitting on the bed with her legs towards the window, so he could see only the sharp knees above the mattress and her beautiful face wearing a smile. Now the smile was enigmatic and intriguing.

 

'Well, very well: you didn't need any assistance including paramedical! How do you feel now?'

 

'Don't know yet: I was sitting down while putting them on.'

 

'Time to stand up then?'

 

'Okay, but close your eyes please,' she was still smiling. 'I don't want to you to see me falling down. It wouldn't be a pleasant sight.'

 

He obeyed, and then heard bed's squeak, then gasp and a second of silence, then two steps in his direction, then Breta's voice from above. 'Stage two completed, sir. You can open your eyes.'

 

He thought, he was prepared for the act, but he was wrong. He only realized that when she stepped out from behind the bed and came closer to him. For the first instance, all he could see were her knees. They reason for that was simple: they were still the same - nice and sharp, but those knees of hers were now just a little bit below his eyelevel. Actually, they were as high as his shoulders. If not higher.

 

This was way beyond his expectations. And preparations, too. After a while, when he regained an ability to think, his first thought was that any further experiments would be no more than a waste of time. He already knew, he was turned on to the limits, like never before. He couldn't be excited more. Once again, he thanked himself for wearing jeans. This time however, he wasn't sure denim was strong enough to hide his huge erection.

 

He decided not to share his finding with Breta. Science is science, let the research keep its pace.

 

Maybe all these thoughts were provoked by his wish to stretch the moment, maybe not, but he understood that he must have said something - and couldn't open his mouth. Or rather couldn't shut it as his jaw just hanged and he didn't know how to get it back.

 

Slowly, very slowly his look started to move up. Breta's legs were again in that pink stockings that ended just above the middle of her thighs. I.e. at the level of his forehead. Like many times before - since he has met her - he couldn't believe his eyes. Couple of inches higher was the lower edge of one of Breta's shortest miniskirts, but this time it couldn't hide her knickers of his view. It was truly incredible to look UP at a girl's pussy standing next to her. And UP at the lower edge of her skirt.

 

He tried to look further up - no use: her red skirt obstructed the view. He took a step back, she took a step forward.

 

'Like what you see?' her voice reached him like from heaven. She must have been fond of the game: her smile was easily heard.

 

'I... I think so, yes. You?'

 

'I... I think so, yes,' echoed she. 'It's unusual... A little bizarre, you know... Now I see how Alice must have felt in the Rabbit's hole. The ceiling is too close...'

 

Of course it was. When Robin bought a new flat, he put a special attention on the feature that considered non-important before: how high the ceiling was. In this pad, it was 10 feet high, enough for any normal person. Or even tall. Or even very tall. But not enough for Breta on those platforms. Standing 9'8" now, she would need to raise her hand only a bit to touch the ceiling that would be out of his reach, even if he'd climb on a dinner table.

 

He took another step back and, with his neck craned up, managed finally to see her breasts. They were unbelievably high, but even higher was soaring her face that he still couldn't see - this time because of that lovely mile-high bosom.

 

'Hello love, could you look down please?' he decided to be a good boy hoping to be awarded.

 

'Why?' her head nevertheless showed up. And up it was: from his perspective, it seemed to be touching ten feet ceiling. It was like a sun came out of a cloud.

 

'Oh my, you're sooo small!' she giggled, but soon returned to business. 'Does our experiment require you to see my face? I thought, it was enough for you to observe my legs and the rest of the body - at least, those parts of it that you can see - and to make conclusions afterwards, wasn't it?'

 

'Well, not quite like this.' Honestly, he had not a clue what the experiment required, even less he knew what to do now. 'I think your face plays an important role in our research too...'

 

'Does it? You're establishing an influence of a women's height on men's attraction towards them, aren't you? And the face doesn't really matter, I suppose.'

 

'Okay, maybe you right, but I just love to see your face. And never before did I see it on angle like this!'

 

'Fair enough,' Breta laughed again. 'I love your face too but, must confess, it's hardly seen from up here.'

 

'What do you see then?'

 

'Well... Have you ever seen a five years old child from the high of your height? I think it's pretty close to what I see now.' Her head gone again from his view. Then came back. 'You know, it's wrong'.

 

'What's wrong?'

 

'Well, I guess, an average five years old should stand 2 feet 3 or something like this. And then he would come up to your hips, wouldn't he?' She paused, then looked down at him and put her hand on his head. 'While you don't even come up to my crotch - you really don't, my little love! - and therefore it's rather like you would look down on two or three years old kid! Can you imagine this?'

 

He tried - and failed. Could it be this way? Could a fully-grown man, not a giant of course, but still a grown man in his thirties, a well-respected member of the society, a successful journalist look like two years old boy next to his much younger girlfriend? Wasn't it weird, and was it for real?

 

'No, I can't', he finally replied. 'Let's have a look at a mirror.'

 

They moved to the wardrobe with sliding doors covered by mirrors on theirs outer side. The combined area of the glass was huge and very wide - wall to wall, but obviously not high enough. Robin saw himself with this familiar silly look on his face standing next to two endlessly long poles covered in red by three quarters of their length. That was it. The highest point he could observe in the mirror was her belly button: the wardrobe was nearly seven feet high. Still the site was breathtakingly amusing. He touched one of the poles, but quickly withdrew his hand, being afraid of uncontrolled explosion in his pants.

 

'I can't see anything except my legs,' said Breta disappointedly. 'And you beside them. It's not quite what I expected. Shall we go downstairs?'

 

He agreed: time to mind business.

 

As they went to the stairs, Robin passed Breta to walk through bedroom's door first. It was purely instinctive gesture of politeness, but she stopped, smiled down and him and said, 'Wanna see me bending, my little gentleman? Here we go!'

 

All doorframes in the flat were foot and a half taller than standard ones: he had taken care of that in advance. Now however even this superhigh door was short. To walk through it, Breta was forced to bend down slightly in three points simultaneously: knees, waist and neck.

 

It was a site any tall women lover would die to see; from what he'd read on the topic, Robin knew that walking through a door was one of the most desirable acts for them. Another one was to stand on something relatively high and still be able to look up into woman eyes. He was wondering, why was that? He didn't know the answer, but was keen to find it. In a matter of fact, that was the prime (if not only) reason for the whole experiment.

 

His philosophical thoughts were interrupted by Breta who already reached the bottom of the stairway. 'Stop!' she commanded. He stopped. 'What?'

 

'I just recalled our conversation that first night. Remember, when you assumed there were two steps between us, but was wrong. I want to see how many steps should separate us now just to make us about the same height.'

 

This mean, he thought, she's either interesting in the research too, or just have fun not less than myself. He couldn't decide what idea he liked more, and just nodded to her okay. She was standing now on the floor beside the stairs, and he slowly took step down after step until their eyes nearly levelled. Again, he willingly delayed the pleasure and didn't look down, preferring the number of steps to be unknown for a while.

 

'Don't you fancy presenting me a hug at last?' Breta's head was just an inch lower than his, and he embraced her and kissed her lips passionately.

 

'Like to be taller than me?' her eyes were shining as she returned the kiss.

 

'I do, but only this way!' he couldn't hide his excitement anymore. 'You know, it felt so unreal yet so unbelievably sexy to look up at your knickers!'

 

'Did it? Afraid, I'll never be able to get an experience like that. Must confess though, I would like to. Just to share your feelings... To understand them...'

 

'Breta, sweetie, you'll never understand them. I hope, I will one day.'

 

'If you do, you'll get a cathedra in Oxford, remember?' She laughed and kissed him again. 'I have no doubt, you can do it: you're a clever man!'

 

'Not clever enough to guess how many steps higher I'm standing now.'

 

'What's the problem? Just have a look down.'

 

'I cannot. I'm afraid of heights, you know.'

 

'In that case you must have been scared of me!' she giggled. 'You don't have a chance to find a height any higher, do you? So don't play fool and start to count. I hope you're as good in arithmetic as you are in journalism and can cope with numbers higher than five.'

 

'As long as it not more than ten, I'll manage somehow!' and he lowered his head. One, two and three he accepted relatively easy. Four didn't cause big surprise either. Two feet eight inches difference, he thought, that's something I already got used to. Five was more difficult to realize. Six made him a little sick: the difference increased to 48 inches. Exactly four feet. At seven, he decided that got confused and began from scratch. No, no error. Seven steps up the stairs - and there he was - three or four inches taller than his gorgeous girlfriend. Seven steps down - and again all he could see without tilting his neck were her knees. He hugged them, pulled them together - not without Breta's help, of course, - leaned to them and kissed them. He loved them, he was full of desire, and he would give anything to stand this way forever, to feel this unexplainable tenderness and sexual excitement of extreme extent. This was unlike anything he'd experienced in his life. Ever. And this was wonderful sensation.

 

Her hand touched his hair, stroked it. 'Back to business?'

 

'Yeah, I think, it's the time.' Reluctantly, he pulled out. 'Camera is ready.'

 

It wasn't easy for Breta to walk to the sitting room on those platforms, but he gave her his helping hand (up, always up).

 

'Waiting for your command, sir!' reported Breta. 'I would assume, if I may, the operation 'Highest Madness' came into its final stage.'

 

'Seems like that.' He went to the camera and leaned to the viewfinder. 'You're not fit into the frame, sweet. Take couple steps back please.'

 

Now the picture was perfect. He set 10 seconds delay, approached her, and stood by with his hand on her left thigh at the level of his head. Camera clicked.

 

'Couple more - just in case, all right?' he came back to the tripod.

 

'Let's make them different,' suggested Breta. 'Don't you want to stand between my legs? I suppose, that's enough room for you down there. And you'll get a unique picture: yourself standing up beneath a wonan's pussy. I bet, it would be a new experience for you'.

 

'Only for me? Why don't you mention yourself? Have you ever stood with a man between you thighs?'

 

'You won't believe me if I tell you how many bizarre cases I lived through with a shorter men!' she laughed, but didn't say more. 'Are you coming?'

 

'Pretty close to,' this time he smiled. 'Having been for a while now.'

 

She moved her legs apart a little, and he walked into the arch he could never imagine he'd be in. He decided to give his hands a rest and just embraced her knees. No need to rush, he thought, we've got a whole night ahead. The shot was done, but he still stood there, admiring his goddess and worshiping her from beneath her crotch. He craned his neck and saw her knickers and a tiny wet spot on it. Was it what he thought it was?

 

'Do you want me?' he asked.

 

'Yeah baby, yeah!' she wasn't laughing. 'I did this before with a stranger... On his request... But, despite his hair actually touched me down there, I didn't want him. And now, just feeling you're looking at me, I'm horny. How would you prefer to be raped? Should I get rid of the boots beforehand?'

 

'I'd like you'd stay as you are. And I even got an idea. Do you think these lovely legs of yours are able to keep some extra weight?'

 

'If you mean yourself, easily. What's the idea?'

 

He didn't answer. Instead, he rose on his tiptoes, put his hands on her hips, embraced her lower legs with his legs, and pulled himself up. Just like a monkey between two trees, he thought. She was standing still, wondering what's coming next.

 

'Are you gonna climb all the way up to me? It'll take ages due to the distance!'

 

He didn't answer again - he was too busy. Pulling himself a little higher, relocating his legs, he finally reached the destination. His nose managed to move the string of her knickers aside, and his tongue found the target.

 

A moan from above and a shake of her body returned him to the reality. And what a reality it was - he was eating a girl's pussy being suspended between the girl's legs. Could it be for real? Did it really matter?..

 

X. Knee-High Lover

 

'Hi Mom, I have good news: we're coming next Friday. Unfortunately, we can't stay long, so we'll leave on Sunday afternoon, but still we'll be together two days and nights - isn't it fantastic? Don't ask too much about Breta, be patient and wait till you'll meet her yourself - it's very soon now. I thank you for the invitation and send my best to Dad. See you soon! Rob.'

 

They were sitting on a futon drinking wine and talking. Both barefoot, both exhausted after the most incredible sex each of them had ever had. They had already taken a shower: Robin's jeans were good in hiding his turn on, but they were unable to delay his ejaculation. Three of them, in fact. He didn't regret about wicked pants and jeans though, he was happy as a fish. They decided to continue shooting tomorrow, and to dedicate this night to love and nothing but love.

 

'It's a shame your new boots are not waterproof,' he said.

 

'Why?'

 

'I'd like to take a shower with you wearing them.'

 

'Well, then even at it highest point, the shower would be able to only wash what I needed to wash most of all!' She giggled and stood up to fetch a snack from the fridge, and he stood up too and hugged her. She seemed very short to him without the boots, he could easily kiss her pubic through a thin material of the skirt - the only item she had now on. She put her arms on his shoulders and pulled him closer and held him tight.

 

'Do you think your parents will like me? I'm a bit nervous'.

 

'Why?' he knew the answer, he just didn't want her to move anywhere.

 

'You know why. If you mom didn't like your former wife only because she was half a head taller than you, can't you predict her reaction on a woman who's three heads taller than even your ex?'

 

'I'm sure, she'll love you. Her attitude towards Margaret had nothing to do with height, she was just too selfish and egoistic, and that's it. Don't worry love; it'll be fine, I promise.'

 

'Thank you baby,' with this words she lowered way, way down, kissed his hair, took him under his armpits and straightened up with him in her hands. Then she kissed him again, this time in the lips, put him on her hip and walked into kitchen, bending down in the doorframe. 'Time to have something to eat, my little one.'

 

'Hi Mom, I know this letter is out of the schedule, but don't worry, nothing's wrong. I just would like you to keep this one in secret, okay? The matter is Breta is somewhat different... I already wrote to you that she's not a usual girl, and in fact, she's very unusual in a way. She's absolutely adorable, and I'm sure, you'll find her lovely, but I'm also sure, you'll be surprised by her appearance. I don't ask you not to, but try not to make it too obvious please. Thank you and take care. Kiss you both, yours Rob.'

 

He didn't mind when she lifted him and carried a little; although at the first time he did felt embarrassed, he learnt to enjoy it very soon. She showed a great respect to his ego and never did things like this on public. He didn't mind either when she called him little, he realized that comparing to her he was the one. Particularly when occasionally she put those huge boots on (she actually liked them more and more and would do it quite often now, but only in Robin's flat: her own one had lower ceiling). He hired builders and erected a huge mirror in the master's bedroom on the ground floor. It was not as wide as the one upstairs, but stretched all the way up from floor to ceiling - all 10 feet of it. Now they could play in front of the glass that accommodated Breta's towering figure even with platforms on.

 

This mirror was the second shock for him. The first one he experienced after processing the film. Several photos featured the comparison coded 'Breta v Dwarf.' That other night neither of them could see it in full: her observation point was too high, his - too low. The camera however captured them impartially from the right angle. On the picture, his head got even lower up to her thigh than he previously thought. And her waist, breasts, shoulders and especially head were so magnificently high, he ceased to breath seeing it!

 

Breta, when he showed her the picture, just burst laughing: 'I knew I was a giantess next to you, but I couldn't imagine exactly how giant I was! It's so funny! You look so small here, look: your chin just couple of inches higher than my knee! My knee-high lover!' and she presented him a passionate kiss.

 

Now, thanks to the mirror, they could enjoy the view every time she put the footwear on. And the view never failed to surprise them - time after time after time. They explored a new poses, and even invented one involved Robin being suspended upside down, with his feet on her shoulders. She would hold them tight with her hands while he satisfied her with his tongue. She liked it so much that came quite quickly - luckily for him because after all he wasn't a bat and therefore couldn't keep the position for too long. And it didn't take long for him to come, too: she never forgot to please her little lover, steadily moving his body up and down, and those gentle frictions of his penis against her chest and midriff made him moan of pleasure.

 

So, the full-length mirror was his second shock. But not the last one.

 

XI. Meet the Family

 

On Saturday, they planned to celebrate three months of the first encounter. He booked a table in a restaurant in Kensington and at 7 o'clock rung the bell of Breta's flat, and, waiting for a sweet kiss, closed his eyes and tilted his neck up. The door opened, but instead of a kiss, he heard a voice from above, 'You're Robin, I know!'

 

He opened his eyes. In the doorframe, smiling down at him was standing a blonde looking pretty much like Breta, but slightly younger and without Breta's lovely bosom.

 

He recognized Breta's little sister: he'd seen her photos. But even if he hadn't, he would never be in doubt. Who else could be this beautiful blue-eyed blonde head and shoulders towering above the door in front of him?

 

'Hello Kristina, I didn't know you're coming.'

 

'Breta didn't also,' her English, though certainly weaker than her sister's, wasn't that bad. She stepped aside invitingly, 'Come!'

 

He stepped in as she 'hided' behind the open door with a childish shy smile blossoming high above it.

 

'We find cheap tickets for the airplane in internet and did Breta surprise,' explained the girl. 'Nick coming soon, but father stay at home: he busy on job. But mama is here'.

 

Indeed, as he entered the living room, he saw a woman sitting at the table. She saw him too, gave him a big smile and stood up. She was in her forties, very good looking - the same blonde hair and blue eyes, and she wasn't that tall. Well, comparing to her young daughter anyway: she was only up to her shoulders. Girl told her something in Swedish, he understood only two words, 'mama' and 'Robin', and she gave him her hand: 'Astrid.'

 

'Mama don't know in English,' said girl, he nodded, named himself and took her hand. Now, as he stood right in front of the woman, he realized that he was wrong. She was tall. In fact, she was very tall, six feet seven or eight inches easily - he stared directly at her breasts. The excuse for his first impression was the fact that she still should have been much shorter than Breta, and his judgment of what is tall and what is short now based purely on his supertall girlfriend's height.

 

'Nice to meet you Astrid. You know, it's exactly three months today that I've met your lovely daughter, and we were going to celebrate the date, so please be our guests.'

 

As girl translated his short speech, he thought, it could be a problem to get her in the restaurant: as far as he remembered, she was a teenager. He shared his concern with her and received a good laugh as an answer. 'I go to bars when I was 11 years old!' she declared proudly. 'No drinks, I like dance. But don't say this to mama.'

 

She was still laughing when Breta came in. 'Hello my dear,' she automatically lowered herself to his level and kissed him. 'I see, you already met mom and Krista?'

 

'Yeah, and I invited them to join us, but don't you think Kristina is too young for that?'

 

'No, she's a good girl and behaves. And if you're concerning about her proof of age, than I can assure you, she won't need it'. She stood next to the sister. 'Look, she's only inches shorter than me, and I don't remember being asked for ID in the bars for ages.'

 

She was right: the top of Kristina's head came to Breta's nose, and all of a sudden, he thought that he was gonna be the shortest in the company. No, that wasn't correct: he was gonna be completely dwarfed by these three towers! He found the idea amusing, but at the same time, he wasn't sure that he could cope with the women whose combined height must have been more than 22 feet. Four and a half times more than his own 5'5"! That's what the word diminutive really meant!

 

Black cabs - the London taxis - are famous for their spacey cabins that can be used by five adults simultaneously, and high roofs built to fit ladies in huge hats and gentlemen in cylinders. But even a black cab was struggling to accommodate them. Half of the company - Astrid and Robin - made themselves comfortable on the folding seats at the front wall that was separating cabin from the driver while two towering sisters sat on the back, tilting theirs torsos and not knowing where to put their legs. Robin couldn't help but stared at Breta's knees towering above his own by good eight inches. The sight sent a sensation of irresistible desire, but it obviously wasn't a place to satisfy it. When they got out at the restaurant door, the girls immediately straightened up to stretch theirs necks and spines, and one should have seen the drivers' face. He wasn't just surprised or even amazed, he was totally shocked. Robin couldn't blame him: he knew that from aside he looked like a mushroom in pine forest.

 

XII. In the Restaurant

 

The cab was not the only challenge for them. Restaurant manager was in advance informed by Robin the party doubled in size, but when they came in, he thought, it rather had been tripled. So had been his task to find a suitable table for those giantesses. Due to the prices, the place was never full, so he called a steward and ordered him to pull two tables together. And he made sure, there were deep leather armchairs instead of the ordinary wooden ones: that was the only way the women might - still only might - be able to hide their longer than life legs under the tables.

 

'I accommodated Harlem Globetrotters here the other day,' he whispered into waiter's ear. 'You know, that basketball showmen from the US that don't have a single guy shorter than 6'4". And must say it was much easier to comfort those lads than these ladies. How tall they are, I am wondering!'

 

As he helped every guest to sit down by the table, the waiter, who was also puzzled, secretly compared his own height with theirs', and then returned to the manager's desk.

 

'It's impossible even to guestimate,' he said. 'You know, when they came in, I thought, the man was very short, but he's not much shorter than me. And my chin wasn't higher up than two young ladies' bums.'

 

'Yeah, I saw that. The top of you head was just at the level of theirs waists! Incredible! They're not very tall; they're extremely tall, even beyond that! I've never seen a man of this height, let alone a woman. And here they are - two of them at a time! And aren't they a beauties?'

 

'Yes sir, but may I draw your attention to the youngest of them? I'd love to be wrong, but she is looking very young. I mean too young if I may...'

 

'Is she?' the manager was short-sighted. 'We can be in trouble than. I gotta check, thank you.'

 

He approached the party, coughed politely and said, 'I beg your pardon, but with all my respect may I ask you young beautiful lady just how old are you? At this time only persons over 21 allowed in the premises, and you look so magnificently young'.

 

'What's the problem then?' It was Nick: Robin called him earlier that evening and invited over. He appeared unnoticed and took an initiative in his hands. He was a head taller than the manager, which gave him an advantage to talk to him in a patronising manner. 'This is my fiancee; she's a foreigner and doesn't speak any English. But I can assure you that she by all means is older than 21.' He made a gesture towards girl inviting her to get up, and when she did and bent over him, kissed her in cheek. He hadn't see her for a while and was keen to kiss her all over - her pretty young face, her beautiful swan neck, her so far underdeveloped boobs, her flat tummy that could be seen beneath bright yellow top, her long, unbelievably long and lovely legs, but he wasn't sure it would be accepted by her mother who didn't understand a word and just watched the scene smiling as Breta tried to catch up with the translation.

 

'Look at her!' he proudly raised his arm high in the air and put his hand on her upper arm. 'Do you still think she is a teenager?'

 

The old man didn't know what to think. On one hand, her face looked so childishly young. On the other, he felt a child himself in her immense presence. Never before had he felt so small being forced to look way, way up at a bosom, even at a stomach - no matter of an adult or a minor. 'I... I am sorry, miss, I would like to apologize for my doubts,' it seemed that being totally overwhelmed by height of the person in front of him, he didn't get it that she didn't understand English. 'This will not be repeated, but may I just ask you how tall are you?'

 

Nick knew the answer - at least, he thought he knew, - but pretended to be translating the question. He just said something meaningless on a birds' language, heard the girl's answer and turned to the manager. 'She's 239 centimetres, just short of eight feet. And she's still growing,' he added proudly.

 

In a matter of seconds, he realized that the last words contradicted his previous statement concerning her age, but the manager didn't notice it. Being French, he ignored 'eight feet' stuff, but 239 centimetres was something unimaginable.

 

'She's a giraffe,' he told to the waiter. 'She's two metres forty.'

 

'How do you know?'

 

'I just asked her.'

 

'Weren't you afraid to?'

 

'Why? She seems to be very friendly. But still a giraffe.'

 

'Yes, and one of her companion's even taller. Not much, of course, just couple of inches.'

 

'Taller? They must be the tallest sisters in the world. They look like sisters, and the older lady is definitely their mother.'

 

'Yes sir, and she looks really short next to them despite she's very tall herself. They must have an elephant as their father,' he giggled.

 

'And that gentleman that joined them - do you know who he is? A boyfriend of the younger sister! He looks ridiculous next to her.'

 

'Agree. But you know, sir, I would suppose that the other one is a husband or boyfriend of her sister, who's even taller, and the gentleman himself is even shorter than his companion.'

 

'Can you imagine them posing for a family picture?' manager laughed.

 

'I would give my tips for a week just to watch the couples kissing,' said waiter. 'I doubt the men could have a chance to kiss their women's' breasts.'

 

'Breasts! I would eat my hat if they'd make it up to their navels!'

 

XIII. Too Long Trousers

 

'Hi Mom, I'm so sorry we couldn't make it last week: we had unexpected guests from Sweden, Breta's mother and younger sister. Their visit was short and pleasant, but it ruined our plans to come and see you. However, nothing's gonna stop us at the coming weekend, so be warned and stay cool, remember my last letter, okay? I see you in a few days now, can't wait, Rob.'

 

The preparations weren't long: for the short brake in his hometown Robin and Breta only needed a basic things like toiletries, couple of shirts per person and a cocktail suit and dress plus formal shoes - just in case. They had another hour before departure; she asked him to pack the luggage and went to the bathroom. He opened a suitcase and put footwear in the bottom, following by feather jackets and scarves, then shirts and toothbrushes. Then he noticed Breta's trousers hanged on a chair. He knocked the bathroom door and shouted to be heard through the noise of shower, 'Are your black trousers to be packed?'

 

'No,' she said. 'I'm gonna wear them now.'

 

He came back to the bedroom and sat down on a sofa. Again, his eyes stopped on the pants. He stood up, took them, lowered the sleeves so that they touched the floor, and lifted his arm holding the upper edge of the garment. When the trousers straightened up, he turned to the mirror. He saw himself standing next to a black stripe of fabric that stretched all the way up from the floor to his nose - that was the point where the belt line was. The crotch of the trousers was at the level of his chest. He thought a little and lifted them couple of inch higher: Breta would never wear them barefoot. He looked at the mirror again; now in addition to himself and the piece of cloth he saw two legs of matching length. Further up - just above hips - was his white bathrobe. He turned around.

 

'I didn't hear you coming,' he said in ashamed voice.

 

'I can see that,' Breta smiled down at him. 'What are you doing here? Gonna borrow my trousers for a banquet? I think, you'd better drink and eat as much as you can before you go then.'

 

'Why?'

 

'Otherwise you're risk staying sober and hungry. You won't be able to put anything into your mouth: it'll be covered by fabric.' She laughed, kneeled down and hugged him. 'Honestly, they seem to be a little big for you, but I wouldn't mind you try.'

 

She was so close, so fresh after bath, and her hair smelled lavender and honey and something else, her eyes were so playful and inviting - he just couldn't stand that anymore. He ripped the robe open, pulled her closer and found her lips with his own. She was only a shade taller than him now, so it was enough for him just to rise on his tiptoes.

 

'May I at least have my toys on?' protested Breta. 'I'm gonna miss them so much!'

 

'Are you sure we have enough time?' Robin, too, would love her to wear the platform boots.

 

'Trains to Bristol depart every hour, darling. And you meanwhile go to kitchen and make us an afterlove tea, will you?'

 

In no time she came into kitchen too.

 

'I've got the idea, honey,' she said as she made her pace through the doorway - folding by half, as usual. 'How about sex on the fridge?'

 

'In the fridge?'

 

'No, on the fridge! Look, I'm leaning on it, and you'll take me from behind. Isn't it bright?' And immediately she demonstrated exactly what she meant. Even before his bathrobe was way too short for her; now, when she bent down and put her elbows on his 7 feet high refrigerator, it looked more like a top on her body, but Robin couldn't see it anyway.

 

'Very good,' he scratched his head looking up at the tempting peach of her round bum. 'How do I suppose to get up there?'

 

'Not my problem, sweetie. I made my step, now it's your turn to think! And don't be long, we're gonna miss the train!'

 

'All right then, I'll be back in a minute,' and he stormed out - to a cupboard where since the flat redecoration he kept a ladder...

 

XIV. Mum's Letter

 

'Dear Polly, I would advise you to sit down in a good nice armchair and make sure you will not fall down reading this letter. Now, when you are ready, I continue.

 

Perhaps you remember I have written to you earlier this year that my son met a nice girl in London who is a foreigner and a work as a model for one of the most respectable agencies in the capital. Well, last weekend they visited us here.

 

I must add, Robin had warned me in advance not to be shocked when I would see his new passion, but failed to detail what exactly he had meant. I did not know what to think and just tried not to be surprise whoever I was about to meet. However, nothing worked.

 

When they came over, I nearly fainted. I most certainly would if George wouldn't hold me. I cannot describe here what I saw, dear Polly.

 

This woman is one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen, and you know, I am not a person that would easily say anything like this. But she is gorgeous. However, she is even taller than Robin's ex-wife - do you remember that selfish long fish that only was attracted to my son's bright career? So, this girl (her name is Breta, she is a Swede) is not just taller than her, but much, much taller. You will not believe me, but it is true: her legs are as tall as the whole me! It is not a joke or exaggeration; I did ask her, she stands 7 feet 11.5 inches tall! I am sure, she is the tallest human being on Earth.

 

As you could easily guess, George at once fell in love with Robin's girlfriend. I always knew, he was attracted to a tall women (and you probably remember his romance with that bitch waitress who was a head taller than him), so I pretended that I didn't notice his attempts to stand as close to Breta as he could whenever he could. Of course, I didn't tell him, but he looked just ridiculously short in comparison: his top of head didn't even come up to her hips. If it happened 10 or 15 years ago, I would most certainly become jealous, but now he's a weak man 40 years older than her, and besides, she is his son's fiancee, therefore I only laughed to myself and didn't say nothing.

 

And yes, Robin apparently is considering proposing her. I had a word with him privately, and he admitted that. I agreed she was stunning and very clever, kind and open minded person, but way too tall for him, and it would not be easy to catch an odd looks every time they would go out. He just said, it was rubbish, and he did not care what would other people think. The only think that matters, he said, was their love. 'Do you think,' he said, 'that despite her great personality Breta must live all her life alone just because she is very tall? I think, it would be unfair. Yes,' he told me, 'she is unusually tall, but I do love her, and she loves me, we are happy together and could make the best couple in the world.'

 

And you know Polly, apart from the height difference, they surely would. I could not argue, and just gave him my blessing. So did George.

 

They has not planned their wedding yet, in the matter of the fact, Robin had not even proposed Breta, but my intuition tells me, you and me must be preparing for the ceremony...

 

With this good news (tall news, my dear Polly!) let me finish my letter. Come and see us here as soon as you can, our door is always open for the old good friend.

 

Please, take care on your health and good luck.

 

Yours truly,

 

Elizabeth.'

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