Advice and Ascent

“Sometimes the best advice is that which you choose to ignore.”

It took Whitley a long time- too long in fact- to realize the wisdom of her grandmother’s words. Perhaps the old matriarch knew she was in for something different as they’d come when she'd just begun to develop and was being inundated with advice from every other female in her family. It may have been overwhelming, but it was well-meaning and a welcome comfort to hear from those with experience.

“This might all seem awkward and strange now, but trust us, it’s all part of becoming the wonderful woman you're meant to be.”

When Whitley’s full maturity had her topped out a bit on the small side, the advice she received quickly revolved around the many tricks and tools there were for elevating the petite.

“A push-up here, some padding there, and how about some high-high heels. ‘Work it, baby.’”

That was until a surprise spurt in early adulthood sent Whitley shooting up like a misfired rocket and brought about a sizable shift in what was suggested to the over-developing young woman.

“Trim this, minimize that- compress, suppress, repress.”

And when that spurt compounded with yet another, those encouraging and well-meaning words took a turn that was cautious and more than a bit demeaning.

“Good lord, you better crouch, slouch, and just try and not take up the whole couch!”

There'd always been opinions on who Whitley should date- what race, creed, status, and inclination, but as time went on and options ran out, that list became decidedly simple.

“Tall- as tall as you can find.”

So Whitley sought out the very tallest- the one’s others would call freakishly tall but to her were average at best. And this suited her fine for a while. But the guys didn’t like it when Whitley became the taller one, and the girls were mostly just looking for someone to commiserate with. In the end, neither liked being looked down on and all were left wondering what came after freakish.

Unfortunately, her series of spurts proved more of a marathon and Whitley continued to grow, and grow, and grow. She grew bigger than anyone she knew or had ever even heard of. “Hyper-developed” they called it, a bonafide giantess and one for the history books.

Whitley was without peer and yet, having grown far beyond the experience of any other somehow didn’t put a stop to the advice which had taken a tone that was downright demanding.

“Whitley, don’t this…
never that…
and girl you gotta,
you gotta,
you gotta…”

The woman Whitley was meant to be had become too much. The female Goliath had outgrown their homes and their patience until all that was left to suggest was an exasperated,

“You do you.”

Problem was, by that point poor Whitley had been stripped of any identity beyond her astonishing size or any aim outside of trying to not be an enormous bother. A sullen wreck, the ungainly girl hid herself away in her dark and cramped cave of a studio apartment where she couldn’t help but feel like some horrible troll of yore.

…

After a year of living as an oversized solitary recluse, Whitley suddenly found her whole perspective flipped for the better and it happened the moment she broke with the longstanding advice of her many aunts (most of whom were single).

“Don't go looking for love online, it’s all creeps and weirdos.”

Well, she wasn’t exactly looking, but Whitley had at least opened herself up to the possibility when a random gaming session evolved into a therapeutic chat and then on to something better. It was more refreshing than creepy and any weirdness was on her end. Whitley had hinted at her size, joked about her size, then bluntly laid out the record-setting facts, and still, this one didn’t run like the others before. If anything, they seemed intrigued.

…

The mystery made it exciting and the budding relationship helped pull Whitley from her doldrums. After deciding to meet in person, they spent one last anonymous chat pouring over fashion blogs and fantasizing about what she’d wear on their date if money were no object and size no concern. Whitley had to laugh because clothes shopping for her was akin to a vegan visiting a steakhouse. Her options were extremely limited and any stylish aspirations had been abandoned several feet ago.

…

“Every inch is an inch too many. Girl, you gotta cut that hair, maybe even shave it- you could pull it off. At least let me braid it, I can do it so tight you won’t gain even a quarter inch.”

That was her cousin Rosalyn, the self-trained stylist who had Whitley sit on the floor just so she could get to work.

“No, we go big.”

“Big?”

“We go up.”

“Ohh…kay, but you’ll have to duck to get through the door or even stand in a room.”

“Duck more you mean,” Whitley corrected.

“Oh… right.”

As Rosalyn swapped scissors for comb and pick to sculpt a most epic updo, gifts arrived- all of them custom-made. Opening the first box, Whitley smiled at the long forbidden items shining back at her.

“No heels! Not ever! No thick soles. Try flats- or heck, just go barefoot- who’s ever going to give you grief about it?”

They were gorgeous and sleek stilettos, but there was a problem…

Thankfully, everything else was spot on and with every layer replaced, Whitley began to finally feel like herself. The biggest and tallest sweats from the men’s big and tall had fit her like frumpy capris and she gladly shed them for a fun little skirt whose pleated hemline sat where most girl’s bustlines would.

Speaking of which, there was a bra- one ludicrously large yet properly fitted, or so Whitley hoped. Whipping off the matronly muumuu that she’d worn as a blouse, she marveled at a bosom no longer maliciously squashed but held high and proud.

Last came her favorite find, a truly banging jacket that adorned her huge frame like a snug and supple glove. As she ran her hands over the many rich new fabrics, still in shock that such a getup could possibly exist in her size, another package arrived. Thinking only elves could have worked so fast, Whitley was shocked to find a freshly crafted pair of epically thick platform boots waiting inside.

It had been so long since Whitley had been able to “work it” that her self-esteem had all but been retired. Being dressed to the nines when you’re over ten feet tall might be overkill, but she was making up for lost time, and man, oh man, did it feel good.

“Never accept rides from strangers.”

Certainly, good advice, but dammit this was a chauffeured Bentley. A big, beautiful car, but unfortunately…

“Remember dearie- dainty little steps. Don’t go tromping about like Godzilla.”

Her mom meant well, but Whitley was done hiding herself away and was eager to get out and strut all her new stuff. With every proud and defiant step, she stood taller and she loved how her footfalls thumped out a beat that rattled the windows and announced her presence to anyone who couldn’t already see her coming from blocks away.

Sure there were shocked stares and gasping comments, but with her great gait it all went by in a blur and Whitley reminded herself what was behind those reactions- awe and respect. Regardless, she was more preoccupied with imagining all the appreciative stares and adoring comments awaiting her up in the towering high-rise ahead.

Whitley sensed a nervous excitement in the texts she’d been receiving, though that may have been partly due to her own bubbling anticipation which she struggled to keep in check as she stepped into the small private elevator heading up to the penthouse suite.

“It’s always safer to take the stairs.”

Looking back, that’s one she should have heeded, but stairs were difficult for Whitley which is why she’d picked a ground-level apartment for herself. Climbing while bent half over wasn’t fun and she had forty floors to go.

Whitley was giving herself a final check in the mirrored wall when with a wrenching creak, a metallic groan, and a flickering of the lights, the elevator came to an abrupt stop.

The tension underlying those texts had become undeniably palpable to Whitley. Every vibrating buzz announcing each new message rang stronger than the last as if channeling a fervor rising in its sender. Whitley realized that even if trapped, there was still fun to be had with her distant admirer.

“Never tell them your real weight.”

“You wanna look cute and little in a photo so remember to hold the camera high.

Whitley had to squat, but she did look adorable and even believably petite in the pic. However, that wasn’t what this night was about, and she moved her thumb over to RETAKE.

Getting back up in the cramped space, Whitley brought herself up to her full height, or as full as she could manage, before directing the phone at her reflection in the mirrored wall. Then she moved it lower… and lower. She wasn’t sure how short her mystery host was, but she made a best guess while playing around with a couple poses, each a bit more risqué than the last until…

What a shot! Whitley couldn’t believe it was really her. She looked huge. And hot. And at long last, she was comfortable with accepting herself as both.

“Don’t put anything out online you wouldn’t want the whole world to see.”

Smiling, Whitley hit SEND along with a short message.