[kuner]

This story was posted at a now defunct yahoo group a while ago (i think one of jeremy wilson's). The group is now defunct. Does anyone know if this author is still active or has done more? I tried googling for him but couldn't find any futher works. Well perhaps he is lurking here and will let us know.

Big Ugly

Part 1
At 35 years of age, I pretty much knew that I’d never make it to the bigs.  I was the third baseman for the Davenport Cyclones, the Boston Red Sox AA farm team.  God, I’d once made it as far as AAA, but only for a couple of weeks to fill in for their regular who was injured.  You occasionally hear of someone getting a shot at the bigs late in life, maybe even at my age, but it’s rare.

I just happened to love the game.  I hadn’t much thought of what I’d do when I wasn’t able to play anymore.  My off-season employment had been a long string of dead-end hourly gigs that I generally had to pretend I never went to college to get.  The game made it all worthwhile.

But the game was changing.  More players than not were doing steroids, the idea of sportsmanship seemed foreign to most, and I just felt like I didn’t fit in anymore.  This would probably be my last year.

It was a cold day in Davenport, Iowa, March 27th to be exact.  We were about to play our third game of the year and were 2 and 0 so far.  We were scheduled to play the Omaha Oaks, last year’s doormat.  This year they were also 2 and 0, seemingly on the strength of one player.  A walk-on at that.  A walk-on already known throughout the league as Big Ugly.

I had to wonder if Big Ugly was just an elaborate hoax, someone making a deal with the press to build up a story.  For openers, She was a woman, Mandy Sorento.  Mandy had four official at-bats and had four home runs.  No measurements were available for home runs in double-A ball, but all were said to make the longest hit by Mark MacGwire look like a pop fly.  The other 6 times she got to the plate she was walked, promptly stole second and third (twice on the same pitch!) and scored either by tagging up on a fly ball, a ground out or by simply stealing home.

The Oaks were supposedly playing only two outfielders, Big Ugly covering the ground normally reserved to both the left and center fielders.  More than once she had caught a ball jumping well over the top of the fence and threw a runner tagging from third without her feet touching the ground.

She was listed at 5 foot 7.  No one had asked her weight.  No one dared.  500 pounds?  600?  More?  She was said to be 5 foot 7 in any direction you might measure her.  Huge gut.  Always kept her body covered with loose clothing, but this time of year this could be said of just about everyone.  How could she run that fast with all that bulk?  Nobody knew.  It was said she had a surly disposition, kept to herself.  Her face was painful to look at.  Somehow scarred and disfigured beyond belief.  Probably a burn victim, but nobody knew.  Nobody asked.  Nobody dared.

She just showed up at game time, took her position, and left right after the game.  She would sit on the end of the bench, talk to no one, and leave.  So mysterious.

Or so the legend went.

At least I stayed in the game long enough to see the legend in action.

The crowd was bigger than usual that day, which wasn’t saying much given the cold weather and the fact that, well, this was double A ball.  News of Big Ugly was getting around already.  The National Enquirer was there.  The Globe was there.  A few other papers I took to be rags like the Globe and Enquirer were there.  A couple of other papers that were probably more legit were there.  Two minutes before game time, I saw a baseball player the likes of which I had never seen show up in the Oaks’ dugout.  Big Ugly was there.

She was unmistakable.  Out team’s collective jaw dropped.  At least her appearance was no hoax.  It was hard to look at her, but hard not to.  The only ones seemingly not in awe were Steve Slucker, out pitcher, and our catcher John Markley.  Steve was being groomed for the fast track and would probably not last the year with us; he’d go Triple A long about June or July unless he screwed up.  He was immature, cocky, and had a 105 mile-an-hour fastball as well as a great curve to set it up.  All he needed was a bit more control and a bit more maturity and he’d have a great career.  But for today, it was “Get a load of that ugly bitch!  Nine pitches, three strikeouts for her.”

I took my spot at third.  Steve was in rare form.  The first two batters looked like little leaguers trying to hit Roger Clemens.  Then came Big Ugly.  John Slucker chortled to himself.  He threw.  The radar gun read 103.

The left-center field fence in Davenport is marked with a sign reading “350” as in feet.  The owner of the farm on the other side was a baseball fan with a sense of humor.  The fence where his property began had a sign of “650”.  It had been measured and was correct.  The fence on the other side read “947”.  Like I said, a sense of humor.  Beyond that, the Mississippi.

We saw the splash.

As Mandy rambled toward third on her way around, I could only say, “nice hit”.  A curious thing happened.  Through the hideously scarred face, she managed a warm smile that belied her reputed surliness and said “thanks!”  Slucker was less than appreciative and muttered “Fuckin’ bitch!”

He got the third out no problem, and when he got to bat in the bottom of the third it was 1 to 1.  He was not only our best pitcher, but probably our best hitter as well.  Batting him ninth was more a formality than anything else.  With Mike Ackerman on third, he launched what appeared to be a homer to left center.  We could only guess, but Big Ugly must have caught the ball a good 20 feet above the fence.  When the ball arrived at the plate about the time Mike was only halfway there, he just stopped as the catcher trotted out to tag him for the third out.

Big Ugly was no hoax.  Steve Slucker was livid.  Top of the fourth, one out, Big Ugly at the plate.  Markley called for the beanball.  I knew it would be 100+ mph of possible career-ending heat.  Hell, possible life-ending.  I knew this was part of the game but I never agreed with it.  I touched my head as a signal to her as to what was coming.  She’d done nothing to deserve this.  I didn’t think she saw me.  In came the pitch.  She didn’t move except to quickly, calmly, put her hand in front of her face and catch the ball.  The radar gun said 105, and she caught the ball.

Mandy looked at Steve with an expressionless glare and proceeded to crush the ball like she was dealing with a soft stick of butter.  She turned and gave the ball to a dumbfounded John Markley, turned back to Slucker and calmly took the two ends of her bat, one in each hand, snapped it in two like a twig, and trotted off to first base.  Steve, clearly shaken, threw the next ball to the backstop and Mandy cruised into third.  There was no exchange of words or any acknowledgment of my tipoff during her brief stay there.  Another wild pitch and she was home.

Steve regrouped and we got out of the inning with no further damage.  I went to the dugout to be greeted by our manager, Dirk Melstrom.  He was new this year, and as I saw it, represented everything that was now wrong with the game.  He said just two words to me.  “Get out.”  If Mandy hadn’t seen my signal, he had.  I knew in an instant that I was finished.  I’d been fired.  Not benched, fired.  The equipment manager told me by bags would be at the hotel desk.  I left the field, never to play the game of baseball again. 

I wandered around trying to think of my next step in life.  I’d never gone to college, had no family to speak of, no ideas if life after baseball.  I eventually made my way to the hotel about 6:00 or so, long after the rest of the team had packed and gone.  I asked at the desk how the game had turned out.  It seems that in the fifth, Slucker came to bat again and Big Ugly came in from the outfield just to pitch to him.  She threw one warm-up pitch which hit 200 on the radar gun.  That’s as high as it would register.  The pitch sailed about ten feet to the left of the catcher.  Steve was in no mood to dig in for that at bat.  Mandy threw the ball at his head, and he went down, messing his pants in the process. 

The radar gun registered 75.  Slow curve, called strike.  She went back to the outfield, Slucker left the game, perhaps with a sense of humility he had never known before.  Final score, Oaks 5, Cyclones 2.  Big Ugly was too much for Double A and probably would be too much for the Majors.  Too bad I wouldn’t be around to see it.

Part 2
Back to more practical matters.  I asked for my bags, figuring my next task would be to see if I had enough money to buy a ticket to who-knows-where.  To my surprise, the desk clerk said “Charles Winslow?  You’ve been booked into room 47B for the night, compliments of a friend.  Your bags are there.”

As perhaps the most unpopular man in Davenport, I didn’t think I had any friends, but was in no position to argue.  I took the keycard and made my way to room 47B.  I was curious about the “B” in 47B.  It turns out that my room was half of a suite that they often gave to a family, and had a door directly adjoining 47A.  The kids get their own room, but mom and dad can look in on them.  No family?  It’s two separate rooms.  I didn’t really care about that.  I took a rather long shower, got into my robe, and sat down to watch some TV.  I was tired as Hell.

I hadn’t even figured out what I was going to watch when there was a knock from the door of 47A.  “Charlie Winslow?”  The door opened and an amazingly pretty face with dark hair peered in.  She looked to be Asian of some specific origin I couldn’t place, her skin dark and clear, her eyes clear and bright, and a smile that could melt an iceberg.  I was in love.  “Could you come over here for a minute?  I want to talk with you.”

“Well… I… if you don’t mind me asking, who are you and what do you want?”  Not that I really cared.  She was stone gorgeous but I just was curious.  I entered and realized as I did that the woman was fucking HUGE!  She smiled and said “Don’t you remember me?  Amanda Sorento?  Big Ugly?  Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.  My face and my gut are over there!”  She smiled and pointed to a corner of her room where hung the hideous mask that had been the face I’d seen earlier.  Attached to it was some scraggly hair, and below it hung some very elaborate padding which I took to have been her belly a few hours before.

Mandy was dressed in a full length heavy robe which managed to conceal what seemed to be a tank underneath.  The face which had been hidden beneath the mask was one of flawless beauty.  Her skin was dark and soft, radiating a glow of warmth and sensuality, but her bulk was unmistakable.  She no doubt asked me into her half of the suite because she couldn’t get through the door into mine.  That she was as wide as she was tall was true, at least at the shoulders, and she was every bit as deep.  The smile grew on her face and in a somewhat deep but unmistakably feminine voice, Amanda spoke.

“Thank you for coming, Charley.  I’m really sorry you lost your job today.  She looked into my eyes, reached out, lifted me up and over her immense chest, and brought my lips to hers.  She had to lift me, as I couldn’t have reached her mouth if she hadn’t!  She softly kissed me.  Her breath was sweet, her lips were soft and she somehow radiated a femininity that belied her size.

And what size!  My feet couldn’t touch the ground, draped as I was over her immense bosom.  The upper part of my body was parallel to the ground and my arms couldn’t begin to find the lower part of her back.  It just seemed to continue in every direction I reached. 

She whispered in my ear,  “I appreciate you tipping me off about the beanball, although it was hardly necessary.  I expected Slucker would do it.  Just the same, I’m really grateful for your help.  You put your career on the line to do the right thing and there’s not too many who would do that.  I’m truly grateful.”

“Hey, I was on the way out anyway.  I guess I’m kinda glad it’s over…” and with that, she cut me off.  She simply looked me in the eyes, let me down, and tucked my hands inside her robe, each on the outside of her breasts. She gently pressed them inward, her robe opening to reveal cleavage to put a world-class ultra-enhanced stripper to shame, but it all hers.  Soft and firm. My hands must have been a yard apart or more.  H-cup?  J-cup?  I guessed she easily eclipsed the alphabet.  Any alphabet, and ancient Sanskrit has 49 letters!

“…and I can be very… very… grateful…” and with that, Mandy lifted me up again, and kissed me with a warm, passionate kiss the likes of which I had never known to exist.  I could tell she had lost the robe.  With no robe in between, my hands, again on her back, felt the muscles roll and bulge this way and that.  My God, there didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on her!  Contrasting to the hardness of those muscles, her breasts now began to heave up and down, first her left, then her right, then her left again.  I felt  like a piece of driftwood bobbing on the ocean waves!

I found myself inexplicably enjoying the sensation – feeling (groping, really) a female body possessed of muscles larger, harder, and more defined than any muscles ever gracing planet Earth in its history.  To my sudden horror, I found myself enjoying it to the point of sprouting an erection that I’d normally be proud of, but I was afraid of utterly pissing of this woman who had just hours earlier hit a baseball well over a thousand feet on the fly!  And I wasn’t even sure it was her furthest shot!!

But just as I felt my face go flush, Mandy gave out a low moan of satisfaction, removed her tongue from my mouth, and whispered in my ear.  “You like my body, don’t you.  I was hoping you would, I like the way you touch it!”  With that, she gently lowered me back to the floor, and took a step back so I could take her in.  Okay, she had to take a couple of steps back.

I could only gasp. 

She was wearing a silken purple bra which did a remarkable job of holding her immense globes in place, but she quickly displayed the rolling motion which had aroused me moments earlier; one breast rising, then the other, then both to the point where they obscured the lower part of her gorgeous face.  I could only imagine the pectorals underneath causing this.  I didn’t have to imagine for long as  she let them fall and with a sudden bounce, they leapt out of the bra and into freedom!

In sheer disbelief, I watched as the orbs parted, displaying a pair of pectorals underneath which defied description.  With a sexy, playful smile, she made one jump up and out, then the other, then the first, then both at once causing her breasts to shimmy and dance.

She then made a crease about a foot deep appear near the bottom of each and rolled them up to the top and back down again, first slowly then faster and faster, each taking the attached breast with it until I nearly got dizzy just looking at them.  WOW!

Mesmerized as I was, I found my attention diverted to what I had once thought was a grossly obese midsection.  Now without padding, she could make each proud member of the six-pack stand out on its own or flex them all to make them into a mighty fortress – six cannonballs ready to fire at anyone foolish enough to attack!

Then, she tipped my chin up so my eyes met hers and then led my gaze to her right arm.  With a dramatic flair, she stretched it outward.  Even in this position and relaxed, the biceps was a massive basketball-sized globe whose top was level with her eyes, the triceps underneath counter-balancing it perfectly.  She slowly bent her arm.  Up the biceps rose, as though David Copperfield were levitating it off the rest of the arm.  I gasped when as the bend got close to 90 degrees I realized the muscle had risen to where it was peaking well above her fist.  I couldn’t believe it and placed my shaking hand out to touch its immensity.

Mandy whispered, “Sweetheart, relax!  I’m not done yet!  I’m just bending my arm!  Now let me really flex it for you!”  My mind was racing.  Far bigger than any arm ever imagined, I had of course assumed she had already made it as big and hard as it was going to get.  But she brought her hand down, made a fist, and suddenly her forearm bulged out and the her biceps now took on a bigger, harder shape, veins and arteries springing forth, pushing through the darkly tanned skin as she began to put her true power into it.  Up went her fist and it was like the first muscle had sprouted a second!  It pushed up several inches over her head and over MINE, for God’s sake!

I could go on and on about Mandy’s colossal body.  Suffice it to say that each muscle was as huge, cut, and exciting as the next, and she was more than willing to show each to me and let me explore.  I remember feeling her left hand under my butt, effortlessly lifting me up and setting me upon her gargantuan right biceps.  She then gently bounced me up and down on it.  After a few seconds of this, she gave one mighty final flex of the muscle and caught me as I came down. 

She laughed as we both went to the floor, me atop her, she atop a large bean bag (she’d long ago learned that no hotel bed could reliably hold her weight).  By now the only light was a dim glow coming from the TV in my room.  I was still in my robe, but the belt was long since undone. I’d never considered the sexual desirability of a muscular woman, let alone a magnificent beast like Amanda, but the passion was unparalleled and the stamina unending. 

Somehow I knew she wouldn’t crush me in her massive arms or between her incredible thighs.  Remember how tired I said I was?  I didn’t!  Muscles everywhere, massaging me with her pulsating pecs, gently but firmly squeezing me with her massive arms, letting me fondle and squeeze any and every square inch of her beautiful body as she flexed it to my deepest desires.  From time to time we’d pause and I’d just stare into her dark brown eyes, my failed career as a ballplayer a distant memory quickly fading into the past.

I don’t know exactly when, but I fell asleep on that massive body.  I awoke the next morning alone in 47B with the door to 47A closed.  I thought to myself, “Shit.  Just a dream.  But DAMN!  WHAT A DREAM!”

But as I got up, feeling refreshed and satisfied, I heard Mandy’s voice from the room next door.  “Sounds like you’re awake.  I hope I didn’t wear you out TOO much last night!”  My heart started pounding all over again.  “Can you come over?  I need some help.”  Like I was going to refuse!  I entered to see the muscle-goddess naked, with her feet in the air doing one-arm pushups, one with her right arm, one with her left, then repeating. 

“Just finishing up my morning workout!” she said as she did a one-armed handspring, and landing gracefully on her feet.  “Makes it even bigger than last night!” she announced as she made a muscle that was indeed noticeably bigger than what I had seen previously.  “G-G-Good Lord, Amanda, just how big is that thing?” I stammered as it seemed to leap off her arm. 

“Hell if I know!” she smiled, shrugging her shoulders.  “I’m kinda curious myself now that you ask.  Can you get the tape over there?”

She had a tape on the desk across the room.  I draped it over the massive bulge (hers, not mine!) and Mandy, with a bit of sweat on her brow from her morning workout, took her right arm and with all her awesome power bent it upward causing the enormous bulk of her biceps skyrocket upward again.  Ducking underneath, I pulled the ends of the 60-inch tape downward.  I was already pretty sure they wouldn’t touch!  Mandy was continually flexing her mighty arm expanding the muscles slightly larger with each push.  “Okay, now!”  She let out a moan and I felt the tape go taught in my hands.  It wasn’t even close.  A sixty-inch tape and it didn’t reach.

“Well, Mandy, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re over five feet of arm.  Well over five feet!”  As I emerged from below her arm to her back side, she flexed it yet again and my jaw dropped in utter disbelief.  Was it my imagination, the angle, or did she now have a peak on her peak on her fucking peak? 

I felt it and it was as hard as it was big.  As I pressed it, Mandy turned her forearm this way and that, causing the muscle to bob and bounce and continually reshape itself.  She seemed to be able to move any muscle of hers this way and that.  Not only was it erotic as hell, it was the only way she could keep them from getting in the way as she gracefully moved about.  She let out a contented moan and I felt her left hand on my throbbing manhood.  She gently squeezed and I could no longer control myself.  Just in time, she twisted and we both hit the floor.

As we finished our morning joint exercises (if you catch my drift!), Amanda rose.  “How much more tape do you think we need?” she asked.  I could only guess.  “Oh, at LEAST another foot or so.”

She suddenly put her hands on her hips flexed her pecs and her back, and observed “Then I guess measuring my chest is out of the question!”

Part 3
Mandy suddenly turned.  “Oh well, I have things to do today.  It’s my big tryout.  I’d really like it if you’d come with me to Pac Bell Park in San Francisco.  I’m leaving in 10 minutes.”  As sudden as the invitation was, it’s not like I had anything else to do.  No job, no family, no future that I could see.  So it was that I found myself in Big Ugly’s van (there was no way she was going to fit into a car!) on our way to the airport.  She had indeed once again become Big Ugly, and even having seen the truth it was hard to imagine the beauty underneath.

“Why the deception?” I asked.  She replied, “I really don’t want people getting close to me.  So many questions, so many rude remarks, I just want to get past my tryout and be done with it.  So I put on a mask to make my face look hideous, add some padding around my waist to make me look fat, slump over and act like a surly bitch – hey, nobody wants to come near me!  That’s the way I’ve wanted it for now.  Well, except for you, of course.”  She turned and smiled – even made up in this guise, the radiance was unmistakable.  “Besides, it’s how I need to negotiate.  You’ll see!”

It was apparent she wasn’t going to go beyond this for now.  At the airport, I found that Mandy had her own private plane.  She flew us to SFO where we met up with Charles Egan, who turned out to be her agent in this operation.  We drove out to Pac Bell and were on the field by 3:00.  It was empty except for a small group of some of the great ballplayers in the game (Randy Johnson, Pudge Rodriguez, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, and Nomar Garciapara) all the owners, GM’s and commissioner Bud Selig.

Charles introduced himself and us (me as Amanda’s personal trainer – what a joke!) to the others.  They were a cordial bunch (except Bonds, who simply looked at Mandy’s gut, then at me and said “Looks like you’ve got serious work to do!”)  Then the commissioner said, “Well, we’ve heard some remarkable things about you, Sorento.  We’re all anxious to see what you’ve got.  We’re also curious about why you got us all here together.  It’s not how things are usually done.”

Egan said, “We’ll deal with that later.  What do you want first?  Hitting?  Pitching?”

George Steinbrenner took charge.  “The Unit’s warmed up now.  Let’s see her hit, and this better be good!”  It was.  Pac Bell Park, now named after some other company that could pay more money) is known as one of the best in baseball.  It’s noted for having no stands in right field because over the wall (and a fairly wide walkway on the other side) is an arm of San Francisco Bay called McCovey Cove.  Barry Bonds has hit an amazing number of balls into the cove, far more than everyone else combined. 

He was out in right field now as Big Ugly set up to bat right-handed.  No way could she pull a Randy Johnson fastball.  “Put one into the Cove off this guy!” he yelled in.  Johnson chuckled to himself.  He’d heard the rumors, but didn’t believe them.  But he was getting paid for this little demo, so the pitch came in high and hard, much as Steve Slucker’s had the day before.  With about the same effect.

This time there was no splash, at least in McCovey Cove where, if the rumors were true, they would be looking for it.  Mandy’s shot went over the left field wall, still majestically rising as it did so.  A murmur was heard among the owners.  The stadium was closed to spectators, but a couple of members of the ground crew stationed in the arcade between the field and the Cove lost sight as the ball soared toward San Francisco Bay.  There were no sailboats out and Mandy didn’t have to worry about accidentally hitting anyone.  That’s why she chose this venue.  It was thought that it probably traveled over 2,500 feet.  In a sport where a 500 foot home run is legendary, this was about half a mile.

The next pitch was a re-run.  Mandy switched to hit lefty, a harder task against the Unit.  If anything, this went farther.  Curve ball?  Into the water.  Slider at the knees?  Into the water.  Slow curve?  Into the water.  A visibly shaken Randy Johnson left, and a lately arrived Roger Clemens came in.  Into the water.  Out of the strike zone?  Into the water.  15 pitches later, she pointed out to Garciapara who, up to this point had been enjoying the show.  She hit 5 consecutive shots within easy reach, none of which could he move his glove fast enough to touch.

Mandy then yelled out to the shortstop, “Try to catch me at second!”  The pitch came in and she hit a kinder, gentler ground ball.  By the time he caught it, Mandy had rounded first and easily beat him to second.

She took the ball from the bewildered shortstop and strolled to the mound.  She looked at Clemens and said “I think you’re done for the day.”  Yeah, that said it all.  He gave a bewildered nod of respect and appreciation for her performance, shrugged his shoulders and left.  Barry Bonds came in to hit.  Well, he came in to swing.  Of course after the first warm-up, “Pudge” Rodriguez wanted no part of catching her.  For the demonstration, Stanford University physicists had sent up a more accurate radar gun that wouldn’t max out at 200 m.p.h.  It registered 327.  Steinbrenner said “CHRIST, DID YOU SEE THAT!”  Oakland GM Billy Beane said jokingly “Yeah, but does she have a change-up?”  Egan broke the news, “That was it.”

With no catcher, the balls went to the backstop after crossing the plate.  Barry just shook his head and said “No way I’m going to hit anything she throws.  Hell, there’s no way ANYBODY’S going to hit it.  One more pitch came in and Barry did something he rarely even thought of let alone did. 

He bunted.  It was perfect down the third base line.  Mandy picked it up and beat Bonds to first by perhaps 40 feet or more.

End of demonstration.

The other players left.  The owners, GM’s, Charles, Amanda, Selig and I went into a room beneath the stadium.

Charles said, “Well, let the bidding for the pennant begin.”  But as the bidding began it became apparent that emotions were mixed.  It wasn’t just negotiations for a player.  It was negotiations for a player who would indeed single-handedly guarantee the World Series.  There would be no pennant race, only a one-team, one-player demonstration of female superiority.  And then the genius of Big Ugly became apparent.  They couldn’t even market her.  At least Anna Kornakova could sell endorsements.  Nobody would want to see a sport dominated by a woman as flat out grotesque as Big Ugly.

Nobody wanted to make offers, but nobody dared not to.  Arguments broke out, alliances were established and broken, promises to only play her every fifth day were made but everyone knew how far that would go.  Egan and Sorento suddenly broke out laughing.  Seeing a demise of baseball far more outrageous than free agency, Bud Selig shouted at us “OKAY, JUST WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT???”

Charles started in, “The stock market has taken some rather unfortunate changes of late and Ms. Sorento has been…”

“Half a billion dollars from you all and you’ll never see me again.” Amanda cut in.  She wasn’t one for small talk.

The deal was signed and, true to her word, Amanda Sorento was never to play baseball again.  Neither was I, of course, but I wasn’t paid so well for not doing it. 

Why Mandy let me into her life was still unclear.  From time to time I’d ask her, and she’d just give me a warm smile, a soft kiss, and a quick flex of one of her gorgeously impossible biceps.  $5 million found its way to my bank account, no strings attached, just in case I ever wanted to leave her.  She wanted me to stay of my own desires, not because I didn’t have many prospects.  Not that I could foresee wanting to leave, mind you.  Hell, the prospect of finding a tape measure big enough to encompass her mountainous biceps was enough to keep me interested for some time to come! 

As it was to turn out, Amanda Sorento and I were to share quite some time together, making me happier than any man has a right to be.

For now, we got on her plane and headed for a short vacation in Hawaii.  She was now out of her Big Ugly outfit and back to her pulse-quickening self.  I noticed, however, she had carefully packed the disguise away.

“Mandy, now that you’ve got your money from Major League Baseball, why do you think you’ll ever need your Big Ugly outfit again?”

“It’s hard to say, darling.  But can you imagine how  much I can earn not playing football?”

End

[TheGov]

Hey, I WROTE THAT!  I wrote a few others before, but Big Ugly was the most recent.  I did indeed send it in to Jeremy Wilson who posted it, but neither it nor the others seemed to get much response.  So it was that I became somewhat inactive.

I hope you liked it.

The Gov.

[iceman75]

Hey Gov, this is Jeremy W., I want to tell you how much I loved Big Ugly, the story was just awesome, I love the kind of strength feats she did in the story, and would love to see a sequel or a similar story. The muscle size and description were awesome as well, very rarely does this type of story come along that totally engrosses and thrills me, I hope you have many more like it in your head!

[kuner]

ha, i knew it wouldn't take long to find the author around here  😀

congratulations on your story. it's one of the few out there that actually deserves this title, because it does have a plot and it isn't just some random scenes thrown together.

about the feedback, well ya know how it is around here (and other sites). people tend to lurk, they will read and enjoy, but they won't comment. it is frustrating i imagine.

and i will second jeremy's request for a sequel (or prequel?) 😎

[sg2ww]

Great story!

[Author]

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