"S-Sheila?"

Even from a few blocks away, the giantess seems to register — and recognize — the sound of your voice. Stopping dead in her tracks, every inch of her voluptuous, mature figure jiggling, she turns toward your house—and when your eyes meet, she smiles. "Oh! 'Morning, Blaise!"

Hearing her booming voice and then seeing her start to move in your direction, you lose any lingering doubts about what's going on. You'd recognize that winning combination of frizzy black hair, sun-kissed brown skin and supernatural curves anywhere. The 250-foot-tall woman all over your feeds is, in fact, Sheila—your friend Lillian's mom, and your mom's best friend.

Well before this inexplicable growth spurt, your 40-year-old Brazilian "auntie" has always loomed large in your horny, adolescent imagination—especially her huge breasts and colossal butt. You often find yourself flustered in her presence, and to make matters even more inconvenient, it seems like she's well aware of her effect on you. One time, shortly after your 18th birthday, several strong drinks into a dinner with you and your mom, she even said that if you didn't find a girlfriend soon, she'd "teach you how to be a man" herself—leading you to excuse yourself to the bathroom to hide your raging boner. Replaying that moment in your mind now, taking in every inch of her suddenly-even-more-titanic figure, you can't help gasping.

By the time Sheila gets onto your street, the size disparity between the two of you feels more dramatic than ever. From your current vantage point, each of her feet is roughly as long as a city bus and twice as wide. Each of her breasts could easily crush your house, her ass is bigger than half a dozen of your neighbors' houses combined, and her current outfit, a pair of lacy pink underwear, leaves very little else to the imagination. You're not sure what to say or do in a situation like this, but you decide it's probably not a bad idea to start with a friendly — if slightly shaky — wave.

"H-hey," you say, shifting from foot to foot. "G-good morning, Sheila."

Seeing the poorly-masked uncertainty in your eyes up close, Sheila frowns. "Everything alright, sweetie? You look nervous."

"Y-yeah," you stammer, slightly reassured by the clear concern in her voice. "I'm good… h-how about you?"

Sheila chuckles. "Aside from waking up like this? No complaints." Noticing your familiar look of slack-jawed awe, she smiles and gives her chest a playful shake. "My eyes are up here, by the way."

"Huh? Oh!" Feeling your face flush, you regain some semblance of this being a normal interaction with your mom's best friend. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright," she says. "I don't mind... and I know you can't help it. I mean, your mom's always telling me about how you don't seem to have any luck with girls your own age. And then I come stomping in here, shaking my big old boobs at you..." Giving her chest another smaller shake and watching your eyes go wider than ever, she smirks. "Not exactly a fair fight."

Of course, she's not wrong. She's put you into a similar state before during beach days and pool parties with the aid of a few especially skimpy swimsuits, but it's never been this bad. The more time you spend staring at her colossal cleavage, the more you can't stop thinking about how it might feel to have your comparatively tiny body pressed against it—and the harder it is to ignore your mounting feelings of arousal.

"Y-yeah," you say, trying your best to subtly reorient the rising stiffness in your pants. "So… what are you doing here?"

"Well," she says, eyeing you during your moment of pant adjustment and grinning, "as much as I always love spending time with you, I actually came out here looking for your mom. I'm hoping she can help me find Zuleima."

Based on what you know about your mom's other friends, this definitely tracks. If anyone could get to the bottom of this whole thing, it'd be Zuleima—a brilliant scientist and the mother of your similarly brilliant classmate Zuemy.

"Oh" you say, doing everything you can to keep yourself from looking at the mature giantess's chest again. "That makes sense."

"I guess we'll see." Sheila shrugs. "So is your mom around?"

"Huh? Oh, no." You shrug back. "She left before I got up. Not sure where she is."

Sheila scowls. "Shoot. I'd usually just call her, but, you know. Easier said than done, like this." She raises her hand, now big enough to easily hold two or three of your neighbors' cars, and then chuckles. "Some morning, huh? I feel like one of the girls in those Chinese cartoons you and Lillian are always watching."

Putting the surrealness of this whole situation aside, your inner nerd can't resist the urge to correct her. "You mean anime?"

Again, Sheila shrugs. "What's the difference?"

"Nevermind," you say, shaking your head. "Anyway... yeah, this is crazy. You were all over Twitter when I woke up."

"Really?" Sheila raises an eyebrow. "How'd I look?"

Feeling your face get even hotter, you try to clear your throat before responding. "G-good."

She grins. "I guess I'm not surprised. There were a bunch of news helicopters buzzing me earlier for close-ups of my ass."

"Dang," you say, trying to avoid thinking about what Sheila might look like from the back in her current pair of underwear "That's annoying."

"Honestly, I'm kinda used to it." Sheila scoffs. "Pretty much every time I go for a jog, I catch some perv trying to record me. And when your mom and I hit the clubs..." She giggles. "Well, let's just say this isn't your auntie's first time going viral."

Not even close, you think. Before moving to the US, Sheila was one of Brazil's most famous exotic dancers—and she's shown you several clips of her old performances to prove it. Remembering one such clip, you feel your pants getting uncomfortably tight again. "Yeah, uh... yeah."

"You know how it goes," she says, turning around and giving her hips an exaggerated wiggle. "Once this booty starts going, I just can't stop it!" As if to prove her point, encouraged by the awestruck look on your face, she starts shaking her hips even harder, shifting into full-on twerking. Soon, you start to feel your entire neighborhood moving with her.

Staring up at Sheila's gigantic, jiggling Brazilian booty, you can feel the situation in your pants getting even worse. You try to think of un-sexy things, but nothing can compete with the super-sized ass-quake the giantess is putting on for your benefit. Fortunately, or unfortunately, something else happens before she can turn around and notice.

PFFFOOOOOOOOTTTT

Without warning, a giant-sized fart explodes out of Sheila's ass, hitting you with enough force that it almost knocks you off your feet. The smell that follows is just as overpowering, washing over your street like a tidal wave of eye-watering stink. While Sheila has always had exceptionally bad gas, her sudden growth spurt seems to have made it much, much worse. Maybe, you think, this is what that "W.M.D." trend on Twitter was about.

"Oh my goodness!" says Sheila, turning around and blushing. "You alright back there, sweetie?"

"Y-yeah," you say, muscling through several coughs. Even though the fart itself has passed, you get the feeling it's going to take several wash cycles to get the smell of eggs out of your clothes. "All good."

"I'm so sorry about that," she says, crouching down and waving her hands to help clear the air around you. "That's the other thing that's so hard about being this big."

Still shrugging off the effects of her gas, you scowl. "W-what do you mean?"

"I mean," she chuckles, standing back up and slapping her butt, "all this ass isn't just for show! And now I can't even let out an itty bitty girl-toot without ruining someone's day."

"Oh," you say, face getting hot again, "gotcha."

"And forget sitting down anywhere," she continues. "The first time I tried, I flattened half of Storm City Stadium! I was picking tiny chairs out of my crack for an hour!"

"Wow." Imagining Sheila's colossal ass turning one of the city's most prominent landmarks into dust, you feel yet another inconvenient stirring in your pants. "S-so, what are you gonna do now?"

"Well," says Sheila, "I guess I'm going back downtown to see if I can find Zuleima's lab." She looks toward the Storm City skyline for a moment, then back to you. "What about you?" She smiles. "Wanna come with?"

"Like, downtown?" As you look down at Sheila's chest again, your immediate, reflexive answer is yes… but as you start to consider the potential dangers of hanging around a 250-foot-tall woman any longer — even if it is your mom's oldest (and hottest) friend — you're not so sure. "Would you just, like... hold me in your hand?"

"Well," she says, wiggling her eyebrows. "I could do that. But I'm not so sure how safe that would be. I was thinking you could ride somewhere a little more secure. Like…"