My stepmom was seven feet tall.
I was halfway through unloading my suitcases from the cab when she caught my eye. Megan leaned casually against the front door of my family home. Watching me. Smirking.
I stared at her in disbelief. The woman I remembered was lithe and petite, with the body of a dancer. Not even as tall as my shoulders. She was at least two feet taller than the last time I’d seen her. Her figure had developed an over-generous, hourglass shape, with hips and bust nearly as wide as the doorframe. And her physique was muscular now. Hulking and sculpted. I knew a lot of body-builder types from campus - the sort who spend half their time at the gym, and the other half talking about protein windows. Megan would’ve put all of them to shame.
She threw her long blonde hair over her shoulder, cocking her hip provocatively as I watched. As if daring me to look at her, or daring me to question.
The taxi drove away, stranding me in suburbia. Miles to the nearest train station. Even if I cared to walk, my old neighborhood didn’t even have sidewalks.
“Those bags look heavy,” Megan said, by way of greeting. She walked down the driveway toward me on long, powerful legs. “Why don’t you let me help you?”
I watched, mouth open in shock as she approached. Her shadow fell on me, blotting out the sun. She bent. Way, way down. And she gave me a little kiss on the forehead.
“How…?”
She winked at me. “Come inside, John.”
Her chest nearly brushed against my chin as she stood up to her full height again. She led the way, carrying my two gigantic suitcases with one arm.
Those bags must’ve weighed fifty pounds each. They held all my worldly possessions - except the few that I’d left when I went to college, and all of those were still in the house. She carried everything I owned as if it weighed nothing at all. She even managed to sway her hips in a seductive figure eight pattern as she walked.
I followed, doing everything I could to not look at her ass.
She’d redecorated, and I had to admit the house looked great. I hadn’t seen it since Christmas. A part of me was irritated that she was changing things so soon after dad had passed. But the place had a familiar, welcoming sort of appeal. It even smelled like home.
“Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I baked cookies. I’ll make you a plate.”
I touched her shoulder as she started to turn. Partly to get her attention, partly to make sure she was real. “Um, hey, Megan.”
She dimpled. “You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Megan,’ you know.
I gestured vaguely at her enormous, muscular form. “Aren’t you going to explain about… this?”
“Of course I am, sweetie.” Even with her growth spurt, the warm cadence of her voice was still the same. So was her smile - cute, impish, with something just faintly teasing beneath. Even the subtle wrinkles around her forehead and mouth were still there. It was still her. Just… a lot more of her.
“Anyway. It’s quite a long story, and we’ve got all summer to catch up. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’ll be happy to answer any questions. For now, sit. Take your shoes off. Make yourself at home.”
I thought about arguing. But she was already on her way to the kitchen, ducking under the door frame in a practiced motion as she went. So I obeyed. I sat on the brand new couch, sinking into plush pink fabric, trying to get my thoughts straight.
This wasn’t normal. People didn’t just… grow like that. Not in their early forties, or at any age for that matter. They didn’t go from an A-cup to a sextuple E, or put on a hundred pounds of muscle in six months. And there was something different about her mannerisms. The way she was looking at me. Something in her eye….
Before I could even begin to work through the strangeness, Megan returned. In one hand, she held a giant plate of cookies, fresh from the oven. In the other, a brimming, frosty glass.
“You still drink milk, don’t you?”
I started to munch on a cookie. It was really good. The chocolate chips were still soft and half-melted, and there was a pleasant salty tang that balanced out the sweetness. It did make me thirsty, though.
She grinned, and sat down the couch beside me. The cushions sank under her weight, and I had to fight to keep myself from sliding into her bulging thigh. “So. John. How’s school?”
I started to answer with a mouthful of cookie, washed it down quickly with a long drink of milk. “Um. It’s good.”
“Glad to hear it. I was worried this semester might be difficult for you.” She leaned back, casually stretching. Her flower-print sundress was flimsy and a bit too small, and it rode up alluring on her body as she did this. I tried not to look, but it was impossible to not see a few things. The impressive definition of her triceps. The supple curve of the side of her breast. She dropped her arms suddenly, and met my eye. “Are you making lots of friends?”
I turned away quickly, aware she caught me staring. “Not really. I mostly keep to myself. My classes keep me too busy.”
This was a half-truth at best. If she knew I was lying, it was impossible to read beneath her soft, comforting smile. I wished she’d stop looking at me like that. As big as she was, it was really disconcerting. Especially considering this was the closest I’d been to a girl in months. I took another cookie, just to give me something to do with my hands.
“I’m guessing you aren’t seeing anyone?” she asked. “Or at least, not anyone new?”
“No one new,” I said, spraying a few crumbs. “But Brianna and I talk on the phone every night. We haven’t seen each other since Spring Break. She’s coming over later.”
“You must be excited.” Her voice dropped lower, into an almost conspiratorial growl. “I’m really proud of you that you’re so loyal. Staying with your home-town girl, for what, three years now? Even when you’re a thousand miles away. Most guys would be tempted to fool around.”
I was starting on my third cookie. They were really, really good. And the way they dissolved in the ice cold milk was practically addictive. I was concentrating on them, doing anything I could to avoid Megan’s stare.
“But you must get lonely. Lonely, and pent up.” She leaned down closer. Her hand brushed my cheek, and I felt the little hairs on the back of my arms stand on end. “No one would blame you, if you made a mistake now and again. Had a little adventure, or indiscretion. I certainly wouldn’t. I’m not so far out of college that I forget what it was like. And I know what it’s like to feel lonely.”
I set the plate of cookies aside. My hands shook. I still couldn’t make myself meet her eye. “What are you saying?”
“Oh, nothing really.” My stepmom laughed casually. Her arm was on the back of the couch now. It was bigger around than my thigh, and almost touching my shoulder. “I’m just rambling. Older women do that sometimes. I know I’ve said it before, but I just want you to know you’ll always have a home here with me. No matter what happens. And home? It can mean a lot of things, sweetie. We can decide that together.”
It took all my effort to pull away from her, to get far enough away that I could make myself look her in the eye. I felt half-drunk from being in her presence so long, from having someone so much bigger and so incredibly attractive looming over me. “Megan….”
“You don’t have to call me that. You know you can just call me….”
“Why are you so big?”
She laughed. “You’re really curious about that, huh?” Her hand moved like she wanted to reach out to me. To pull me back in. She apparently thought better of it. “Okay John. I’ll tell you. Like I said though, it’s a long story.”
My stepmom stood slowly, her calves bunching and flexing as she lifted herself to her feet. She spent a moment towering over me. Hands on her hips, considering. Then she bent, collected the plate of cookies, and the empty glass of milk. “Tell you what. Go upstairs. Unpack. Take a shower, get yourself cleaned up. After that, I promise I’ll tell you everything, down to the last little detail.”
She started toward the kitchen, then hesitated, as if remembering some awkward detail. “Oh! I let your little sister make some changes to your room. I hope you don’t mind.”