Pretty much all of my giant woman fantasies involve long hair in some way, but my heart yearns for the shut-in woman with long, messy hair, curtaining the baggy, tired eyes of a woman too broken about herself to leave the dark box of her apartment, as she shuffles around in a hoodie and sweatpants, slowly bouncing from furniture to furniture, feeling depressed and unrequited against the world. I need her gross, messy face in my life, as her intermittent attention from her books and browsing seizes me into her hands, as she suppresses my body in an overbearing grapple, bearing down with the energy of a tired lap dog 60 times your scale.

Obviously, she isn't to be kept as such. She only tends towards these decaying paths. So with a variable army of sawed-off children's soft bristled toothbrushes, I regularly must attend to her hygiene, as she lays slumped in bed. Prying open the dry lips of her head, half-buried in her pillow, forcing my torso in with my tiny apron and arms covered in toothpaste, trying to clean through her dirty mouth as she indifferently limps into the mattress, my swole arms scrubbing vigorously at her teeth kept white by me as her inside lip passively feels out the contours of my back muscles.

Her body is a two-fold process, attending to one side of her, and waiting for the random moment when she rolls over to a new comfortable side. She has her restless nights that feel more like a derby as she constantly shift positions in bed, sometimes pinning me into the warm, damp bedsheets beneath her, but I've accepted her being 90% clean as being a victory. I've developed quite the sea legs for running across her thick, deep skin. She's terribly worried of her weight, and still doesn't believe me when I say it's more of her to love. Still, I try my best to not make her feel self-conscious as I joyously scrub away at her tummy, one of my favorite parts to attend to on her. All of this is much easier to do during the summer as she spends most of her time half, or completely, naked in bed or waddling around, stinking up her apartment. However, colder months have an additional challenge of working beneath her baggy pajamas, as then I have to be the one half naked, working in the sauna-like heat within her clothing.

However, the more annoying thing she does is her propensity towards bored, horny recreation. With nothing else to do, she pets her kitty anywhere from once to five times a day, most of the time completely resetting a night time's worth of labor in a 15 minute romp that glazes her skin over with sweat again, often staining my own laundry if I don't back off in time; the next moment I know, my chest is being kneaded against her nipple with her palm, only to discard me unknowingly off the bed with her soiled clothes, as the shock of her post-nut clarity reaches her hand off the bed to peel me off her panties and stick me against her chest, as if she's trying to apologize, but not enough to wash her gunk off of me.

Is it worth it? I must confess, there are moments of uncertainty, pending her diet and her moments of disregard with me. It's hard to easily define love, and how it makes me tackle absurd tasks, but I know she's been making strides for the door. She has felt her skin calling for the sun again. I feel she's worth laboring for because I know she hasn't truly given up on herself. She just needs a tiny amount of help and encouragement, and I want to be there to see her smile again.