As for Ginny

By Aborigen

Ginny struggles to get by in a dead-end town, yet men throw themselves at her, hoping for a shot at her pretty bottom. She has a way of shrinking them down and overwhelming them with their fixation, with fatal consequences. Coasting on the booty of her suitors' wallets, she attracts the unwanted attention of the cops and a unique, lonely young man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aborigen
• Release date: Feb 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005429119

Aborigen

Aborigen has been a Size Erotica and Size Fantasy writer ever since his first keyword search for “giantess” in 1993, harboring a love of giant women and a sympathy for tiny men all his life. Over three decades he has become well-known within the GTS community, with over 300 short stories and series uploaded to his blog and various online forums. He hosted a popular flash fiction writing contest for four years, inspiring Size writers around the world to produce and refine their work. Aborigen’s stories explore themes of power, morality, and relationships, examining all forms of “othering” through size differential. His dedication to his craft and his willingness to push the boundaries of the genre make him a distinctive voice in the world of Size Erotica.

Book preview

AS FOR GINNY

A Riverside Story

Aborigen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2020 Aborigen

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

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work of this author.

CONTENTS

The Duchess of the Truck Stop

Swallows and Kisses

Bashful Attraction

Questions

A Change of Pace

Drawing the Knot

Tumbling Down

Epilogue

About the Author

The Duchess of the Truck Stop

Gravel popped and grumbled beneath the tires drifting past the huge rows of pumps. An old Toyota pulled up to the Jackpot Cafe, looking for painted lines to park between. Finding none, it simply slowed and stopped at a reasonable distance. With one trendy Italian boot reaching out to land on the gravel, a blond man in a too-nice blazer climbed out of the car. He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his chest pocket, wore these, glanced up and down the highway, then promptly shed his blazer, hanging it over one arm as he locked up and entered the truck stop.

Be with you in a minute, hon. Blake was surprised to hear someone address him immediately. He spotted a friendly, middle-aged woman mopping up the candy apple seats lining the front counter. She gave him a tight grin, unable to resist glancing at a family at a nearby table: a young girl between the tables of the dining area, waving a pair of paper placemats and roaring like some kind of wild animal. It seemed she belonged to the large, older, dumpier woman at a table, poking at an extra-large Styrofoam cup while her eyes remained glued to music videos playing on her phone.

There was another woman there, younger, prettier, exciting in a kind of retro/rockabilly way. Short platinum hair in creamy, Monroe-esque waves, a faded jean jacket, the rest a mystery as she sat with her back toward the front door. Dangerous in itself, Blake thought, smirking as he found a table by the window-lined corner. He wanted to keep an eye on the highway, though he kept glancing over at the two women and their unattended child. He realized he’d been staring when the yellow-and-white waitress uniform drifted into view. The waitress was possibly a one-person show in this joint: she handed him a plastic-coated menu, set him up with water, indicated the lunch specials, and drifted away to replace the chairs the young girl had knocked out of orderliness.

Idly he watched her wide hips swaying as she navigated the tables. Wide, white apron ties hung down her rear, following the curve of her bottom until they fell into the folds of her knee-length dress. Blake grimaced and snapped his head away. I’ve been on the road too long. They’re asking too much of me this time. If I get into a wreck because they’re pushing me… He checked his watch: his motel was about seven hours away. He’d been making good time, but the road just kept stretching into the distance, towns and states erupting between him and tonight’s destination like blisters. He rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses and looked at the water glass.

It was the traditional water glass, one of two traditional styles. Hard red plastic, textured surface, full of crushed ice and a little water. There was the glass that looked like it was supposed to imitate leather, but this was the one that was rippled unevenly, as though it was itself made of ice. He smiled, running his thumb over the side. I bet the designer who cranked this out had no idea it’d be so popular. For that matter, someone else probably got rich off it. He snorted and leaned back in his chair, turning back to the room.

For a truck stop it was especially empty. No truckers at the bar, no haggard families arguing over postcards or packets of candy after a weekend of camping or visiting grandparents. Just that one table of an old woman and a young woman, and they looked and acted like they lived here. While he watched, the older woman made a comment to the younger woman. Blake couldn’t hear the words, but her voice sounded like she was a chain-smoker. He tightened his lips in a slight grimace. But then the younger woman turned to look out the front windows and laughed at something out there.

Her skin was pale with hints of rosy blush, complementary to her hair. She had a cute little button nose, with eyes that… There was so much going on in those eyes. When she laughed, they were thin, dark caricatures of mirth, but when she caught her breath, there was a wisdom in them. They were bright and wide as she looked out the windows, but behind her preoccupation was a depth of sadness. Whoever this girl was, she’d already seen a lot in life.

Against the rest of her face her lips stood out. Garish candy-red smears of lips, red as the retro vinyl seats at the bar, red as the sunshine through Blake’s traditional water glass. Red, red, red.

Now then, hon, what can I getcha? Once again, the waitress appeared out of nowhere, this time startling him. She saw his flinch and apologized good-naturedly: cheerfulness seemed to be an item in her personal inventory she could pull off a shelf and activate immediately. Useful, when having to switch from a young hellion to a paying customer.

Sorry, I haven’t been paying attention. I just need a sec. He scooped up the menu, flipped it, flipped it back.

Take your time. She didn’t walk away this time, only stood patiently by, gazing out the front windows.

Standard offerings. He didn’t need a menu. Eggs Benedict, please, and how’s your coffee?

The waitress shrugged and raised her eyebrows, wearing a years-old smile.

He indicated the water would be fine, then begged her pardon, but what town are we in?

This ain’t no town at all, hon, she said, but Riverside’s about five miles east of here. With that, she was off again.

Blake looked out the front of the diner, trying to discern what everyone found so darn interesting. A dozen pumps for several types of fuel stood at attention in the shadow of a metal shelter, before the barren highway and the miles of dirt and scrub brush around it. He hadn’t noticed another car zip by since he pulled up. Not a bird nor a cloud in the sky.

He heard a woman’s voice excuse herself and the scrape of metal feet over tile, and reflexively he turned to see. The younger woman was getting up and…

Oh, good lord.

Her jeans jacket pulled up slightly to reveal a red-and-white stripey top, skin-tight, just above her faded jeans, nearly the same color as her jacket. Her jeans swelled to a perfect sphere of round, full hips and a large bottom. It rose above the parked chairs like the full moon over a city. Deep crease formed between her buttocks and her thighs when she finally stood. Her jeans appeared painted on over firm thighs and a proud, indomitable butt.

Blake forgot to breathe, staring completely unselfconsciously at her. He watched her swing one knee around her chair, watched her hips roll gently, soothingly past the chairs as she strolled up to the bar. She called out to the waitress, leaning over the counter as she waited for a response. His heart hammered against his ribs: she was literally bending herself over the counter, sticking her butt out proudly, raising one red Chuck Taylor to wait as cutely as humanly possible for the waitress. Her butt was two perfect orbs in pale blue, righteous and firm, straining against the sheath of denim. Blake’s lip snarled as he sucked air through his teeth, fingers clenching; he removed his sunglasses and set them on the table, the better to take in the sight.

What he didn’t notice was the older woman at the table checking him out, smiling as she barked for her youngest girl to knock off the bullshit and c’mere.

The waitress emerged from the kitchen, and by the sound of it, there was at least one old man working back there. Two people running the cafe.

Sorry to bother you, said the young blonde. Her voice was musical and smooth.

Ain’t no bother. The waitress, uncharacteristically, was not pleased to see her. They must have some history, in a little pit stop like this.

I’m just wondering if I could get a slice of cherry pie?

The waitress’s face changed slightly. Blake, studying the pair intently, was unable to put his finger on the difference. It might have been an extra crease in her brow. It could’ve been a tightening of her cheek, clenching her jaw, hard to tell beneath the jowls. The waitress glanced briefly at him, perhaps, before shuffling back into the kitchen. The young blonde remained perched in place, elbows on the bar, jaw resting fetchingly upon two fists, while her hips swayed restlessly and her butt rolled back and forth, back and forth…

Hey, mister!

Blake nearly jumped out of his skin at the young girl’s voice. He hadn’t seen her come up, but she was standing behind him. Awfully bold of a child to walk up to strangers like this. He gave the older woman a dirty look and faced the girl.

She wore a babydoll tee with a smiling cartoon face on the front. Who could keep up with all the new characters and shows coming out all the time? There was a Band-Aid on her upper arm and a temporary tattoo of a cluster of cherries on her forearm. Her other arm was behind her back. A triangle of sunlight shone through the cafe’s awning outside and glowed upon the shoulder of the hidden arm. She was a little grimy, perhaps, but energetic and cheery regardless, and she seemed particularly excited about something.

You look like a real smart mister, mister. She grinned, missing a couple teeth here and there. Baby teeth, likely, though with that woman’s caretaking abilities, who knew.

He snorted and shrugged. I guess so. Is there something I can help you with?

Her grin widened. Can you tell me what this is? Her arm came out from behind her. She was holding a shiny metal disc, flashing in many colors like the recording side of a CD. She lifted it until it caught the beam of sunshine, then tilted it