To whoever finds this:

My name is Timothy Doyle. I live at 4355 Bluegrass Parkway, but I doubt my house is still there. It is about eleven o'clock in the evening, and the power has been out for most of the day all over town. I am writing this by the moonlight coming through the window of the split-level basement I am hiding in. I don't know how widespread this disaster is, but I can only hope that it is localized to here.

I am writing this because I don't think I will survive the night. I can hear the women out there, and some are either very close or very large. Mostly I hear the passionate sounds of their crazed love-making, but there are other things as well: the distant wails of car alarms, the crash of broken glass, the splintering of wood, and a pattern of heavy thuds that shake the walls. Is it the dropping of bombs I'm hearing, or the slam of a gigantic set of feet? Does it matter?

The screams of men stopped some time ago, but my ears play tricks on me. I will think I hear someone calling for help, but when I rush over to the little window, all I see is the same bleak, empty street, dimly lit with ghoul-white moonlight. What fool who has lived through the day would cry out, anyway?

No, any man still out there has done the same as me, and hidden in shadows and rat-holes. There are no safe places left intact, having all been systematically dismantled by women throughout the day. Up and down the street, every house has been smashed and ransacked. In fact, my only hope rests in the ruined one above my head serving as camouflage.

Smart men are made so by experience, and I have experienced enough in this day to make me a genius. I have seen fingers peel away ceilings like wrapping paper. I have seen feet buckle pavement, crush cars, and uproot trees. I have seen elephantine tongues slather terrified men like candy. I have seen hips grind people to paste.

If any women come to pick over the remains left by their amorous sisters, I will probably be discovered. Although the door to the basement is shut and lined with whatever trash I could find down here, they will still pick up my scent. Probably. I don't know if their sense of smell is any better than before their transformations, but they will only grow more desperate as time goes on. It is also warm tonight, and with all that I've been through, my sweat has soaked through my clothes.

But what if? What if they don't find me? A house-sized breast or skyscraper-sized body will still crush me along with my temporary haven as they continue to grow. I will have to run, eventually. But God only knows when their expansion will stop, and where will be safe.

I could start at the beginning if I knew where it was, but if you're reading this, you probably know more than I do. My girlfriend, Rachel Greene, started changing sometime last night. I last saw her around three o'clock in the afternoon. She was taller than the streetlights by then, with hips ten feet wide and expanding wider. She had been distracted by two slightly smaller women eager to please her, and did not notice me. As her two suitors brought her to climax in the middle of the road, I saw her arch her back and laugh as her breasts began to inflate and her growing feet dug trenches into the asphalt.

*******

From what I've seen, the growth is neither regular nor even. One woman I met hadn't changed at all by noon. I was crouching beneath a high hedge of bushes when I saw her wander down the sidewalk. She was a thin girl, barely out of high school, and was trying to look in three different directions at once while she tapped away on her cell phone. I whispered to her from my hiding place.

"Hey," I said, and she stopped, looking to either side of the road. "Down here. What the hell are you doing?"

"What do you mean? What's going on?" she asked, spotting me.

"Get out of the road, before one of them sees you. I'm warning you."

"Why? Where did they come from? Hey, are they---oh!" She looked down the street, to where I heard (and not for the first or last time) a man screaming. "They're killing him. Oh my god, they're killing him!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, listening for any signs that she had been spotted. "Either get down here or get away from me, I don't care. Just get out of the street before they notice."

She looked again at the dying prey of the giantesses, then crawled under the bushes where I was hidden. Tense minutes passed by as we watched silently the carnival of horrors taking place around us. Women so tall we could only see their legs. Cars stomped flat, some carelessly kicked down the street. Finally, the girl turned to me and asked, "So, what now?"

To be fair, I hadn't thought much of it through. My plan had been to hide, and I told her as much. "I've been looking for an empty house, but everything I've come by so far has been locked up tight," I said, hitching my thumb toward the house we were in front of.

"We could go back to my place. My roommates were already out of the house by the time I left."

"How far away is it? If those women spot us, they'll chase us down." Well, me, anyway. I hadn't seen any evidence, actually, that they cared about women.

"A block over. I was walking down to the Starbucks when I noticed the streets were empty. Then I saw the mess down 5th Street, and I figured I'd try to call my roommates and find out what was going on."

The 'mess' on 5th Street was not, altogether, rare for that day: an enormous pair of legs, fifteen feet long, were sticking out of the front of Jerry's, a corner diner on 5th and Elkhorn. An equally enormous hand was eagerly masturbating a sopping-wet, cavernous pussy, Moans as loud as air sirens reverberated from inside the diner, and passers-by could look in to see the gigantic woman's tits mashed against the ceiling. Not that there were that many bystanders by then, anyway.

"Yeah," I said, digging out my own cell phone and turning it on. "The lines have been down since this morning." What I didn't tell her was the more depressing news I encountered when I first dialed 9-1-1. The operator clicked on his microphone in time for me to hear him shout, "She's breaking in!" The line went dead after that.

We backed out of the hedge, into the front lawn of a large and unoccupied house. We decided the best option was to go through the back yard, if possible, and avoid the streets entirely. Things seemed good, at first. The first wall was a low construction of cinder blocks, which we both scaled easily. The house opposite it, however, had been occupied earlier in the day. The sliding glass door had been shattered, its frame badly bent out of shape. The curtains wafted in the draft the hole let in. There were no signs of the former tenants, but a salty, musty smell hung in the air. The gate on the side of the house had likewise been destroyed, rammed hard enough to rip the hinges from the posts. Sunk into the soft soil, we saw a single footprint, clear as a plaster cast. It was longer than my arm.

We peeked around the edge of the house onto the cul-de-sac. It felt like a normal weekday, save a few odd scenes. A car had backed into a tree and was left with its engine running. It was missing a door and a driver. A naked man laid crumpled on the porch of a house. Above him, a broken window with bedsheets trailing out. Further down the block, a light pole leaned to one side at a strange angle.

There was no one in sight. We crossed the street to the next house, one devoid of any cars in the driveway. We crossed into the back yard. As the gate squealed open, we heard a rattle from within the house and froze. A few seconds later, I heard the scrabble of hands in a kitchen pantry. On the side of the house was a small window with a solar screen over it. Although we couldn't see inside, I knew whoever was in the house could probably see us if they looked out. I pulled the girl down with me, crouching beneath the level of the window, and we duck-walked past. Inside the house, we heard the sounds of tearing cardboard and shredding plastic as a woman (because there could be no doubt) gorged herself on the contents of her cupboards.

Regarding the women, their eating is ravenous, insatiable. Restaurants and grocery stores were all ransacked first, after these women literally ate themselves out of their own homes. I could hear the woman near us smashing through cabinets and cleaving through shelves. What would she do when the food ran out? What would all of them do?

We crept through the yard toward the tall wall at its edge. "It's on the other side," the girl whispered. I knelt down to provide my back as a stepladder and she took it, pulling herself up the wall and onto its ledge. As I stood up, I caught a glimpse through the sliding door of the woman inside the house. Too tall to stand, she hunched over the shelves of her pantry, shoveling everything into her mouth. I could hear her smacking lips even through the glass. I reached up and caught the edge of the wall. With the girl's help, we both made it over.

The girl's house was empty, as she had promised. We came in through the back door, and once I shut it and locked it, she sighed and headed straight for the kitchen. I followed, my mind still with her neighbor's binge.

"It's almost noon, and I still haven't had my coffee yet," she said, pulling a jar of instant coffee from a shelf. "You want some?"

"No thanks. That neighbor of yours, how well do you know her?"

"Not at all, really. I don't know any of my neighbors." She put her mug into the microwave and started into the living room. "We should probably check the TV, right?"

I followed her, nervous about our prospects, but I had decided to stop running. The house was quiet, empty, and untouched. Presumably, we would have warning if the food-lusting woman in the other house were to come knocking.

The girl switched on CNN and made her way back to the kitchen. I sat down on the couch and watched the news broadcast. The news ticker at the bottom mentioned an explosion at a power station in our town, but that police were investigating and foul play was not suspected.

"Unbelievable," I said as the girl walked back in from the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. "They think it's a bomb, or something."

"Not that strange, though, is it? I didn't even know what was going on until you told me, and I live here. We don't even know if the whole city's been affected."

I flipped through the news channels, but found nothing. The local broadcast affiliates, even, all seemed to show their regular compliment of daytime talk shows and reruns.

"Look," she said, finishing her coffee. "I don't know what you've been through today, but it looks like it's pretty isolated. If we just lie low here and let the police sort it all out, everything will be okay. In the meantime, I really need to study for some tests I have next week. You can hang out here if you like."

I nodded, noticing just how tired I was. I hadn't gotten enough sleep, and the adrenaline I had been riding on was starting to fade. "Yeah, I think I will. I just . . . It's been a long day so far, is all."

"Okay. I'll check up on you in a little bit. Try to relax, huh?"

I settled into the couch, intent upon watching the news, and dozed off almost immediately.

When I awoke, the TV had gone blank, a wall of hissing static filling the room. The girl was sitting next to me, staring at the dead signal. For the first time since meeting her, I saw her clearly. Her long, flax-colored hair ran down to the middle of her back. She had changed since I last saw her. She wore a different pair of tight jeans, this one not stained at the knees, and a short-sleeved, rib-knit top that was maybe a size too big for her and bunched up around her waist. As I stirred, she looked at me, a slight smirk on her face.

"You're up," she said. "You fell asleep."

"Yeah, I know. What happened to the TV?"

Without comment, she stood up and walked toward the kitchen. I followed her in, still not quite clear on the situation.

She had opened a package of cookies and was eating them, one at a time. "You know what's the best?" she asked. "Cookies. Cookies are the best."

"Uh-huh. What happened to the TV?"

"Looks like it got shut off, but I wouldn't worry about it." She continued munching away.

That's when I noticed her jeans. These were not even the same size as she had been wearing earlier. They were roomier in the hips, made of a stretchier denim. Whichever roommate she had borrowed them from was not a small woman. The top button was undone, and flesh crested out of her pants. In between her chewing, I heard the soft swish of fabric and watched her head inch up. Her bare feet crept across the tile, each toe stretching longer. She was staring at me as she ate, her eyes following mine as I looked her over.

"You changed," I said. Where were the exits? I hadn't seen the front door yet, and she was standing between me and the way we had come in.

"Mmm-hmm. Those other clothes were dirty, remember?" She leaned over the counter to pick up another cookie, its level below her hips as she stretched to over six feet tall. Her breasts pressed their large, soft curves against her shirt, and the bagginess in her top was swallowed up by her body. Her growth was speeding up, and if she ate too many more of those cookies, her head would start to hit the drop ceiling. "Say," she said, taking another bite, "Do you have a girlfriend?" I could see her dark nipples harden through her shirt, as big around as a quarter and as long as my thumb.

"I---I need to use your restroom."

Her smirk grew into a grin as she stepped toward me, feet thudding on the kitchen floor. As she walked past, she inhaled deeply, thrusting her chest further out. She led me through the living room, down the hallway and past the front door. She stood a head taller than me, by now. The cuffs of her jeans rose several inches above her ankles, and her they were stretched over her ass as tight as a drum skin.

"Here you go, cutie," she said, motioning to the bathroom door. Her body heat felt oppressive in the confines of the hall. I slipped past her.

"I'll just be a minute, yeah?" I said, shutting the door. It seemed as though she would wait for me while I finished. I locked it, but why? There didn't seem to be much of a way out. The window above the shower was far too small to fit through. I turned on the tap, out of habit mostly.

"You have a girlfriend, huh?" she asked through the door. She was standing so close, I could hear her breathing. I didn't answer. "It's okay. I have a boyfriend. I don't know where he is, but I guess it doesn't matter."

I heard a muffled set of pops, accompanied by a soft groan. Her voice came from high up on the door, louder than a whisper and filled with passion.

"I saw you looking at me." She was standing right at the door now, her hand on the knob, and it clicked as she tried to turn it. The cotton weave of her shirt scratched against the wood as she breathed. "My big, fat tits. My tight, hot butt. You even liked my fucking feet, didn't you?"

I had a plan, but it wasn't good. If I dove around her and down the hall, I could go for the back yard again. Her size would put her at a disadvantage, I figured, for maneuvering around the house. The front door was a no-go; it was probably locked, and I would only have seconds to escape. I heard her giggle, followed by a flurry of rips. The door's handle began to creak as her strength overwhelmed its lock. I took a deep breath, and opened the door myself.

As soon as the lock popped, the door flew open and slammed into the wall. She had grown so quickly, her clothes laid in tattered strips around her. Her face was above the level of the door entirely, and two breasts as big as pumpkins swayed around. I threw myself at her, bounced off of the soft wall of her flesh, and squeezed my way into the open corridor. She tried to grab the back of my shirt, but her head bumped hard into the ceiling as she turned and her fingers only grazed my neck and hair.

I skipped away, not daring to look back as the girl fought with the house's construction. I had just passed the front door when a massive jolt hit the house. Looking across the living room, I skidded to a stop as a plume of dust and debris filled the kitchen. With a whoosh of air, a gigantic hand raked the entire contents of the kitchen back through the hole it had created.

Immediately, I turned back to the front door. Frantically, I twiddled the deadbolt as I heard a long, guttural moan echo through the house. The neighbor, I thought.

The girl had either not been paying attention, or had not heard. She popped out of the hallway on her hands and knees, her wide hips scraping it at the sides. She was still smiling, and I could see why. Her tits were filling up, lowering their way to the carpet, while her butt ballooned higher. She was laughing now, so enamored with her body's development that she found my escape amusing.

I opened the front door just in time to slip out of her reach once again. As she crawled her way into the entryway, I looked back in time to see another arm crash through the roof. My pursuer finally turned to look. I ran.

From the safety of the street, I glanced back. The neighbor sat in front of her meal, the house not even to the top of her soft belly. She scooped up anything within her reach, furniture, plaster, even the foundation, and ate it like a toddler at a plate of cake. With every fistful, her head rose higher.

The girl, meanwhile, had become wedged in her front door, her hips too wide to clear the jamb. She struggled, unable to see who or what was coming for her. I felt a twinge of empathy for her, but I knew what would have happened if I had stayed. The gluttonous giantess pulled in more of the house, her navel rising above the half-eaten roof, when she spotted the kicking, struggling legs of the girl. She screamed all the way down.

*******

It's after midnight, now, and I still here the girls all around my hideout. None of them seem to be any closer, but they don't seem to be any quieter. Do they need sleep? I haven't seen one yet who was anything but relentless. Sex would normally exhaust, not to mention chafe, after so many hours. But these are women who use their tits as weapons and pussies as oubliettes, smashing and trapping the shrinking world around them under and inside of their sweaty tons of growing flesh. To them, growth has become as normal as breathing.

Still, some remnants of their humanity cling on. After a certain point in their development, they stopped trying to talk to or trick their prey. Their bodies did the talking, anyway. And what could we do? I saw a group of men try.

It was around midday. I had spent an hour or so after leaving the scene of the girl's demise just wandering around, heading in the general direction of downtown. If I had been reasoning properly, I would have considered that the emptiness of the residential areas was probably a good thing for me, but I had still hoped that the police or fire departments would have a better handle on the situation in spite of my earlier evidence to the contrary.

I came within a block of 5th Street, which ran through the downtown areas, when I saw the house the group had holed up in. It was two stories tall, the largest on the block. In the street were two women, both ten times their normal size, on their hands and knees. One, who had black hair that ran down from her head to the lawn, was peering into the top floor window, while her cohort, a blonde, knelt behind her, transfixed by the brunette's body. They both, fortunately, were facing away from me.

The brunette looked into the upstairs window. It was like a dollhouse to her. With the front door missing and the downstairs windows smashed, it was apparent that she had chased the group of men up there. As she brought one hand up, the window exploded outward. The men had armed themselves with a shotgun, and had aimed it directly into the woman's eyes. She stopped, but only just. Although I couldn't see her face, she wasn't screaming in agony or showing any other signs of distress. The men tried another shot. Her hand trembled.

Would more shots have helped? Did those rounds do anything more than stun her? It would have been good information for me to know, but the men either only had two shots or had seen the futility of their actions. Based on what happened, I believe the answer to both questions was no.

Her blonde friend, bored or oblivious to the situation, began rubbing a hand along the brunette's inner thigh, caressing its length in long motions. She traced the contours up, up, up until her hand met resistance. Her friend clenched her legs together.

Pulling her hand free, the blonde began massaging her friend's mountainous rump, which was beginning to grow larger. She delighted in the pillowy flesh flowing around her fingers, and kneaded it as though it were modeling clay.

When I considered the sheer weight of the growing ass-cheeks and how easily the blonde girl's fingers pressed into it, the hopelessness of the situation struck hardest.

I won't belabor you with the details of what followed. The brunette plucked the men one by one from the second story window, and each of them died. They were plunged into pussies taller than doors, squished between two hills of cream-colored flesh, pressed between two gargantuan, writhing bodies. She trapped one of her toys between her lips, and the two women passionately kissed until the man between them drowned in their mouths. Whoever ended up with him put him to good use as their heads rose higher into the afternoon air. The blonde's butt, smooth and round as a globe, plowed a wide, deep gash into the grass and sidewalk as it swelled.

*******

How much did I tell you about Rachel? It's been so many pages, I don't remember. She said she felt sick last night, and I didn't think too much of it. She had felt feverish when we had gone to bed, but that was all. Around midnight, her bra strap broke, jostling me awake. I put my arm around her. She was still asleep, but I could feel the changes taking place. Her hips were widening, inch by inch, the shifting sheets trying to accommodate her expansion. The breast I cupped in my hand pulsated with a heavier rhythm than a heartbeat, attacking the stitches that bound it by growing to the size of my head and beyond. I could hear the furniture creaking and feel the mattress bowing in the middle, her body gobbling up space as fast as it could. I remember these things now, but at the time they meant little to me.

When I awoke, Rachel was on top of me, bathing my crotch with her tongue. She had done this before and, not thinking anything strange, I kept my eyes shut and feigned sleep while she worked. Something must have tipped her off, though, as her slurping grew more urgent. It dawned on me, however, that her technique was different, sloppier and wetter than usual. I finally had the sense to open my eyes.

She was so intent upon her task, all I saw of her face was a pile of her hair. Breasts bigger than party balloons pressed into and around my legs. Her ass-cheeks had transformed into two hills that rose behind her and jiggled with her movements, and were attached to thighs as big around as her waist had been. Her hands gripped my hips, pinning me to the bed. I tried to crawl away from her, but she paid no more attention than it took to hold me in place. I could sense the dangerous strength, the immovability of her mass in those arms.

My libido faded, but she redoubled her efforts. Her longer tongue writhed around my cock, coaxing it to full hardness again. I could feel my balls start to churn as they ignored my brain's fears and panic signals.

"Ruh-Rachel, wha-oh-what happened? You're huge!"

"Mmm. Mmm-hmm," she mumbled in between her sucking.

I tried to stop her by grabbing her head, but it only served to lengthen her strokes. As she pulled away, I caught a glimpse of my dick and winced. It was bright red. How long had she been at this, I wondered.

She could feel my orgasm approaching, and her bobbing began to rock the mattress as her chest mashed into me. I came ferociously.

When she finished swallowing, her tongue darted to the corners of her mouth, savoring every drop. I had yet to regain my bearings. She stood up, and then I realized the gravity of the situation. Her head grazed the ceiling.

"Breakfast couldn't fill me up," she said, patting her stomach, "but that hit the spot, baby. Thank you." Her breathing was deep and ragged, as if she was still asleep. Her monstrous tits heaved as she panted.

"What the fuck happened?" I asked again.

She just stood there and smiled. "Listen," she said.

The eight-foot-tall woman dominated the room so much I didn't see it at first, but I could hear it. Those breaths of hers were inflating her, stretching her skin and bones, filling her with pound after pound of fat and muscle. Her head bumped hard into the ceiling, hammering it with every inhale. Her breasts sank lower as they grew, their size outpacing the rest of her, and they burbled with the unearthly sound of their expansion. Her ass began to crush the dresser behind her, and I could hear wood splintering as she had no choice but to destroy it. Her body had become too large for the room.

"It's been like this all morning," she said. "When I woke up, my underwear was in pieces." She nodded to the bed, where a single torn cup from her bra was sitting on the sheets.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I was so hungry, I couldn't wait for you. I went out to the kitchen and ate everything. Everything. It's all gone." She sighed. "I wish there was more."

"We need to get you help," I said, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. Who could I call? I tried directory assistance, who could get me the number to a hospital, but the call failed to connect. Rachel looked down at me, her breaths washing over me as she ran her hands up and down her sides. The floor squeaked in complaint as she grew heavier. I needed to do something, and fast, before she trapped both me and herself in the bedroom. "Come with me."

I got out of bed and pulled on some pants. Squeezing past her, I went through the door her hips had already smashed into on her previous exit. Rachel followed as best she could, contorting her body so that her tits could fit. She had to crawl now, and the house shuddered as her butt collided with the walls. Everything about her had grown to excess, her body becoming a caricature of her former self. For not the last time that day, I found the horror of the situation combining with a deep, primal lust. I pictured myself buried to the hilt in her, her gigantic body quaking with ecstasy.

She made it as far as the living room before the pain struck her. She froze, her face tensed in concentration, and stifled a groan. Her stomach churned, and she came crashing down onto the carpet, clutching her midsection. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

"Christ, it burns," she moaned, her body crumpling upon itself. Her insides rumbled again, and through her fingers I saw her belly swell.

"Rachel, you need to get that stuff out. You ate too much."

She shook her head, hair whipping across her face. "Hungry."

Her belly inflated more until she looked pregnant, her skin stretched tight across its bulk. She rolled onto her back.

I stood paralyzed in front of her. She was suffering, and I wanted to help, but what could I do? She wanted food, but I sensed the danger of doing that. I wanted to comfort her, but she was both bigger and stronger than me. Frankly, I was afraid.

"Food!" she cried. "I need more!"

But more seemed like the last thing she needed. Like a seedling in time-lapse, I watched as she began to grow again. Her legs inched across the floor toward me. I saw her feet elongate to twice, then three times the size of mine. Her pussy, still slick from her earlier excitement, bulged and gaped between her thighs. As she grew taller, her stomach deflated, the mass pumping into the rest of her. She squeezed one gigantic tit, flesh flowing between her fingers.

"Baby . . ." she said, in one of her final moments of clarity. "Baby, you need to go."

"What? Go where?"

"Anywhere. Just go, before I . . . I---" I watched as her back arched, arched, arched until it looked as though she would break in half. Then, with a single deep breath, she grew faster than anyone I have seen since. Legs, breasts, ass all ballooned like rising dough. She was growing bigger in every dimension and proportion. She would no longer be able to fit through the front door, and it occurred to me that she wouldn't need my help, and that if I waited much longer to take her advice, I would be trapped there with her. Or worse, trapped under her.

Her body shoved everything else in the room toward the walls as it grew. One of the couch legs snagged the carpet and tore it up. It happened so fast that the walls looked like they were shrinking around her. The house's foundation shifted as her increasing weight stressed the concrete slab. What else could I do? I bolted out the door before the house collapsed.

*******

Dawn has started to break, and from my basement window I can see the titaness who must now rule us all. How many can there be, as large as her? The scale of things has warped, and I cannot begin to judge her height. Where all of downtown once stood, there is now only her massive body, sprawled out and writhing. Between her thighs I can see glimpses of her suitors. The transformed women swarming over her must all be giantesses in their own right, thirty or forty feet tall, but all appear to be toys in comparison to her. She is far enough away that I can only hear the distant echoes of her deep, primitive moans, like the growl of some cave-dwelling beast. But her figure undulates with the ministrations of the lesser women, and as her hips crash into the ruins beneath her, the shock-waves shake the floor. Her fingers plow through the landscape, kneading and raking neighborhoods in hill-sized handfuls.

No women have figures like hers, cartoonish in proportion and size. Her lush hair is impossibly long and smooth, as though she were part of some glamour shoot. It cascades around her, carpeting the ground. But how? How does it grow? How can she, a creature larger than any to have ever lived before, exist? Science and reason have abandoned reality. All in its entire will be swallowed and pulverized and embraced out of being. I cannot continue to hide here. Within a day or less, I will be crushed beneath her ballooning body. I do not like my odds of surviving outdoors, but certain death awaits me here. It is possible that there will be nowhere to run, that she will grow until she overwhelms Earth itself, but I have to try. There is, for all I know, and end to the madness that does not end the world.

Wish me luck.

*******

There is a foot on the horizon, larger than anything. On its toes, nail polish the same shade of red that Rachel wore. It's not getting closer. It's getting bigger.