TracerBulletBilly on GiantessIsland

Having pocketed the cash from the dame I head out into the cold rainy night and head for the chatroom. I sit in there and wait shooting the breeze, incognito as meek mild mannered "billy" and fish for information on Giantess Gretchen. Has anyone seen her lately? That sort of stuff.

Suddenly this truly gigantic, beautiful amazon of a bitch goes lumbering by muttering something about having to get to her island. If you want to see Giantess Gretchen go here. I immediately hitch a ride by grabbing onto one of her shoe straps.

I confront the Giantess telling her to read my blog if she wants to know about the case I'm on. Letting her know I'm a dick and all that PI stuff. This was my first mistake, believing jem when she told me Giantess Gretchen can't read.

So I'm asking the Giantess if she's crushed any spouses of mysterious dames recently when she bellows out, "You think I'm two different people because I flicked the husband of some dame halfway across the water???!!!"

I briefly consider shooting jem in the knee as a little reminder about tricking Tracer. You know an old keepsake, when this monster boulder crashes near me driving me into the surf.

I decide that we'll continue our little chat after Giantess Gretchen calms down and I begin swimming out into the ocean while huge boulders splash dangerously around me. Once I'm out of range, about a quarter mile jem decides to mention the sharks. These are monster sharks by the way, just like everything on this island is huge.

Now I have a problem, death by shark, or death by beautiful, obviously can read, pissed off Giantess Gretchen. I pick the lady, every time! I start to swim to shore holding the sharks at bay by unloading my 45s at them. I'm also grateful because in a fit of mongoloid reasoning another visitor to the island thought it would be a great idea to shoot Giantess Gretchen in the ass with a slingshot. So she's pretty distracted crushing the guy and Tracer only has to swim and not deal with enormous rocks.

Exhausted, out of ammo, I stumble to shore. Jem's busying herself with some fifty gallon drum and completely ignoring me when this hand (well manicured, soft and girlie) swoops down and picks me up, pinning my arms to my side so that just my head is sticking out.

Ace told me she smelled like dry bones or something like that. Not true ace. She smells like coconuts and uses a nice mouthwash, unique and fruity. She's examining me closely like the bug I am.

"You believe I have an alter ego simply because some dame tells you?"

"I believed the cash schweetheart!"

"Tiny dick billy tell me who this dame is!" She says while tightening her grip.

I feel the first rib crack as my lungs compress. I glance way way down and see jem climbing into the insides of giant pineapples and making juice for that fifty gallon drum. Everything is getting glazy and slow-motiony as I recall jem saying, "Just give me a call if you need a hand on the island Tracer."

Jem calls up, "You better tell Her Tracer!"

Big help. I squeak out, "I can't Giantess Gretchen. It's dick/client privileged. I needed the money so that I can make more calls ..."

"Well your not calling me so fuck it!" Giantess Gretchen squeezes me like a grape, "Tell me!!!" I feel more ribs crack; I start to black out. As I fall into darkness I hear Giantess Gretchen say, "I lay limp tiny dick billy onto a flower."

Well Giantess Gretchen may be able to read but she needs to read a good book on botany! The "flower" was a giant patch of poison ivy. I woke up the next morning with several cracked and broken ribs and a Giantess poison ivy rash.

I think the saltwater helped on the swim back to the mainland with the itching, but as I lay in this bathtub filled with calamine, drinking whiskey and smoking cigs, I ponder my next move. Maybe confronting Giantess Gretchen was a bad idea, I'll approach this from a different angle and interview the Mistresses themselves.

Once I get a handle on this damned itching ...