The Big Bully, Chapter II

There in the doorway stood a massive man. The guy was a fucking mountain in a wifebeater and plaid boxers. He wasn’t lying when he said 6’8” and obese. His scalp reached the very top of the doorframe, and I knew from a sweaty summer’s worth of experience working in construction that a standard door was 80 inches high.

The doorway wasn’t even wide enough to reveal his whole body. His feet were bare and obviously enormous, with thick hair running down the tops and covering his toes’ knuckles. These were attached to appropriately thick legs, with calves that each seemed to be the width of my torso. His huge belly stuck out over the stoop, straining his wifebeater, which I noticed was pretty grimy. Over the deep cut of his tank top, a massive bush of curly black hair was spread across his chest and over his shoulders.

And his face–my god. If he hadn’t been so damn fat, he would’ve been devastatingly handsome. Clearly he had a strong, square, stubbled jaw, but it was padded with several chins, all black with five o’clock shadow. The giant’s eyes were a washed out blue-grey, but they shone with a dark intensity. Those were mean eyes, eyes that didn’t care about you. They only cared about themselves, leering from beneath two bushy brows, tilted slightly downward.