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Description
Let me introduce myself. I'm just your average ordinary girl, I guess. Still somewhere in my late teens, shortish light brunette hair just short of a pixie cut, brought up in a middle-class household with a loving mom and dad. Single at the moment, B grades on average, I'm good with English and artsy stuff but as soon as I see an equation my mind tends to melt away. No brothers or sisters to speak of, but I do have cousins dotted all around the place. Light blue eyes, sometimes softly spoken and sometimes sarcastic (but what teenager isn't these days). I like to read in my spare time, watch a TV program every now and then, the sort of usual stuff that others do. Totally normal.

Oh. And I'm a human blueberry.

Guess I should've started with that.

In short, my condition causes me to constantly fill up with blueberry juice. A rare condition, something to do with the human DNA having coding in it that resembles blueberries and... did I mention I was bad at science, too? You would have to talk to my Doctor about WHY it's blueberry juice and not any other fruit juice. It is what it is.

It normally takes two days for me to reach full size, and then another half day for me to eventually reach my "limit". Yes, this does mean I will explode. Hasn't happened to me yet, though the thought of covering every inch of wall of any room I occupy with my own blue liquid isn't something that I like to venture to every now and then. Tell your average person in the street if they want to explode or not, they'd be answering the same. Except they don't have my “condition”.

I guess I should explain a bit more about what makes me an actual “blueberry”. No I don't have a stem, I don't grow out of a tree, and I can't fit in the palm of your hand. Some days I could barely fit into your room, never mind be held up by someone. I do, however, resemble the shape akin to a sphere. Except with tiny hands and feet and my head popping out of it. I guess you could actually put me in a blender and sweet juice will come out. Good luck finding a blender that will properly fit me though. I end up as wide as you are tall, then a little more. And then a little more. Normally when I can't even move any more, that's when it's time for me to be juiced. Juicing a human blueberry is done in a more humane manner than dicing me up with blades. Think of those massaging chairs that knead and roll against your muscles. Now imagine that but around ten foot high and across an entire body. It's meant to stimulate and squeeze out the fluid in a more humane manner than simply just sticking me into a vice and squeezing until something happens.

Specialists say that I have around an average of 60 hours maximum between each and every session that I have in this weird machine before I reach a critical mass. In layman's terms, that means the point where I go boom boom. I could venture to test that number, but I don't think I'll ever be that brave. I'd rather fill up to the point where I'm considered ripe and roll my way into the juicer.

My day-to-day life other than the aforementioned “juicing” is fairly standard. Or as standard as I'd like to make it considering my condition. The moment after juicing I like to walk around town... even with the biggest ass you've ever seen and blue skin that shines like a lighthouse for all to see. I tend to get reactions from all sorts of weird and weirder people. More than once I've seen my pictures up on the Internet with captions and comments that vary from “Stick her with a pin!” to “How does she keep all that junk in that trunk?” to “Blue Man Group: Missing Member”. You name a unique comment, I've heard it and seen it. I do like to go shopping, ironically I like to go clothes shopping which ends up as futile an experience as you think, as by the time I get home and try whatever I've just bought back on again, it's already two sizes too big. The only thing I have luck with is underwear. So at least I have a backup of lingerie to fall back on that's designed to stretch and contort to my body. I'm not even trying to be sexy, but it fits so I'll wear it. But even my stretchy underwear squeezes like a vice when I end up bigger than I should be. It can be an amusing sight seeing me 50+ hours before my last juicing and about to get a wedgie the likes of which you've never seen.

I go to school still. I go to a school that houses people of varying conditions. My condition is rare, but the school I go to varies in many wonderful, yet struggling people who have to deal with their hand in life, and the sorts of ailments I'm glad that I can share my experiences with. The main benefit is that nobody can bully anybody else because we're all in the same boat. They can call me any name they wish, I can call them back in kind as no one there is normal. Everyone there is some variety of huge. And thankfully the uniform is, for lack of a better word, liberal with our bodies. Literally the only school I know that has a "school underwear" as skirts are a futile thing.

The school also acts as a boarding house for people with our conditions. It beats being woken up with faceless doctors squeezing into your body as they keep reminding you that they need to move you before you end up a gigantic spray of blue explosion. I can wake up and if I feel I've swollen up too much in the night, the staff can take care of me. They also don't see the need to constantly remind me that I'm going to pop.

Strangely, they also encourage me to flourish as a blueberry instead of hiding away in self-loathing. There's no way I can live a normal life like the other schoolgirls so why not just enjoy my life as a constantly swelling piece of fruit? Bizarre as it seems, it works. when I'm feeling down on my luck.

Would I prefer to be normal? It's been a while since I've been normal. There's no real argument against it. Tt would be a lot easier for me if I was. But I also harbour a secret I've never told anyone before. Even the staff at the school who would possibly encourage such a thing.

I love being a blueberry.

It's hard to explain, and I feel like if I did try to explain it in real life I would be greeted with skepticism, maybe even dismissed as a wacko, but the bigger I get, the better I feel. I only ever feel bad when people remind me that my ultimate fate may be as a loud explosion or tease me and make me feel self conscious in a public space. Even some of the more creative comments I find online can give be a buzz.

But I've had dreams. Normally I'm in a place that's far away from any way of being juiced. A jungle, a desert, a remote location where I have to submit and accept my fate. I wake up just as I explode. And they are very good dreams.

There's no way that I would even consider doing such a thing in real life, but they always send chills down my spine whenever I remember them. Or whatever I have instead of the spine nowadays.

The bigger I get as a blueberry, the more sensitive my skin feels. When I reach a certain point in my growth, even a slight gust of wind or a soft palm against my bare skin is enough to trigger something. Nothing bad. It's enjoyment and dare I say, pleasure? I really do love the feeling of being rolled when ripe. When I'm a big ball. The juices inside feels like an ocean, it can be calming. But even when sloshing and glunking like a rough sea, that gets me going. It really does get me going. I have to ball up my fists and curl my toes to stop me from making any irrational noises.

I guess it's healthy to have that sort of drive. I'm a growing girl still (and this time I mean metaphorically), we all have those thoughts, I guess it's hard for me because I'm the only one who is amped up by the thought of being a rounded piece of blue fruit. Plus I don't think there are any blueberry dating sites. Yet.

I've benefited from a life of structure in a way. Even when for some reason my growth doesn't follow the path and it's supposed to. I think I've mastered sleeping at certain times so that when I wake up I don't end up so immobile I have to lie on my back and wait for the people who take care of me. Though it is always a thrilling experience. Waking up thinking that you could lurch forward despite a heavy set of juice, yet all you can find yourself doing is flap and kick. It makes my heart race. It gives me time to plan out my studies, recreation time, hanging out with the other girls around the school, it's an interesting life.

The problem is after school, there is not much room for girls who turn into fruit in the workplace. But the future is away from me at the moment. Now I can enjoy life, I stopped living in the future and started living in the present. And currently I'm an hour overdue for my juicing.

Simone x

Description
Let me introduce myself. I'm just your average ordinary girl, I guess. Still somewhere in my late teens, shortish light brunette hair just short of a pixie cut, brought up in a middle-class household with a loving mom and dad. Single at the moment, B grades on average, I'm good with English and artsy stuff but as soon as I see an equation my mind tends to melt away. No brothers or sisters to speak of, but I do have cousins dotted all around the place. Light blue eyes, sometimes softly spoken and sometimes sarcastic (but what teenager isn't these days). I like to read in my spare time, watch a TV program every now and then, the sort of usual stuff that others do. Totally normal.

Oh. And I'm a human blueberry.

Guess I should've started with that.

In short, my condition causes me to constantly fill up with blueberry juice. A rare condition, something to do with the human DNA having coding in it that resembles blueberries and... did I mention I was bad at science, too? You would have to talk to my Doctor about WHY it's blueberry juice and not any other fruit juice. It is what it is.

It normally takes two days for me to reach full size, and then another half day for me to eventually reach my "limit". Yes, this does mean I will explode. Hasn't happened to me yet, though the thought of covering every inch of wall of any room I occupy with my own blue liquid isn't something that I like to venture to every now and then. Tell your average person in the street if they want to explode or not, they'd be answering the same. Except they don't have my “condition”.

I guess I should explain a bit more about what makes me an actual “blueberry”. No I don't have a stem, I don't grow out of a tree, and I can't fit in the palm of your hand. Some days I could barely fit into your room, never mind be held up by someone. I do, however, resemble the shape akin to a sphere. Except with tiny hands and feet and my head popping out of it. I guess you could actually put me in a blender and sweet juice will come out. Good luck finding a blender that will properly fit me though. I end up as wide as you are tall, then a little more. And then a little more. Normally when I can't even move any more, that's when it's time for me to be juiced. Juicing a human blueberry is done in a more humane manner than dicing me up with blades. Think of those massaging chairs that knead and roll against your muscles. Now imagine that but around ten foot high and across an entire body. It's meant to stimulate and squeeze out the fluid in a more humane manner than simply just sticking me into a vice and squeezing until something happens.

Specialists say that I have around an average of 60 hours maximum between each and every session that I have in this weird machine before I reach a critical mass. In layman's terms, that means the point where I go boom boom. I could venture to test that number, but I don't think I'll ever be that brave. I'd rather fill up to the point where I'm considered ripe and roll my way into the juicer.

My day-to-day life other than the aforementioned “juicing” is fairly standard. Or as standard as I'd like to make it considering my condition. The moment after juicing I like to walk around town... even with the biggest ass you've ever seen and blue skin that shines like a lighthouse for all to see. I tend to get reactions from all sorts of weird and weirder people. More than once I've seen my pictures up on the Internet with captions and comments that vary from “Stick her with a pin!” to “How does she keep all that junk in that trunk?” to “Blue Man Group: Missing Member”. You name a unique comment, I've heard it and seen it. I do like to go shopping, ironically I like to go clothes shopping which ends up as futile an experience as you think, as by the time I get home and try whatever I've just bought back on again, it's already two sizes too big. The only thing I have luck with is underwear. So at least I have a backup of lingerie to fall back on that's designed to stretch and contort to my body. I'm not even trying to be sexy, but it fits so I'll wear it. But even my stretchy underwear squeezes like a vice when I end up bigger than I should be. It can be an amusing sight seeing me 50+ hours before my last juicing and about to get a wedgie the likes of which you've never seen.

I go to school still. I go to a school that houses people of varying conditions. My condition is rare, but the school I go to varies in many wonderful, yet struggling people who have to deal with their hand in life, and the sorts of ailments I'm glad that I can share my experiences with. The main benefit is that nobody can bully anybody else because we're all in the same boat. They can call me any name they wish, I can call them back in kind as no one there is normal. Everyone there is some variety of huge. And thankfully the uniform is, for lack of a better word, liberal with our bodies. Literally the only school I know that has a "school underwear" as skirts are a futile thing.

The school also acts as a boarding house for people with our conditions. It beats being woken up with faceless doctors squeezing into your body as they keep reminding you that they need to move you before you end up a gigantic spray of blue explosion. I can wake up and if I feel I've swollen up too much in the night, the staff can take care of me. They also don't see the need to constantly remind me that I'm going to pop.

Strangely, they also encourage me to flourish as a blueberry instead of hiding away in self-loathing. There's no way I can live a normal life like the other schoolgirls so why not just enjoy my life as a constantly swelling piece of fruit? Bizarre as it seems, it works. when I'm feeling down on my luck.

Would I prefer to be normal? It's been a while since I've been normal. There's no real argument against it. Tt would be a lot easier for me if I was. But I also harbour a secret I've never told anyone before. Even the staff at the school who would possibly encourage such a thing.

I love being a blueberry.

It's hard to explain, and I feel like if I did try to explain it in real life I would be greeted with skepticism, maybe even dismissed as a wacko, but the bigger I get, the better I feel. I only ever feel bad when people remind me that my ultimate fate may be as a loud explosion or tease me and make me feel self conscious in a public space. Even some of the more creative comments I find online can give be a buzz.

But I've had dreams. Normally I'm in a place that's far away from any way of being juiced. A jungle, a desert, a remote location where I have to submit and accept my fate. I wake up just as I explode. And they are very good dreams.

There's no way that I would even consider doing such a thing in real life, but they always send chills down my spine whenever I remember them. Or whatever I have instead of the spine nowadays.

The bigger I get as a blueberry, the more sensitive my skin feels. When I reach a certain point in my growth, even a slight gust of wind or a soft palm against my bare skin is enough to trigger something. Nothing bad. It's enjoyment and dare I say, pleasure? I really do love the feeling of being rolled when ripe. When I'm a big ball. The juices inside feels like an ocean, it can be calming. But even when sloshing and glunking like a rough sea, that gets me going. It really does get me going. I have to ball up my fists and curl my toes to stop me from making any irrational noises.

I guess it's healthy to have that sort of drive. I'm a growing girl still (and this time I mean metaphorically), we all have those thoughts, I guess it's hard for me because I'm the only one who is amped up by the thought of being a rounded piece of blue fruit. Plus I don't think there are any blueberry dating sites. Yet.

I've benefited from a life of structure in a way. Even when for some reason my growth doesn't follow the path and it's supposed to. I think I've mastered sleeping at certain times so that when I wake up I don't end up so immobile I have to lie on my back and wait for the people who take care of me. Though it is always a thrilling experience. Waking up thinking that you could lurch forward despite a heavy set of juice, yet all you can find yourself doing is flap and kick. It makes my heart race. It gives me time to plan out my studies, recreation time, hanging out with the other girls around the school, it's an interesting life.

The problem is after school, there is not much room for girls who turn into fruit in the workplace. But the future is away from me at the moment. Now I can enjoy life, I stopped living in the future and started living in the present. And currently I'm an hour overdue for my juicing.

Simone x