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I want to plant my lips on those giant, glossy, juicy bimbo life-preservers that are now her lips. I want to plant my face in those giant, stiff, tight, spray-tanned basketballs that are now her breasts. I want to kiss her bulky lats, delts, biceps, and rippling tummy. I want to show her pictures of her old self while making tender love, and make her tell me why she underwent the transformation that she did. I want her to beg me to show her the joys being a woman. I need to destroy this utterly perfect hulking mass of woman and plastic.