Everyone wanted to celebrate.

Everyone except me.

I wanted to stay home, throw back a little bubbly, crawl into my bed and mercifully black out for a few hours, and then wake up again right as rain. A ringing headache encircled my skull and every so often the ground seemed to tilt a little, accompanied by a paroxysm of nausea which thankfully hadn’t yet crystallized into a volcanic eruption of barf. If I could make it through work and get home intact, I thought I’d be doing pretty good for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, the rest of the world had other plans.

It was the night of ‘The Big Flip.’ The ‘GPR’.

A Geomagnetic Pole Reversal – two, in fact. One reversal, then back again. It would happen so unmeasurably fast we wouldn’t notice anything. Shouldn’t notice anything. That’s what the scientists were saying anyway. Still, there was a lot of nervous excitement. No one really knew what was going to happen. It was taken by a lot of people to be like the advent of the 2000s, with both its incredible hope and anticipation and simultaneously its heightened fear of impending doom. But in the aftermath of the Y2K bug – or lack thereof – people were a lot more dubious of the possibility of a ‘GPR bug,’ though there was a small movement of paranoids who believed the reversal would last long enough to wipe out the electrical grid and all our technology, and cause mass calamity.

I imagined picking up pizza and something to drink on the way home – champagne instead of beer? – watch some TV, and then (just to be sure) keep all electrical appliances off during the Flip, coincidentally enough, slated for midnight. Or was that too superstitious? Maybe it wouldn’t matter; likely I’d be fast asleep by then. Alas, my night did not resemble this in the slightest.

I was leaving my office when Scott was on the phone and trying to rope me into the ‘GPR’ event he and his girlfriend, Tasha, were having at ‘The Portugal,’ which was a former Hotel now restaurant a little out of the city.

“What are you doing in the office?” he said. “You should have called in sick. Today might be the last normal day you have.” He was joking, but had no idea how eerily accurate this would prove to be.

“I know,” I said. “I regret coming in now, don’t I? My head’s killing me. I can’t come tonight.”

“This might be the last time we see each other.”

“Can the melodrama, you just want an excuse to get plastered.”

“I don’t need an excuse. It’s Friday. You don’t need one either.”

“You’re going to have to make do without me.”

“You’re no fun. This is why you’re single right now.”

The barb went deeper than he meant it to. But he didn’t know, or understand. It was too complicated to explain. My mind raced for a laid back defence, but it was too late: now I was thinking of Jennifer. ‘Ex’ sounded so brusque and unfeeling – my previous girlfriend? That thought trailed into wondering what she was doing tonight.

Why the wonder? – I already knew. She would be going on some long, involving date with her new man. Definitely some restaurant, an upmarket one, leaning over the table, staring into each others’ eyes, referring to each other with cutesy sobriquets. Gliding around amongst lots of people, showing herself off, her fine body – I could see it outlined in something dazzling and elegant –  and showing him off, too, both of them being seen strolling down a board walk hand in hand, maybe fitting a walk on the beach in there somewhere towards the end, not to swim but to have sex. I knew she would do all these things because these were all the things I wouldn’t. I didn’t like attention. She loved it.

She had a dual nature, almost Jekyll and Hydean, The girl I very much fell in love with shared her mind with the She-Hulk, practically turned green and grew mass without warning. That was not to say she became angry, rather Jennifer’s she-hulk had a deprecating sense of humour. Not self-deprecating, just deprecating. She could be touchingly kind and gentle – and mostly was – but another side of her loved to put me on the spot and embarrass me, torment me, metaphorically twist my arm behind my back until I said or did the right thing, or wrap me around her little finger, as the expression goes.

That feeling of being in a relationship with two different people (Jekyllina and Heidi?) became exhausting. I started getting the suspicion I had been downgraded from boyfriend to fawning pet, on call at all hours to attend to her impulsive desire for gratification, and if I did not give her a certain amount of attention, something was ‘wrong’ with me and needed to be ‘corrected’, usually through some creative ‘shaming ritual’. Jennifer never asked me for anything; she went ahead and took it if she wanted it. She expected my 100% availability for emotional engagement, physical contact, and sex. I should mention, Jennifer loved sex more than I did. Don’t get me wrong; while I love sex, myself, Jennifer’s intimidating sexual confidence and intimate familiarity and comfort with the male body made me often feel not as her equal but her property. She definitely wasn’t a passenger when it came to the carnal act; she was a fierce driver.

To me, sex was a serious matter, a commitment or act borne of mutual trust and devotion. She spoke frankly about sexual matters, in company, and about myself as a sexual being, and put her amazing acting ability on display mimicking what I allegedly looked and sounded like at the height of coitus, to the stifled laughter of all.

I was a toy – a sex toy – for her idle amusement, and if I was a toy, then, to Jennifer, sex was the game, and one in which she wielded the advantage – and I suffered the handicap – by virtue of the hidden arousal of the female sex, and the manifest arousal of the male. She found no higher form of comedy than in the ‘surprise erection’. She had previously derived idle amusement in covertly slipping Viagra into my food – the more inopportune the place or time, the better. More often, she only voiced the possibility as a threat, but on a couple of frightening occasions, the possibility had been realized (once, when her parents came to visit – but that’s another story…).

If there was ever a protest from me for being selected by her, yet again, to play the circus animal, she would stare me down, darkly smirking, and in an innocent, velvety voice, ask me, as if deeply concerned for my welfare, “Jerry, what’s the matter? Are you angry at me?”

I didn’t get miffed easily. But if I was angry at her, I couldn’t stay angry. She was gorgeous and knew it, and never let you forget it. If I was disgruntled with her, not just miffed, but sending out serious signals that I wanted my own life for two seconds, it made her genuinely concerned. She would put on an act with bedroom eyes turned right up and everything. It wasn’t flattery, but contained a veiled threat: get over your beef, because any other man would be fighting to be in your shoes and if you don’t kiss and make up with me, I’ll prove it to you.

It was amazing we ever got together at all. I was, and am, straightforward, good-natured, somewhat emotionally blunted and one-dimensional (according to some), no-kidding-around person, prone to inward deep-thinking at times. And Jennifer was a spectrum of – at times – contradictory emotions, desires, hopes and fears. My family were bug-eyed when she came over for Christmas; first I was offended by that, then amused, then in resigned agreement with their unspoken sentiment of ‘how did that happen?’.  

You see how it self-destructed. The more effort she put into chasing down my attention, the more I felt contained and tried to run away, until one day I ran and didn’t stop. She had been the first one to state that it was over but I was the first one to act as if it was over. But lightning had undeniably struck, and it hadn’t struck (for me) again. And now, as her final torment on me, she had moved on while I remained torn, still in love with her and boxing myself up over it.

“Jerry? You still there, buddy?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Fuck it. Count me in.”

“Great! Ease up and have some fun tonight, meet some new people, some girls.”

“Hey, yeah, introduce to me to some bangin’ babes while I’m there.”

“Sure thing. Just don’t say ‘bangin’ babes’ ever again and it’s on. Christ, you’re really out of the dating loop these days, aren’t you?” 

“Not really.”

“It’s super obvious. You’re going to have a blast tonight. See you later, man.”

I went home, had a shower and changed into something more casual but smart, shaved, fixed my hair. I wanted to look like I was doing really good since the breakup, healthy, desirable, robust, ready to invite a new person in. Maybe it was the uncertainty of the looming Flip making me feel like I had get out of my shell and give life another crack. Or maybe Scott was right, and when the clock ticked over we would all get fried by incoming cosmic radiation and none of it really mattered. 

It was dark when I got to the Portugal. It turned out Scott’s event was rather bigger than I expected. People were gathered inside, but folks had spilled out of the building and into the beer garden al fresco area around the back, where food tables were set up under lanterns suspended on cabling, casting a soft silver glow over everything. Scott was by a disused fountain outside, talking with some other guys about how they could possibly make it erupt with beer. He had a very closely shaved head, stubble, and was wearing a leather jacket – had probably whipped over on his ‘cyle. Scott was one of the coolest people I knew; he just radiated an admirable sense of floating through life on a cloud, not giving a damn and having a blast the whole time.

“The only question is,” one of the guys was saying as I wandered over, “how to prevent people peeing in it.”

“Whoa, let’s not race ahead of ourselves,” Scott bantered, “first we need to scoop out the catfish.”

“You could lure it out with a mousefish,” I said, and they all turned to me.

Scott broke out with a grin.

“Hey, Jerry!” he said. “I hoped you were serious when you said you were going to show. These days, I can’t tell, man. You feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” I lied, my headache still probing around behind my temples at odd moments.

“Glad to hear it. When I said this might be the last time we see each other, well, I wasn’t completely exaggerating. You know Tash and I are hitting the road tomorrow, heading up north to visit her folks. This doubles as our going away party.”

The news didn’t take me by surprise. He’d been talking about this move for months. Still, I felt something deflate in my chest. It meant the loss of another person in my life.

“You sure you won’t be too smashed to drive?” I said.

“We’ll leave in the afternoon, of course; it’s a flight most of the way. And we’re not geezers just yet, Grandpa.” Then he said thoughtfully, “We’ve put a deposit on a house up there.”

“Oh, right, congratulations,” I said, trying to keep my voice natural, but on the inside, feeling something unpleasant tug in my chest. Surely not envy? Even though we were good friends, Scott and I were very different, with very different values…or so I thought. Scott was a drifter, not a plan-in-advance type like myself. He didn’t have clearly defined goals. I always imagined I would be the first to settle securely and be the one telling him to try it sometime. Never imagined it’d be the other way around and I’d be stricken with petty jealousy of him, and that was an alarming realization for me. Just how far had I fallen this past year?

Scott must have caught something in my tone.

“I know,” he went on wistfully, “the party years can’t go on forever. This Flip business is probably going to pass and the world keep on turning, but it’s got me thinking about the future. We only have so much time on this planet. I’m serious about Tash, and ever since her dad had his heart scare last year she’s wanted to be able to visit them more often. I’m going to start a business up there, too. Plus, we’re talking about having a family of our own.” He paused and then shrugged and said, “Anyway. Enough of me. What about you? You been seeing anyone, yet?”

I looked away. “I’ve been too busy.”

“I don’t mean commitment, I just mean fooling around, casual stuff.”

“Nothing,” I stressed uncomfortably. “It’s been good having my own time and space again.” That was a lie.

Scott slid his arm over my shoulder and steered me away from the other guys so we couldn’t be overheard.

“Your breakup hit hard, I know,” he said. “Man,” he shook his head, “What happened? I thought you guys were rock solid. Tasha told me Jennifer glowed talking about you – you had Tasha wondering what I was doing wrong not making her feel like that. Next second Jen calls it off.” He clapped me on the back in sympathy.

“I don’t know,” I said. That was a lie, too.

“I’d be stinging, too,” he went on. “I never told you – guess I can now – but one time I came over. You weren’t home, but Jen was and I accidentally got a real sinful sight as she came out of the shower. I thought, Lord, you see that every morning. Think I was more embarrassed than she was.”

“She probably timed it,” I said, and meant it. I didn’t mention that, when we lived together, the dynamic was usually reversed; I was the self-effacing undresser and she was the one trying to catch me in my birthday suit.

“Hey, I’m not complaining. She’s got a gorgeous ass. Her ass is like its own pair of tits. And her tits are even better. Puppies up and noses pointing.”

“I get the picture. You saw everything.”

“Sorry. I know, it must sting,” he said quickly.

“I’m doing much better,” I said dismissively, and at this rate, my nose should’ve been as long as Pinocchio’s.

“If it makes you feel better, I always thought Jennifer was too much work for full time commitment. Tasha’s low maintenance, it’s great. That’s the beauty of finding the right person, they make it easier to live with them, than without. You seemed kind of drained sometimes with Jen, like she’d had you running marathons on a leash.”

“Not a bad way of putting it.”

“Well, forget it. Let’s look forward to the night ahead.”

Scott pointed me to a table lined with food, and got me a drink – champagne, not beer. I got a plate and took a number of different samples, canapes, cheeses, fruit, salad, and hot food. Then desserts were brought out, cakes, puddings, trifles and mousses.

Afterward, Scott said:

“Let’s get you talking to some girls,” and he got to his feet, and started leading me through the crowd. I trailed after him through the masses of people, until he stopped suddenly and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Uh, maybe not that way,” he said. I looked past him and my eyes locked onto a young man and woman standing together, talking with another couple. I knew the sight of the woman so well, it hurt like a punch.

She was an unusual combination of the best features from different worlds; an Amazon from some bygone exotic Empire that had collapsed in a war and now no longer existed, and since had merged back with the 'normal folk' to live amongst them once more as an equal.

Her hair was naturally light blonde – a seraphic, almost unnaturally light platinum, but every so often she had it, and her eyebrows, dyed a shade of midnight brown. Her odd coloured hair made dyes come up unexpectedly, for instance red came up magenta, and copper came up yellow. With experimentation, she’d found the dark brown shade worked, apart from an odd, panther-like greyish blue that came up under certain lighting. That hue always sparked nervous electricity inside me for some reason. She must have decided to mix things up lately, as ¾ of her long hair, from her scalp, was that pantherine blue, and the last length lightening to her natural silvery blonde.

She was wearing a stunning white dress and white wedge heels – she always wore light when her hair was dark, and vice versa.

Her outfit matched her male partner’s hair – his name was Stuart, I knew – and his hair was white – not blonde, but white, which looked unusual on such an otherwise young man. He was tall, held himself well, was dressed well enough in a sweater, tie and trousers. Any woman would be satisfied enough to have him on her arm. He was an unexciting choice for her, but maybe she’d changed. Maybe she was done chasing, and just wanted to settle into quiet normality.

I could prep myself to remain composed if I knew I was going to see her, but I was still not used to having her sprung on me like this without warning. At least they hadn’t seen me. Yet.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was here?” I said under my breath.

“I didn’t know,” Scott shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I invited them, but she said they weren’t coming. Anyway,” he eyed me, “what’s the problem? You’ve moved on, right?”

I wouldn’t have come if I’d known she was coming, was the problem. I suddenly wanted to leave, but ditching Scott would be rude. I was stuck.

“It’s awkward, man,” I said hesitantly. “I don’t want her to see me on my own. I should’ve brought someone.”

“You’re single, so what? Own it. We’re probably all dead after midnight anyway.” He took a sip of his beer.

“—I’m only kidding,” he added at my look, and shoved my shoulder. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck were rising; a personal kind of ‘Spidey sense’ that only meant one thing:

She had seen me.

You wouldn’t know, just looking at her. She was like a cat who knew you were in the room, and where you were, without turning its head or moving its eyes. When she was interested by something in her peripheral vision, she assumed a stillness and a deliberation while everyone else continued to move around her obliviously. That’s how you knew you’d just got clocked. One time, back when we lived together, she came to me, swearing up and down that there was a mouse in the house. I never saw evidence of it, but at her insistence, I set up a trap. Sure enough, the next morning there was a dead mouse caught in it.

Nothing got past Jennifer Tomlin.

Not even a mouse. And now, horribly, not me, either. For they were both strolling on up to us. Scott and I stood in place, trapped. Like a good host, Scott beamed and spread his arms, while my hands disappeared into my pockets and clenched into fists.

“So you both decided to show up after all!” Scott said magnanimously. “What a nice surprise!”

"We couldn't get a reservation at Le Bistro Rabelais," said Jennifer.

"Oh. What about that new place,” said Scott, “Gulliver’s Kitchen, or whatever it’s called.”

"No good," Stuart smiled with resignation. "Either the portions are too big or too small – ” he gave Jennifer’s shoulder a small squeeze, “ –  this one’s so fussy. And stubborn."

"I was just keen for a dinner on the waterfront," Jennifer said with finality.

I found myself staring at Stuart, more to avoid looking at Jennifer. There was something in his face that looked different than the last time I'd seen him. Sadness? – No, a kind of tiredness. Couldn't hold that against him; I was tired myself; and sick, too. Maybe it was just all the doomsday fervor.

I could feel Jennifer’s eyes on me, more than a passing glance, and her expression had softened. Not wholly unpleasant, but I thought better than to return the look, or even say anything. If I gave her an inch of attention she would take a mile, and I could really use not being poked fun of for still being single. After another couple of minutes, they both moved on. Crisis averted.

I looked pointedly at Scott. “Find me some of your women. And fast.”

He found a couple of young, attractive women he said were single and willing to indulge my half-crumpled ego in conversation. One of them was unreasonably tall (in large part due to a stilt-like pair of heels), and happened to be the one Scott indicated was most compatible with me.

The nerves were jumping in me. I hadn’t played this game in a while. Technically, Jennifer had pursued me, not the other way around. I frowned.

“Kind of a giraffe, isn’t she?” I said.

“I would say, model-esque,” Scott said lightly.

He introduced us and got the girls drinks. To my pleasant surprise, she was very open and animated from the first, laughing at my half-hearted jokes and goading me to keep talking. Her friend nodded and giggled every so often. Reassured, Scott wandered off. And that’s around when things started to go downhill.

I searched for common interests, but kept coming up with false leads, nothing I could latch onto. Undeterred I started tossing around for observations; the music playing from inside the Hotel, the food; did she know anyone else here. Her input was polite, neutral and pedestrian. She needed me to talk and entertain her. But that was a nice change, being the centre of another’s attention. So I obliged, talking about some of my interests, keeping it light. All the while, I couldn’t help but notice her eagerness to empty her glass…and then another, and another, causing her voice to get progressively louder, and her laughter to sound increasingly exaggerated over the comparatively harmonic music.

She asked me more about Scott – apparently she was a distant friend of, and invited by Tasha. I made a funny remark about Scott, and she honked like a goose with laughter. Her smile was starting to go askew.

Her eyes kept wandering from my face, until – while I was mid-sentence speculating what impact the Flip might make on the economy – she eventually reached up and tweaked one of my ears.

“You have big ears,” she said. “It’s funny.”

I didn’t think my ears were much bigger than normal, but they did stick out a little. It didn’t bother me, and neither did her comment. But in actual fact, this was a warning sign to abort, that I unwisely mistook for burgeoning romantic affection.

“You have cute ears, too,” I said, and lifted my hand to push her hair back. Her head pulled away abruptly, out of my reach. 

“Oh my God, you don’t think I like you?” she said, drunk and deafening. She fixed me with a wide eyed stare. “I just thought you were a funny little man. You’re so small!” she giggled recklessly. Heads turned and eyes narrowed on us.

She carried on obliviously.

“Look at this – “ she bent for a moment to slip off her shoes, making it apparent that I was still shorter than her even without them.

“This is you when I’m not wearing heels, little guy,” she said, standing over me. “And with the heels on, I think you put yourself at risk of accidentally getting squashed!” she paused on that image for a moment and then let out a burst of laughter.

It was true, I was a little on the slight side. Even Jennifer had been taller than me, though only by the barest fraction. But still, Jennifer – to her credit – had never made fun of it. And she never made fun of me like this. To Jennifer, I had been a toy, sure, something to play with, but you looked after your toys. To this girl, I was dirt.

“You need to carry a loudspeaker around just so I can hear you,” she went on. “You really think we would work?”

An awkward silence punctuated her pauses. People standing around us had stopped talking and were watching us, some helplessly but most entertained, men grateful to not be standing in my shoes, women hating to admit to themselves the lady had a point about my height.

“I get the picture,” I said tersely. The girl sobered a little, or at least, her face went flatter.

“Everyone’s entitled to standards,” she sniffed.

“There’s being classy about it, and there’s not.”

“Wow, no need to be rude.”

“One to talk.”

“Geez, you might be as big as Mickey Mouse, but you act like Donald Duck. Good bye,” she said, drawing out the space between the words, for extra effect. She turned, and, laughing a little again, teetered away, causing her friend to jump in and link arms to prevent her from falling over.

In the short pause that followed I regretted not calling off the banter to ensure that I was the first to storm off. Now, in the fallout, everyone was staring awkwardly.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I realized, to my horror, that Jennifer and Stuart had ambled over nearby and must have caught the whole spectacle. Stuart had a faint look of sympathetic embarrassment for me – which was somehow worse than if he had been openly laughing. I couldn’t read Jennifer’s face; it was a cold, impassive mask. That made me think she was pretending not to know me, or be associated with me – and that, too, was somehow worse than laughter.

Later, I bumbled into Scott’s girlfriend, Tasha, inside the Hotel, by the stage, where some musicos were setting up and testing their instruments. . She was a small, thin, but stylish woman with black hair.

“Scott tells me you’re working the charm,” she smiled. “How’s it going?”

“Looks like I’m fresh out of charm tonight, Tasha.”

“That’s no good. Well, don’t despair. Have another drink. It’ll get your confidence back.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t need the excuse to create an even bigger embarrassment of myself right now.”

“Oh, don’t beat yourself up, Jerry,” she said kindly. “You have a lot to offer. Why, Jen told me earlier she thought you looked very nice, very handsome tonight. She’s happy to see you’re taking care of yourself. And I agree.” She gave me a wink. “Naughty, though, making her a little jealous like that.”

I was doing no such thing, at least not intentionally. Anyway, I thought to myself a little sullenly, at least that’s what it looked like, like I was doing well.

Back outside, Scott was telling a funny story to a friend, but not the kind you let the kids overhear.

“How’d it go?” he saidwhen he saw me.

I told him.

“Dude, don’t take it to heart,” he said, trying to save the day with a vodka martini, and I gratefully took a deep draught of it. What the hell, I thought. Might as well loosen up and get comfy. Who am I trying to impress?

“It’s my fault,” Scott assured me. “I tried hooking you up with a cracked egg. But there are plenty more in the basket.”

I wanted to agree, but I had seen the other girls’ smirks and stifled laughter when the giraffe had ditched me. If the girl was a cracked egg, well, maybe the whole basket had been dropped.

Scott noticed my expression.

“Look,” he said, “if you’re done with women for tonight, I’d like you to meet some guys I know. There’s one guy and he’s really into time travel. Builds stuff in his garage. You interested?”

I agreed. Time travel was an idle fascination of mine. Little was I to know, the forthcoming meeting of minds would change the course of my life forever.

Scott showed me over to a table of about three men sitting over in the corner, away from the noise of the party. Drinks and playing cards were piled up in front of them.

“This is my friend, Jerry,” said Scott. The guys grunted hello. “Mind if he plays a hand?”

They nodded. “Take a seat.”

“Don’t be the odd one out, Jerry,” said Scott. “A lot of these guys have given up on the fairer sex, too.”

“Uh, we have given up on relationships, not women,” one of them corrected. “Let’s be clear!”

I sat down and was dealt some cards. Maybe I could just do this for the rest of the night, I thought. I was okay with that. I liked that my seating blocked most of the party out.

“You want to know why I play poker,” one of the guys said to me, “because poker is the perfect balance of luck and skill.”

“I could use a bit more of both right now,” I said.

“He’s into time travel,” said Scott.

“Speculatively,” I added.

If I could time travel, maybe it would still be me, not Stuart, out the window, slow dancing with Jennifer under the lanterns. Then I realized what I was thinking and looked away, angry with myself.

“That’s my game, too,” said one of the guys. He was young-looking but his hair was greying prematurely and receding in the corners already, meeting in a prominent v-shaped widow’s peak on his forehead. His eyes darted around a lot like some kind of rodent.

“Fellow flux capacitor enthusiast,Remigus De Lautrec,” Scott introduced us.

“Aargh! No!” the man scoffed, “Remy – just Remy!” He had a slight accent.

“French?” I jumped in. “I’m a Mousseau, actually – Jerry.”

“Ah! Really? Which region?”

I looked down. “Er…couldn’t tell you, actually. I mean, not for many generations…”

“Oh. Well, nevermind.”

“What do you do, Remy?”

“I’m in between realms at the moment. Have my eye on a position with one of those big biotech firms, actually.”

“Quantor or Vegrandis? Aren’t they really hard to get into?”

“I think Vegrandis still considers merit. To get into Quantor you basically have to be a family member or a supermodel.”

He changed the topic. “Jerry, do you want to hear about what certain kinds of time dilation does to physical scale?”

“No. I‘ve read about this. Scale is relative like time, and time is bound up in space. So, theoretically, time dilation has the ability to alter scale.” I shrugged. “Or something like that.”

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Well. Looks like Scott was on the money with you. Give him my thanks, he went above and beyond.”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked him to round me up an assistant. I’m doing an experiment with time. I need someone with enough knowledge of time travel to understand the disclaimers so they can give proper consent.”

“Have you tried it yourself?”

“I can’t. To go into the past you need to set up a ‘backward gateway’ at the time you wish to come out. If that time’s been and gone, you’re toast. But it’s cool, I set one up yesterday. I’m worried about the paradoxical implications of meeting myself in the past, even if my past self expects the meeting. So I need an assistant to go back for me.”

“What?” I cut in. “Actually go back in time?”

“Yeah, spooky thought, huh?”

I didn’t believe him. Looking back, maybe if I’d taken him more seriously at the start, none of the following stuff would’ve happened.

I humoured him:

“Why don’t you show me how to set up one of these gateways and you do it and meet me in the past?”

“I’d like to have done it that way, but there’s no more time. I only just got this figured out recently. We’ve got to do this now, on the Flip. If I’m correct, the pole reversal is going to turbo juice my machine.”

I frowned. “If the experiment works, then wouldn’t you have seen me come into the past yesterday?”

“Yeah, I’ve thought of that. Maybe it works differently, you know parallel universes, or it overwrites history, or the past changes but our memories don’t, or something.”

An uninhibited discussion of temporal physics followed. I could never talk about it much around anyone else I knew. Even Jennifer, when we’d been together. If it got too deep she would make a remark threatening to put me in a padded room in a straight-jacket. As I suggested earlier, she felt threatened if I acted too interested in subject matter that wasn’t connected with her in some way.

Eventually Remy and I kind of drifted away from the poker table completely and just talked time.

He showed me to a storage warehouse out behind the Hotel, for inbound logistics. There were cardboard boxes stacked up. On a crate there was a bunch of boxy objects underneath a tarp sheet. Remy slipped one of them out and showed me. It looked like a portable generator.

“Is that a generator?” I said, even though I already kind of knew the answer.

“It’s my baby,” Remy said, cradling it. “This is the thing that’s going to zip you backwards.”

It had a black bar that curved around with a grip and trigger like a handgun. I pointed it out.

“Just looked cool,” Remy shrugged. “This is how you engage; you face time off, you quickdraw the exact moment, shoot a hole in it and travel through – anhedral, not dihedral; that’s important, too.”

Despite what I knew about time travel, all of that went over my head.

He held the machine in front of him like a gun, his finger ready on the trigger. He even made some empathic gunfire noises. He was just a big kid, I realized. Somehow that made me trust him more. Goes to show how quickly I gave my trust away back then.

Then he was serious again.

“Excuse the pun,” he said, “but timing is everything in this game. Let me show you.”

“What?” I said. “You’re going to do it, now?”

“No – you’re going to do it now.” He yanked my arm out and pulled back my sleeve, exposing my watch.

“Wait five minutes, then turn it on – ” he showed me a switch on the side of the machine, “—and pull the trigger. You’ll go back the five.”

“Why wait?” I said.

“It creates a backward gateway. A safe frame of time in which you can mess around in without overlaps and paradoxes. It’s a safety net; kind of like the broadcast delay on TV. The first time I did the jolt, I had no gateway, and it was really weird and confusing. But no harm done.”

“Does it hurt?” My headache and nausea was coming and going throughout the night, and I didn’t want to make it worse.

“No. But I should let you know, it’ll make you shorter.”

“What?” I said, a little too loudly. “That’s the last thing I need.”

“One of those disclaimers I was talking about,” he said matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, you only lose a millimeter each time, if that. You can’t tell. I only know because the mathematics requires it.”

“So does going forward making you taller?” I joked. “Sounds a little too much like Alice in Wonderland.”

Remy stroked his faint grey stubble. “There’s a nice symmetry to it. Moving forward in space makes you bigger, moving back, smaller. It must be the same with time, but in a literal sense.”

“You’re not really growing and shrinking when you move through space, though,” I said. “It’s a perceptive illusion. I’d re-check the mathematics.”

Remy gave me an odd smirk as if I’d said something childish and naïve, like ‘who painted the sky blue?’ Then he handed me the machine. It was unexpectedly heavy; you sure as hell weren’t going to win a quickdraw with it.

“Get on that trigger in five, okay?” Remy said, turning to head out of the warehouse. “I’ll see you outside – oh, and Jerry?” he paused and gave me a serious look.

“Yeah?”

“Keep your eyes closed, no matter what you hear. It could be weird. I don’t want you to stall and tangle things up.”

He left the shed. Set my watch alarm to 11:10 pm, closed my eyes and waited. Almost the moment I shut my eyes there was a small male scream. Nice, I thought, and foreboding. Maybe Remy was trying to psych me out. He was such a kid deep down. I kept my eyes closed. Then I heard footsteps scuffing out of the warehouse. That settled it; I saw Remy leave the warehouse but he must have snuck back in to mess to with me. He was trying to goad me into opening my eyes. I kept them shut and pretended I hadn’t heard.

The footsteps disappeared outside. Then all was quiet. Maybe the whole thing was a joke, I wondered. And I was just holding a regular generator in my hands. Well, it beat standing around the Hotel, trying to keep my eyes from sticking to whatever Jennifer and Stuart were doing.

My watch beeped. I opened my eyes, turned on the power switch and depressed the trigger. What looked like water arced out of the machine and seemed to part like a curtain. Except there was no water; reality was bending like a reflection on a river. I could scarcely believe it; I was looking into a curved archway, slanting off from the rest of the world at a strange angle. An actual time warp, or wormhole, or something. My legs were shaking all of a sudden. This was definitely not how I imagined spending my Friday night.

But then I remembered what Remy had said about stalling and causing ‘tangles’, so, taking a deep breath, I walked towards the archway, revealing a tunnel, looking like a pathway through the warehouse, but as I moved, it distorted like a funhouse mirror. From one angle it looked straight, from another, shrunk into nothing, from another, magnified greatly, another slanting, and even, from a very acute angle to the side, slanting so hard it corkscrewed right around like a rollercoaster track. That enlivened some nausea in my stomach, so I took the path along the angle that made things look the most straight and normal.

There was a rushing sound, like an ocean wave, and the archway collapsed around me. Convinced I had done something wrong and the universe was in self-destruct, I screamed.

Then, blinking, I found the warehouse looked normal again, except now I was across the room, closer to the exit. Scuffing my shoes self-consciously and feeling a bit awkward, I walked out.

I found Remy standing outside. He took the generator back from me.

“What the heck was that?” I said.

“Check your watch.”

 It read 11.06pm.

“Well I’ll be,” I said stupidly, lost for words.

“For you,” he explained, “it’s been five minutes. But for me, no time at all. You’ve literally just walked out as I left you.”

I stammered, shaking my head.

“You didn’t believe me?” said Remy. “You didn’t take a look around on your way out.”

I looked at him blankly.

“Take a look,” he said, gesturing to the warehouse entrance. “But don’t go in.”

I stuck my head around the doorway and looked in.

And saw myself standing in there, holding the generator and closing my eyes.

“Motherfucker,” I exclaimed, stepping back to stare at Remy. “It actually worked!” then I frowned. “Now there’s two of me.”

“Not for long,” Remy grinned. “Once your past self jolts back he’ll disappear out of our lives, leaving just you. He goes back, we move forward, everything fixed again. It’s like you’ve done a tiny loop around, but now you’re on the straight path again. You see why we need a backward gateway.”

Remy and I returned to the Hotel. Some people had started leaving. Remy was holding his machine and only then I appreciated its inconspicuous design. No one gave it a second look. To them, it was just a generator.

Scott found us in the alfresco dining area.

“A few of us are heading back to my place for drinks, count down the Flip, pray for our lives,” he said lightly. “You guys are welcome to head on over.”

I nodded. I was super buzzed from the time jump and wasn’t yet ready to settle down. Even my headache wasn’t bothering me for the moment.

“I think I will,” I said.

“Sure,” Remy shrugged. He didn’t have a preference, I knew he was just going because I was going, for the purpose of the experiment. I know that Remy said you had to establish a quarantined safety buffer zone, but the idea of jolting in front of a small crowd filled me with excitement. What would it look like from their end?

It was eleven thirty when I pulled my car up outside Scott’s place. Some cars were already parked along the median strip. Tasha let me in with a smile that said she was surprised but grateful that I came.

I met her through Scott, and she met Jennifer through me. I didn’t think they would get along; Tasha was a very down to earth woman, the kind whose unconditional kindness could be taken advantage of by the wrong person, and she had a transparent sense of humour; she laughed politely and straightforwardly, not always realizing the dark nuance of Jennifer’s humour, even when it was directed against me (I didn’t resent her for that, she was too nice). Maybe that’s why Jennifer liked her, she didn’t quirk an eyebrow in silent disapproval at anything Jennifer did or said. A more judgmental, self-righteous woman would have found much to fault about Jennifer. But now that we’d broken up, I assumed Jennifer had finally drifted away from them, I guessed she probably drifted in and out of Stuart’s circles now. I was patently wrong.

Remy arrived shortly after I did. We took up chairs in the living room. The TV was playing softly; a live GPR countdown special. There was no precedent for a pole reversal, so we all treated it as the closest conceivable thing: a millennial clockover. The TV was only a passing distraction. Remy and I soon kicked off another involving discussion about the implications of time travel. We spoke as loudly and excitedly as we wanted, and no one paid us any attention, as we walked over potential paradoxes and what we could possibly do with an eight minute long time jump. It must have sounded like were talking in pure hypothetical. No one would have guessed otherwise.

A lull in the discussion made me realise how dry my mouth was, while Remy stretched and yawned.

“Too bad we can’t make time speed up,” he said. “Get this Flip over with."

I nodded. My headache was returning. Too much alcohol and my throat felt like sandpaper. I got to my feet.

“I think I’ll get some water,” I said, stepping out of the living room.

There was a window along the hallway, revealing the patio, with Tasha, Scott and, to my surprise, Stuart, all sitting on the wooden chairs, with drinks and canapes. I could hear the muted sounds of them chatting. I might have gone out there, but if there was Stuart, there was Jennifer, though, mercifully, I couldn’t see her from where I was. My brow furrowed and I pretended to not have seen them, before I was invited out there myself and made to catch them up on my existence, the mind-numbing routine of work and play I had lost myself in since the breakup. Gratefully enough, their backs were to me and they didn’t see me. I carried on into the kitchen.

And walked in on Jennifer, who was standing at the sink. She was cutting fruit, for cocktails it looked like.

Our eyes met for a second. I looked away uneasily. She didn’t. Her expression didn’t change, like she didn’t recognize me. Maybe that was a good strategy, I decided.

“Excuse me,” I said, as if I needed her permission for the water. Unfortunately, she was using the sink to wash fruit. I awkwardly waited for her to finish. She pushed the tap over to my side and stared at me, as if to say ‘there you go,’ but remained on the spot, peeling some fruit over the sink. This meant I had to sidle right up to her to use the sink, doing everything humanly possible to keep a sliver of air between us. It was deliberate of her, I knew, with some irritation, she wouldn’t let me slip in and out like a mouse; she wanted me to look her in the eye and engage her. I couldn’t believe it. We weren’t even in a relationship anymore and she was still playing this game. I thought she had Stuart for that now.

“Staying for the Flip?” she said casually.

“Of course. Can’t miss it.”

“You doing anything special?” she went on. “We might never see another.”

“Well not if we all get flambéed by cosmic radiation, we won’t.”

She let out a small splutter of laughter in spite of herself.

“I meant that we don’t know if there’s going to be another in our lifetimes,” she said.

“Well, I cracked open a Bacardi. That’s pretty magical, for me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she said deprecatingly. “How brave of you.” I was a lightweight, unlike her; she held her drinks. Sometimes she’d had to cajole me into imbibing more, and she always liked the opportunity to make me more pliant to her suggestion.

“What are you doing?” I said.

She looked away.

“Stewey wants to kiss me when it happens. Like it’s New Years’.”

Stewey? I thought. Like the Family Guy character? What bizarre in-joke endeared her to that moniker? I decided I would rather not know.

“But I think it’s kind of silly,” she added quickly. “I mean, it doesn’t really mean anything, right?”

I took that as a rhetorical question and didn’t answer. Then, filling up my glass, I started to leave the kitchen again.

“Do you think anything’s going to change?” she asked after me. I paused at the doorway, with Remy’s machine jumping to mind.

“Sure,” I said. “In a big way.”

Down the hallway, I could hear the others laughing loudly, moderately drunk. Scott noticed me.

“Jerry, get over here!” he exclaimed. “Tell them what you told me earlier, about your date with the giraffe lady – what happened, you know?”

“Just let me use the bathroom a minute,” I smiled weakly, continuing on up the hallway. I spent more than a minute in the toilet, in truth avoiding them, shamefully or not.

When I finally returned to the living room, Remy had gone, leaving behind his machine where he’d been sitting. I wondered if he’d done a quick jolt without me. Turns out he’d wandered out onto the patio to talk with the others. Great, now they were all out there, talking and laughing. I slumped in one of the sofas and began downing my half-finished glass of Rum and Coke, forgetting the Coke. Next second, it was empty and my head was swimming like I’d gotten off a wild carnival ride.

Oy vey… I thought. Obviously drunk that one way too fast. I couldn’t concentrate, my eyes kept slipping around objects rather than focusing on them. But at least all the inhibition and self-effacement was gone. My mouth felt like it was on fire, but in a good way, like after eating a good chilli.

My mind then wandered back to Jennifer’s question. Would anything change though? What did I think the machine was really going to achieve? The past Jennifer was still the same Jennifer, and the present me was still the same me. I wanted more space, she wanted less of it. We had different, incompatible notions of what a relationship looked like, and no time jump was going to cure that.

I got a lot of rough treatment in my youth, roughed up for being the kid, the little guy. As an adult, intimacy was real hard, made me keen to put distance between myself and others. I knew I played games and let people chase me for a while, before I tired of it and went and hid in my man cave to do my own thing. I knew, by comparison, Jennifer’s upbringing, among push-and-shove brothers, fighting like cats, was defined by the struggle for attention, for the spotlight, constant stimulus and noise; you fought to make yourself heard, and once you had your claws in someone, you didn’t let go. She chased me eternal, and even seemed to enjoy it, but that’s not what she really wanted. A chase was useless without getting the cheese at the end, and she had wanted to finally catch me, and hold me, squirming in her grasp, and keep me there. She had wanted to finally pin me down, and I wouldn’t let her. That never-ending chase is what finally broke us apart.

I flicked over the channels, trying to find a recap of that day’s Powerball selection, only to realise there was no Powerball that night. Then I tried looking for horse races, greyhound races, stock exchange index, anything I could bet on in the past. But now my eyes were so blurry and my mind couldn’t make sense of the numbers. I cursed myself for not thinking of it before now.

“Jerry, they’re doing the countdown in a minute -- ” Tasha came in, with the others behind her, “ – switch over to the live cover.”

I flicked back and then – feeling a mad surge of confidence – stood up, taking Remy’s machine in my arms. Spare minutes to midnight, feeling drunk and reckless and like I had nothing to lose, I positioned myself in the room so I could see everyone, and everyone could see me, and held Remy’s machine up in front of me.

“Everyone, please be quiet.”

They stopped chatting and turned to stare at me, somewhat impatient.

“You are about to witness something incredible.”

“Hey, Jerry,” Scott piped up from somewhere in the crowd, “just how much have you had to drink?”

I was not a usual candidate for a drunk disorderly display, and there was a ripple of concern throughout the room. I didn’t usually take centre stage like this, in fact, not at all.

“He’s not fooling around,” Remy said soberly. “Jerry, I didn’t think we were going to make this so public.”

“We need witnesses,” I said. Inside I was buzzing, barely able to contain my excitement. I was going to ensure they weren’t going to remember me as the ‘Mickey Mouse guy’, now they were going to remember me as some kind of superhero.

“Mighty fucking hell!” he said, wiping his forehead. “You want to go balls deep, fine. I’m geared up for this, too. But this won’t be like the shed thing, Jerry. This is another level. Don’t you think we should isolate the jolt zone – ”

“It’s a bit late, now, Remy. I want to just do this. Now or never.”

“Sure man,” he said with a tired shrug. “It probably shouldn’t create too much of a tangle. We’ll debrief after. Your trip, your terms.”

I switched on the machine. Oddly, it began humming, vibrating in my hands. The others were starting to get worried looks.

“Is that a generator?” said Scott, watching me blankly. “Why is it making that weird noise? It’s not going to explode is it?”

“She’s cranked right up,” crowed Remy. He could hear it humming too. “Oh baby, the Flip is going to jump the Jesus out of her. Everybody stand back, we’re looking at some deep shit.”

They began unquestioningly stepping away from me.

“This is kind of creeping me out,” said Tasha. “Is anyone else creeped out?”

“This looks like it’s going to hurt,” I heard Stuart mutter. “Hurt someone, anyway.”

“You’re not doing anything stupid, are you?” Scott said with a lopsided, half-not-believing smile.

“What are you doing, Jerry?”

It was Jennifer, her voice cutting like a knife. She sounded afraid and when she stepped forward, I saw something rare and tender in her eyes. Something in my chest caught. The rum had made me forget she was here – a brief, blissful amnesia. Now my mind reeled, and some seconds slipped away as I regained myself. If my jump was successful, would I lose this Jennifer? By changing the old Jennifer did I overwrite this one standing before me; the one who looked kind and concerned for me? Would I ever see her again? Did any of this drunken philosophizing even make any sense?

“Jerry, look at me.”

My mind teetered on the edge of spoiling the surprise, but I clamped my jaw shut and kept my eyes on the clock, watching the last few seconds tick down. Stuart leaned over and muttered something to her, and she shook her head, not looking at him. My silence worried her, and that made me feel an odd grim satisfaction.

“Don’t do it,” she tried again weakly.

“FIVE…” people on the TV were chanting. “FOUR…THREE…TWO…”

I hit the trigger. Held it down. Reality curved and split. I walked to the archway, a little unsteady on my feet. Found the straightest angle in and strode in.

“ONE…”

I yelled, my speech slurred, “See you in the pas – !”

I tripped.

The ground raced up and corkscrewed around my head.

FIZZZZZZT

Everything was dark. I could hear loud rumblings playing over my head. Was there a thunderstorm going on outside? I must have gotten knocked out, I realized. It felt like the floor was rotating around under me like a carnival ride. It slowed, and then stopped. My stomach was squeezed as if captured in a fist, and – without even opening my eyes – I rolled over and violently threw up on the ground, but at least the squeezing feeling relaxed.

“JERRY?” boomed an unrecognizable male voice. “CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Could I hear him? Of course I could – the voice was playing over booming speakers.

“You don’t need to yell,” I grunted.

“I DON'T THINK HE CAN HEAR US,” another voice said. It had the ring of Tasha’s voice, but deeper to a distorted degree. And loud, broad, like it filled up the entire airspace over my head. Now that I thought about it, the male voice had kind of sounded like Remy, but absurdly deep and loud.

Jesus, I thought, worriedly. The time travel must have done a number on my hearing, made it painfully sensitive or something. I prayed the damage wasn’t permanent. Then it struck me what the ‘vaguely Tasha voice’ had said.

“Hey, I can hear you,” I croaked.

“IS HE AWAKE?”

“I said I can hear you!” I yelled. Christ, of course they couldn’t hear me if they kept yelling over the top of my voice.

“OH MY GOSH, DID YOU HEAR THAT? WAS THAT HIM?” The ‘Tasha’ voice again.

Now I was getting scared. My eyes fluttered open and I found myself surrounded by towering objects, crowding me in a circle, seeming to me as tall as sequoia trees. But how did I get outside? And where was everyone?

Over the treelike objects there was a bright golden light, the sun, I guessed. So it was daytime? How far back in time had I gone?

I groggily sat up, blinking.

“Scott?” I called out. “Tasha?...Remy?”

“WHAT’S THAT ON THE GROUND? – IS THAT…VOMIT?” Now it sounded like a distorted parody of Scott’s voice.

“YEAH, HE THREW UP.”

“YOU! – WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU MAKE HIM DO?”

That last accusation was in Jennifer’s voice, but again, deeper and louder than I’d ever heard.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING,” came a Remy-like rumble.

I goggled up at the flat vanilla sky, taking in the huge black silhouettes encircling me, my vision clearing but my mind reeling, not wanting to accept what was gradually taking form.

“JERRY, SAY SOMETHING,” the ‘Jennifer’ voice again, “PLEASE.”

The darkness was lifting from the treelike forms, faces began to materialize, features blown up horribly like living billboard models.

“DOES HE…” a thundering male voice began nervously – Scott – “…DOES HE KNOW WHO HE IS?”

I stared dumbly at them all for a moment. The situation I was in hit me like a ton of bricks. Then an abject terror seized my chest.

“Remy,” I squealed. “What the fuck happened?”

“YOU CAN HEAR US,” he said.

I stared up at him imploringly. He was enormous – terrifyingly so, less a person and more a living mountainous landscape, a wall of unyielding skin, hair and cloth.

By comparison, I was the size of a mouse. I was momentarily stricken with the hysterical thought that if he accidentally tripped on me, he would turn me to paper. And there were five of them.

“Yes! Just don’t talk so loud.”

“TECHNICALLY, YOU KIND OF DID IT,” he said, unhelpfully, as if that was all I really cared about. “YOU WARPED SPACETIME. OR, SPACE, AT LEAST. OR SCALE.”

I stared up at him in exasperation, waving my hands futilely. “Remy, it fucked up, obviously.”

“WELL, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WARP EVERYONE EXCEPT YOURSELF. BUT YOU’VE WARPED YOURSELF, BUT NO ONE ELSE.”

An oak tree of an arm lifted over his shoulder as he scratched his head in thought. To me, his china plate sized fingernails combing his scalp sounded like rakes scraping concrete. Invisible to him, I made out flakes of skin being disturbed from his head and flicking into the air. I cringed.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up with a realisation.

“YOU MUST HAVE GONE DIHEDRAL,” he exclaimed, surveying me with academic loftiness. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GO ANHEDRAL. IT’S WARPED YOU ALONG THE WRONG PLANE.”

“Well, thank you for letting me borrow your instruction manual on using the thing,” I screeched back. “How the hell was I supposed to know what anhedral means!”

“WELL, YOU DID SAY YOU’D ALREADY READ ALL ABOUT IT.”

I shook my head angrily and looked back down – past all their car sized shoes and noticed the machine lying on the ground, now the size of a small apartment flat to me. That only added insult to injury; the machine that had caused this had gotten through unscathed, leaving me solely to suffer its consequences. 

Then I noticed Tasha’s shoulders – like two great mountainous ridges – trembling before a great shuddering giggle escaped her and she quickly slapped a hand the size of a bedroom floor over her mouth.

“JERRY, I’M SORRY,” her voice quaked down over me, “DON’T BE MAD, BUT YOU SOUND A LITTLE LIKE ALVIN THE CHIPMUNK.”

“Remy, you got me into this,” I cried out, “you get me out!”

“LOOK, CAN YOU WAIT?” He said, shifting on his feet, uncomfortably. Every time he did so, I heard the sole of his giant sneaker groan against the floor like an old iron door. “IT’S GOING TO TAKE TIME. I NEED TO FIGURE THIS OUT.”

“HOW LONG YOU THINK IT’LL TAKE?” said a gigantic Stuart, looking at him with trepidation.

Remy stuffed his hands in his pockets, bowing his head.

“DON’T PIN ME DOWN ON A TIMEFRAME,” he stuttered, “I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF...IF I CAN, YOU KNOW…DO IT.”

“Remy!” I squealed suddenly. “Quick – jolt back and prevent me from using the machine!”

Remy regarded me sadly. “JERRY, YOU WERE BLACKED OUT FOR LONGER THAN EIGHT MINUTES. I’M SORRY, MAN. I SHOULD HAVE JOLTED THE SECOND YOU SHRANK, BUT I WAS IN SHOCK. I WASN’T THINKING CLEARLY.”

“REMY,” Scott’s voice was higher pitched now, but still incredibly deep, from my perspective. “YOU’VE GOTTA HAVE SOME IDEA. HE CAN’T STAY LIKE THIS FOREVER.”

“I’M THINKING, MAN, I’M THINKING.”

My head swam. I leaned back on my hands, staring dumbly into space. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was at serious risk of throwing up again. Remy watched me with trepidation, like he thought I was about to blow up. To be fair, I felt like I was.

“The solution is just going to come to you while you’re goggling at me like an idiot?” I yelled up at him, my face going red.

To make matters worse, I could feel hot tears building up in my eyes, and tried to wipe them away but my hands were shaking. The night had been getting progressively worse and worse for me, but surely this took the cake. This was rock bottom. I literally could not get any lower than this. My life as I knew it was over. This was no time to care about preserving dignity – that was clearly a lost cause.

There were a couple of deep shuddering thuds, like someone had lifted up a couch and let it drop back onto the floor, twice, each time quaking me to my skeleton. There was a lengthening and deepening of shadow over me, like the sun was setting really quickly – except I now knew the glowing light above me wasn’t the sun, but the regular old ceiling light, intensified in size. I had the vague notion of a building collapsing right next to me. I turned around uneasily and found a familiar-looking pair of white wedge heels had stepped up behind me, except now they were each the size of small sedans, each seated with a lineup of red-nailed toes, like passengers, shifting in nervous restlessness.

“JERRY, CALM DOWN,” came Jennifer’s voice, now half the distance to me than before, because she was crouching over me, I knew, but had no desire to look up and get the terrifying visual.

“YOU’RE TIRED AND SICK. LET’S GET YOU OFF THE FLOOR.”

Well, if I could only flap some wings and fly – I was about to say, and the next second she had trapped my body in her enormous hand.

Same old Jennifer, phrasing her demands as statements, never asking permission.

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, actually somewhat like having a plush mattress curl around me, firmly, but warm and her pulse beat against my chest and stomach. I should have been annoyed but I was too tired to complain. It was palpably hypnotizing, and, despite my best efforts, was making me sleepy almost immediately. And I wanted so badly to believe that if I just went to sleep, I would wake up normal again, like this was just a bad dream.

And then I was rising into the air, like I was in a glass elevator except there were no walls. My eyes bugged out at the floor zooming away down below. I was rising up past pairs of legs, torsos, and levelling with chests. Only now, with all of this space flying past me, it struck me how large my friends really were, how their bodies expanded out so far, and how comparatively tiny and weak I must seem. My weight must have felt negligible to Jennifer – possibly why she was holding me so tightly that I couldn’t move. The others watched me with silent, stunned curiosity. And to them, I thought, I must have looked like a tiny creature trapped in her hand; the fuzzy head of something like a dazzled, frightened canary or robin poking out from between her fingers. I shrunk with embarrassment in her grasp, actually wishing her hand just covered me entirely, or that I was so small that no one could see me at all.

I shut my eyes to block everything – and everyone – out. Then I found it difficult to wrench my eyelids open again, they felt so heavy. And I was so warm now, and no one really seemed to want to speak to me, only about me. My consciousness was retreating inside my skull. Conversation was swirling around me, loud and throbbing, but increasingly becoming an indistinct rumble. I caught snatches:

“…AT A LOSS HERE, GUYS…”

“…BE ABLE TO LOOK AFTER HIMSELF…”

“…I CAN’T – I HAVE TWO DOGS…”

“…IDEA HOW LONG THIS IS GOING…”

“…NO PROMISES…”

“…THE REST OF HIS LIFE…?”

Then all the words deepened to an indecipherable drone, and I fell asleep.

I seemed to recall brief moments where I woke up in darkness and blearily recognized I was lying down on a soft surface, covered in a blanket. That made me almost collapse again with relief. I must have been in bed. It was a dream. I couldn’t remember anything past the point I’d used the machine. How did I get home after that? I’d been too drunk to remember, evidently. Not good; hopefully someone arranged transport for me, and I hadn’t said anything stupid in front of Jennifer and Stuart. I recalled an incident with a giraffe lady. But maybe the whole GPR party was part of the dream, and the GPR was actually tonight.

But then, I thought, excitedly, if that was the case, how could I not be sure the machine had worked after all, and it had taken me back in time a day, into my bed the previous night? Then I could avoid the damn party altogether, stay home like I’d originally envisioned. But wouldn’t that create a paradox, seeing as I needed to attend the party to use the machine in the first place?

I was way too tired for this mindflip shit right now. And I was very warm – what was I lying on a giant hot water bottle, or something? I flipped my shirt off, and then closed my eyes again and was shortly asleep.

Sunlight was filtering through my eyelids. Somewhere in the distance, there was a dull ‘boom boom boom’ – a truck on the highway? I groaned. The headache had returned, though it was more of a dull fuzziness. Sounds were amplified, too. I was obviously hung over.

Also, I was hard as rock, painfully so, more hard than I could remember being in my life. I had the vaguest notion of a sex dream, but no idea what had been about, just that it had been very strange. Something about a sentient mattress. Just thinking it, my hand absent-mindedly slid down and I was stroking myself without even realizing. I didn’t even really want to come, I just wanted to get rid of the painful pressure somehow.

A shadow fell over me. Had a cloud passed over the sun? I wondered.

A familiar, firm pressure came in against my body and I was suddenly lifted away from the bed, my blanket falling away from my body in the process. My eyes snapped open to see it wasn’t a bed, it was a big square sponge sitting on top of a rubber hot water bottle, and what I’d believed to be a blanket was a hand towel.

Oh no.

It hadn’t been a dream.

I was turned around in mid-air and suddenly found myself held up before Jennifer’s vast face. She wanted a good look at me and had no compunction about moving me right up close. Her warm breath fanned against me as her eyes took in my body as if she hadn’t seen me in a long time – which was somewhat true. The faint spice of her perfume still lingered about her from yesterday.

Her thumb, pressed against my chest, rolled down my abdomen, and then dug into my lower belly experimentally, as if feeling around for something, or testing my firmness, and I groaned, needing to relieve my bladder.

Actually, no, that was not the cause of the pain. It was then I became aware my erection was still raging. Worse, I must have absent-mindedly pulled it out of the top of my pants while I was half asleep, and now it pointed nakedly and incriminatingly at her, which she could clearly see.

“EVERYTHING STILL WORKING?” she said coolly. The blare of her voice up close actually vibrated in my skull.

Shaken, I said: “I was asleep,” as if that excused everything.

I was mercifully lowered from her intense scrutiny, but now found myself parallel to her chest. She was wearing a silk negligee which was doing everything in its power to outline the absence of a bra, and her nipples were erect. This was, possibly, an even more intimidating sight than her face. Each breast was as big as a small hill, and each nipple roughly the size of a sports ball (and probably just as firm). Looking at either was like looking into the face of a snake – you didn’t want to stare, but you couldn’t look away either, you were trapped. And they sure weren’t helping to chase away my hard on, either. Added to the fact, was that I was painfully aware that the weight of a single one of those gazongas could crush the wind (and possibly the life) out of me.

She effortlessly rolled me over in her hand with clinical detachment (which squashed my member against my belly as she did so), and then put me back down on the table top. I got to my feet unsteadily, ready to defend myself if she should try something like that again.

“LAST NIGHT I FORGOT TO ASK YOU,” she said idly, “HOW YOU’VE BEEN. I DIDN’T SEE YOU WITH ANYONE AT THE PARTY.”

She was fishing, not unlikely her coy way of asking, ‘Who were you thinking of when you got that erection?’

The inquiry made my boner disappear fast, if nothing else did. It was none of her business. Our respective sizes be damned; I wouldn’t let her bully me into catching her up on everything that had happened while we’d been apart.

I folded my arms. “Uh,” I said, “apart from turning into a living doll, just lovely. Really can’t complain.”

“I’M JUST SAYING, IF YOU’RE SEEING SOMEONE, WE NEED TO LET THEM KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENED.”

My brow lowered. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“MAYBE THAT’S FOR THE BEST, GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES…”

I scowled and looked down, wishing that I was seeing someone, so I could ask them to pick me up and take me away from here.

“You know what’s best for me, do you?” I said angrily. I hadn’t asked for her to take me back to her place. On the other hand, I couldn’t survive on my own at my place. The realization left me feeling stinging shame.

“SOMEONE WOKE UP ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE SPONGE THIS MORNING.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Jennifer quirked an eyebrow, and then placed her palms on the table and leaned over me. Not letting myself get intimidated, I turned and began walking away. She darted her hand out and swept me back with her palm. I staggered on my feet, startled for a moment, and then grimaced.

“DON’T YOU WANDER AWAY FROM ME,” she said calmly. She wasn’t angry, but she had a point she wanted to prove. I didn’t want to hear it. I huffed in anger and was about to lob another expletive at her when Stuart’s voice rang across the room.  

“YIKES,” he said with blissfully unaware suggestiveness. He had crept up behind Jennifer and now wrapped his arms around her waist and playfully spun her away from the table. “YOU’RE CUTTING A NICE PROFILE IN THE SUNLIGHT, AREN’T YOU?”

He kissed her neck and she gently fought him off. When he stepped back again, his eyes found me standing on the table, stuck, wishing I was really anywhere else on Earth.

“OH, GOOD MORNING, JERRY,” he said sheepishly. “SORRY – DIDN’T SEE YOU THERE. GOOD SLEEP? A SHAME THE ‘RE-GROWTH’ FAIRY DIDN’T VISIT YOU IN THE NIGHT.”

His voice was groggy and he was evidently uninhibited from still being half asleep. He turned back to Jennifer, who was now standing coyly at a distance, tugging her long, dual-coloured pontyail over one shoulder.

“YOU AREN’T TEASING OUR LITTLE GUEST, ARE YOU?” he said to her with mock accusation. Then he raised his eyebrows at me. “JEN JUST CAN’T KEEP HER HANDS TO HERSELF, OF COURSE YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, JERRY.”

He chuckled resignedly.

“I CAN BARELY FIGHT HER OFF AT MY SIZE. I CAN’T IMAGINE HOW YOU FEEL. YOU DON’T HAVE MY ENVY – NO OFFENCE.”

“I don’t think anyone on Planet Earth wishes to be me right now,” I said darkly. And then, hypocritically, I remembered how good my hard on had felt so close to her erect nipples, and felt a little sick and betrayed at myself.

“IF YOU’RE MAKING FUN OF ME,” Jennifer pouted. “STOP IT.” She was one to talk.

“WE’RE NOT MAKING FUN OF YOU, ARE WE JERRY?…OR,” Stuart added thoughtfully, “IF WE ARE, WE’RE DOING IT IN LOVE.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Not wanting to prod a sleeping dog (and there were two such dogs in the room), Stuart suggested we have breakfast, while Jennifer had a shower. He thoughtfully gave me a choice of cereal (in a tiny shot glass that was still too big for me) and toast crumbs, and in a separate shot glass, coffee. I felt awkward alone with him to begin with, but my discomfort melted away quickly with his easy, unselfconscious banter. He took me on tabula rasa terms; like he’d forgotten I was Jennifer’s ex.

It became clear to me he wasn’t threatened or resentful at all by my presence. In fact he seemed to like the company. It probably made a refreshing change from Jennifer, who could get intense – for lack of a better word – after a while. He was innocently good-natured and it made me feel bad. It wasn’t fair for him to get dragged into this. His only flaw was to fall for Jennifer, and I couldn’t blame him for that, seeing how it was my weakness too, and – being realistic – almost everyone else with a Y chromosome.

Later, when they had both changed, I asked how I was supposed to wash.

“EASY. I’LL DO IT,” Jennifer jumped in.

“UH, HONEY,” Stuart, said discreetly, “I THINK I’D BETTER HANDLE THESE KIND OF MATTERS.”

“YOU DON’T THINK JERRY WOULD FIND IT WEIRD?” she eyed him dubiously, “MAN ON MAN?”

I resented her presumption of knowing what I would or would not prefer.

“IT’S NOT MAN ON MAN,” he scoffed, “IT’S JUST BATHROOM ETIQUETTE, GUYS PARTS SEPARATE FROM GIRLS PARTS…”

“YEAH, IF YOU’RE FIVE YEARS OLD. AND,” she cut in smoothly, “BEING TOTALLY HONEST, I THINK I KNOW JERRY’S PARTS BETTER THAN YOU DO.”

I thought Stuart was naïve to wince at Jennifer’s frankness. He would get a lot of this directed at himself if their relationship went on, if he didn’t already. But oddly, I realized, I had never heard Jennifer make fun of him once since being here. Then again, I had barely been here long. It would probably start to come out sooner or later.

We eventually compromised that Stuart would run me a bath in the sink, and then leave me on my own to wash myself. I languished in the alone time, taking a little longer than I needed to. My body definitely looked different, and not just reduced size, but increased muscle that wasn’t there before. It was a full body transformation; defined pectorals, upper arms and shoulders, by the feel of it, my back, and even a six pack. If this was the mercy I got for shrinking, though, it didn’t really make up for it. Right now, if a woman looked at me, the last thing she would notice was my nice figure. My figure certainly was striking, but not in the way I wanted. If I got turned back, would all the muscle go too? I wondered, and then sighed at the wistful thought of it. If I got turned back…Was it even worth contemplating, or was it just a faraway dream?

Beyond the closed bathroom door, the sounds of Jennifer and Stuart arguing broke through my thoughts. Not raising their voices, but their exchanges were clipped, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. It seemed conceited to think they were arguing about me. Both of them had agreed to have me over, made the decision without even consulting me.

Finally I decided to finish, drained the sink. For a second I was alarmed at the forceful pull of the water as it swirled down the drain, but fortunately, I was not so small as to be at risk of getting pulled down with it – what a horrifying thought. Then I climbed out – difficult because of the slipperiness, but I eventually managed. Drying myself with the hand towel folded to one side, I was wrapped in the towel when Stuart checked on me again.

“What am I going to wear?” I said.

“HANG ON ONE SECOND,” he said, leaving the room again.

He came back and placed a blue and red jumpsuit down next to me, remarkably my size. I turned it over and found it was a superman costume. It was from a doll, he said, that was left behind when Jennifer’s nephew came over.

Wearing the clothes of a literal kid’s toy unnerved me, but I had no choice; Stuart told me the clothes I’d been shrunken in were now tumbling around in their washing machine, amongst their regular sized clothes (“Make sure they don’t shrink,” I said before I could help myself).

I put the suit on; the cape was attached to the shoulders, so that had to go on too, like it or not. It even came with little rubber boots, which were separate, but I put them on thinking better of my feet being protected than not.

All dressed, I suspected I looked faintly ridiculous, but then again, the costume hadn’t really changed that.

“ALL GOOD?” said Stuart, “HOW DOES IT FIT?”

It was elastic and pretty forgiving.

“It’s fine, except…” I shrugged, “…do you have it in Batman?”

Stuart chuckled and ruffled my head with his finger.  

“LET’S FLY.”

He picked me up –his grasp was much more tentative than Jennifer, I noticed, and he didn’t pin me with his grip, but cupped me with both hands, which, at least gave me more freedom to move. We went back into the main room.

Jennifer was sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, the raised foot rotating idly, a magazine in her lap. She didn’t immediately look up when we came in – she probably didn’t realise Stuart was carrying me – so Stuart went over and put me down on the corner of the coffee table closest to her.

Too close, in fact, from my point of view. He’d put me down unluckily close to her raised foot, and if she’d wanted to she could have moved her foot a little and poked me with her toes, but as soon as Jennifer saw me, she uncrossed her leg from my sight, and leaned forward to get a better look at me.

“WE’RE ALL SUITED UP,” Stuart explained, “AND READY TO FIGHT CRIME.”

I didn’t like the expression beginning to spread on Jennifer’s face, and started to take some steps back. Before I could react further, however, she reached over my shoulder and plucked my cape up between her fingers, and to my dismay, lifted me off the table.

“HE CAN FLY, TOO, APPARENTLY,” she said slickly.

Stuart chuckled in spite of himself.

“HONEY,” he said, with gentle admonition, “THAT’S NOT WHAT A CAPE IS FOR.” He was referring to me dangling by cape from her fingers.

Without Stuart being there, I’m sure she would have dangled me helplessly a moment longer, but she swiftly transferred me through the air and onto her lap. As soon as my feet touched down on her firm thighs, her other hand closed in and held me there, as if I was considering absconding as soon as she released my cape. To her credit, she was not far off the mark in thinking that.

I quickly realized the superman costume was an unwise move, even if the only fitting clothes in the house. It seemed to be bringing out something even more vulnerable in me, or more predatory in her – maybe the irony of it, I guessed, the novelty of a tiny, weak superman. One way or another, it majorly underscored my comparative weakness. I almost wondered if I was better off naked.

Her eyes were examining me again, her thumb tracing the muscles of my chest. Her smile had fallen somewhat, her face serious and analytical. She could see my body was more muscular; she didn’t need to say anything to confirm that. She had probably even noticed before I had; way back when I first woke up and she held me up right before her face. But she wouldn’t have realised it was caused by the time machine; she probably thought I had developed it naturally, working out like a machine in my spare time, whipping my body into shape, unknown to everyone. That was not like me, and must have intrigued her. Following her quick-to-envy thought processes, it would indicate I liked someone, possibly plumbing up the nerve to ask them out, if I wasn’t going out already. The appallingly stiff morning wood would have only provided more misleading evidence to bolster that case.

I knew her well enough to read the unguarded curiosity in her eyes. She was thinking that I had never gotten buff like this while I was going out with her. If anything, I’d probably let my figure slip with complacency. She would want to know what had changed; if I wasn’t seeing anyone – like I said – why did I look better post break-up, and not worse?

“I THINK YOU’RE MAKING JERRY A LITTLE NERVOUS,” Stuart cleared his throat awkwardly. “REMEMBER, EVERYTHING LOOKS GIGANTIC TO HIM – THAT MEANS YOU, HONEY.”

She had been staring at me like I was a pivotal chess piece that would allow her to win a game, if only she could remember the correct move sequence.

Her eyes snapped up at him.

“WHAT TIME IS IT?” She said.

“TEN.”

Grabbing her hands around me, she stood up suddenly. “WE’VE GOT TO GO – THE APPOINTMENT.”

Stuart snatched up his car keys as Jennifer got to her feet.

“MY CAR. I’LL DRIVE.”

I was still clutched in one hand, seemingly forgotten, while Jennifer swung her handbag over her other shoulder.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?”

“DON’T WORRY, YOU’RE COMING TOO,” said Stuart.

“Where?”

“YOU’RE GETTING A MEDICAL EXAMINATION. NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.”

Now we were moving briskly to the door, out of the house.

“Examination? Look, what is this going to involve? How is this going to work at my size?”

Stuart jumped in the front seat of the car, and Jennifer in shotgun. She pulled her seatbelt across her while her other hand held me down on her lap. The car roared to life, at my size, practically an ocean liner, and just as loud.

Now I was getting anxious at their lack of explanation.

“You can’t go making decisions like this without consulting me!” Much of my voice was drowned out by the sound of the car scrunching over loose pebbles as Stuart rolled out of the driveway. If they heard me, neither of them paid me any attention.

“Damn well listen to me you clods!” I fumed, punching Jennifer’s hand. “I demand an answer! You are committing multiple, gross human rights violations. At the very least, I deserve a very good mmmmphflmmnrn – !”

Jennifer gave my head a gentle squeeze between her fingers, squashing my lips with her thumb.

Laughter spilled out of Stuart’s mouth, but he quickly stifled it, embarrassed.

“JEN, YOU’RE NOT HURTING HIM, ARE YOU? WHAT IF THE VET WERE TO SEE – ”

“Vddd?” I let out a muffled screech. “Vddd? Yyyyrrr tkkng mm tttaa a VDDD?”

“SO YOU’VE BROUGHT JERRY ALONG,” said the vet. “LET’S GET HIM UP HERE, THEN.”

Jennifer lowered me onto the silver table, in front of the vet. She was a surprisingly young – and dare I say, attractive – woman, maybe not long in the profession, had a cheerful demeanour, and her jaw was lazily working away on a piece of gum. Her eyes dropped upon me, standing upright on two legs on her examination table wearing a superman costume and a deep frown. She stopped chewing and her smile went lopsided.

“OKAY,” the vet said, after a long pause. “THIS IS UNEXPECTED.”

“WE THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE BETTER EQUIPPED TO EXAMINE SMALLER…BEINGS,” said Stuart, “THAN SAY, A HUMAN DOCTOR.”

“I THOUGHT JERRY WAS A CAT OR A DOG OR…” her voice trailed away a moment. “I DIDN’T REALISE HE WAS SO, WELL, HUMANOID.”

“I am human, genius!” I fixed her with an extended glare. “Homo sapien –  anthropoid – man – What do you think I am, a pygmy marmoset? Don’t you know a human when you see one?!“

“JERRY,” Jennifer sighed, “CALM DOWN. DON’T MAKE THE VET GIVE YOU A SHOT OF SOMETHING.”

The vet bent over the table until her breath was ruffling my hair. Her mouth mechanically opened and closed on her chewing gum with unnerving wet squishing sounds. Saliva misted upon my face with every exhalation.

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT,” she went on. “YOU’RE A REAL LIFE HOMUNCULUS.”

Her gloved hand reached down, plucked me up by my chest and turned me around. She did this multiple times to see me from all angles. There was no particular recognition in her eyes that I was the same kind of creature she was, and that made me very nervous.

“I’ll have you know,” I said quickly, “I’m as cognizant as anyone in this room. You want me to do something, ask politely like you would anyone. You may not force me against my will. Are we all clear?”

The vet put me back down on the table.

“PLUCKY LITTLE GUY, ISN’T HE?” The vet smirked up at them. She turned away from the table to pull out some medical tools. My stomach tightened.

“HE’S BEEN YAPPING ALL MORNING,” Jennifer commiserated.

“HE’S IN SHOCK,” Stuart said sympathetically. “FREAKED OUT BY THE SIZE OF EVERYTHING.”

The vet nodded and turned back to face me, now with an array of metal tools laid out on a wheely tray at her side. She surveyed me with a clinical keenness.

“LET’S GET THIS THING OFF YOU SO I CAN GET A GOOD LOOK AT YOU,” she said.

I gathered up my cape in my fists helplessly.

“Hey,” I said weakly, “what did I say about asking politely?”

This was ignored, as the vet matter-of-factly picked me up off the table and, with her other hand, pulled off my boots. She then effortlessly peeled my superman costume off me, as she would remove a glove. Her eyes glanced over my muscularly-enhanced form.

“NOW I GET THE SUPERMAN THING,” she remarked. “YOU’RE FIT AS A FIDDLE.”

I was placed back on the table stark naked and quickly began to tremble.

“I KNOW,” the vet patronized, “SO COLD. JUST BE PATIENT.”

It was cold, but that’s not why I was trembling.

I was then subject to a barrage of embarrassing and invasive examinations, in full view of Stuart and Jennifer.

The vet lay me on my back – I cried out audibly; the table was like ice against my spine – whereon she massaged my belly with her fingertips, feeling for abnormality in my internal organs. She moved and rotated my arms and legs, checking my joints. She then unselfconsciously probed my manhood and balls – which prickled at her icy touch – checking everything below the belt was order. Of course, she held me down with her other hand as she did so. I had been chattering in protest nervously up to this point, but now I was just about ready to depart from the English language altogether and start snarling at her like a rabid dog.

“WELL, LOOK AT YOU,” she exclaimed, capturing my member between her forefinger and thumb and stretching it out to maximum length.

“WHAT A HUGE GUN FOR SUCH A TINY FELLA.” She was not exaggerating; I hadn’t noticed how it had grown. It must have been a side effect of the shrinking, I thought. I hadn’t been monstrously large (proportionate to my size) before.

She gave me a sympathetic look.

“WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SEE A NICE-LOOKING LADY HOMUNCULUS? YOU MUST GET SO BIG AND SORE,” she went on speculatively, idly rolling the head of my penis between her fingertips to inspect every inch, but her tone was clinically detached, like she was talking about an animal, with no hint of untoward suggestion. Still, I could hear Jennifer failing to stifle giggles from somewhere above and behind my head, and I blushed deeply.

She shone a light in my eyes and also shoved some metal thing in my mouth to keep it open for what seemed like a torturously long time while she used another tool to dig around my teeth. Finishing that, she used one hand to hold my shoulders to keep me still, while her other hand smoothly replaced the metal implement with a tiny wooden paddle to depress my tongue, at the same time using the little finger of that hand to tilt my face up to hers, to allow her a good angle to inspect inside my throat.

“A LITTLE WIDER,” she said, moving his face in closer, “THAT’S IT. KEEP GOING, JUST A LITTLE WIDER…”

I glared; I couldn’t open my mouth any wider. If she still couldn’t see my throat at this rate, well, she should have been bringing out a microscope or something.

She bowed her head even lower until it was hovering like a moon right over mine. Her hot, acrid breath pounded my face, causing my eyes to water.

“NOW SAY ‘AAAAAH.’”

“Aaah,” I obliged weakly.

She frowned.

“NO, SAY ‘AAH’ LIKE THIS: AAAAAH – ”

Something like a wet pillow suddenly dropped down and landed with a squelch, squarely on my face. My entire world went dark, and my hearing muffled.

Frozen on the spot; it took me a second to figure out what had happened. For one horror-struck second I thought the vet must have spat on me. She had not, but the truth was not any better. Due to the downward angle of the vet’s head, when she’d opened her mouth wide, her ball of chewing gum had dropped out of her mouth and landed with an unceremonious wet plop on my head, like a watermelon landing on an iron pike. Now it was stuck there.

I couldn’t have avoided it even if I’d known it was coming; the vet had my shoulders squeezed between her fingers, and with my head helplessly balanced on the end of her little finger, my face had been unluckily tilted up at just the right angle to receive the sticky wad face first.

It was a lot of gum, too; a combination of multiple pieces wadded together. Whatever former fragrance it had had long since faded, leaving the thick odour of coffee.

“OH,” I heard the vet say lightly, “I FORGOT I STILL HAD THAT IN MY MOUTH.”

I would have been offended by her flippant tone, but I had bigger things to worry about. The gummy mask wasn’t letting me get any air in, and when I tried to rip it off, it stretched ludicrously, but did not separate from my skin. I suppose I looked a little like Jim Carrey trying in vain to pull off the Mask.

Unhelpfully, the vet was giggling now.

“YOU POOR LITTLE THING,” she said, trying to be serious. “LET ME GIVE YOU A HAND THERE, LITTLE GUY.”

Oh, I think you’ve done quite enough, thank you, I wanted to say, that is if I could speak. My feet left the ground as I was lifted off the table. Then I felt a huge thumb and fingers scratching at my cheeks, peeling the gum off in layers.

“GEEZ, IT’S LIKE TOFFEE,” the vet chuckled, and paused to wet a cloth with hot water and soap.

Meanwhile, I still could not breathe, my lungs were beginning to ache, and I scrabbled at the gum in futile panic, trying to get the vet to recognize the urgency of the situation. She began scrubbing my face with the cloth, until the darkness was removed from my eyes, and I was met by the sight of her enormous face peering at me.

“HELLO THERE,” she said. She looked up at Jennifer and Stuart briefly. “DON’T WORRY, I CAN SEE A PAIR OF TEENY LITTLE EYES PEEKING OUT AT ME. ALMOST SWALLOWED ALIVE BY ALL THAT GUM.” Then she looked back down at me. “I THOUGHT WE’D NEARLY LOST YOU.”

She finally removed enough for me to get huge lungfuls of air in, but as the vet’s face was so inconsiderately close to mine, it was not fresh air, but the slightly sour breath pouring out between her teeth. I had no choice but to suck it in gratefully, expanding my chest almost to the point of bursting. The vet captured my undulating stomach between the pads of her forefinger and thumb and gave it a firm pinch every time it expanded with air, and did this several times.

“LOOK AT THAT BELLY,” she marveled with amusement, “LIKE A RIPE LITTLE GRAPE.”

“Could you let me breathe for like two seconds?” I said tiredly. Was there no end to this debasement?

Shreds of gum were still stuck in my eyelashes, my hair – even, horribly, my nose hair – but I was just grateful to be alive. What a humiliating obituary that could have resulted in. 

The vet was not fazed. Stuart and Jennifer looked dumbfounded, but, to my frustration, neither of them looked like they got the fully gravity of the situation.

“NICE CATCH, LITTLE MAN,” the vet winked at me. “THANKS FOR HOLDING ONTO MY GUM FOR ME.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This would have been the height of indignity for a human patient, but once again the vet demonstrated a complete lack of acknowledgement of my person status by not even offering me a sorry for this clumsy faux pas, almost like she assumed I had no capacity to feel affront or embarrassment.

After that brief derailment, she recommenced the tests; listening to my chest with a size-appropriate stethoscope – the metal end of which was also painfully cold, of course. She also percussed me; tapping the tip of a fingernail in different places around my stomach and, holding her ear very close, listening for abnormal sounds. This became excruciatingly ticklish for me, and I began to giggle helplessly in spite of efforts to suppress it. 

The vet grinned at me.

“AM I TICKLING YOU?” she cooed, and puckered her lips affectionately, giving me some ‘air kisses.’ “WHAT A LITTLE SOFTIE.”

She paused her percussion briefly to tickle me properly, waggling the tip of her fingernail against my ribs, at which my knees went weak and I almost screamed in laughter. For a moment I felt my bladder muscles relax worryingly, but luckily was just able to hold it.

Throughout the tests, her face was never far away, which meant that I was constantly being buffeted by her hot breath, and that was the least unpleasant part of the whole thing as I was otherwise so damn cold.  At least she was no longer chewing gum.

She saved the worst for last.

“I’VE ONLY GOT ONE TYPE,” she said, waving a thermometer in my face, “AND YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE IT. SO, I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE.”

To say that it was size appropriate was exaggerating. She said apparently they didn’t get quite small enough, so there had to be some latitude on my end.

I was up and sprinting along the table. Everyone was shouting and trying to block me. The vet’s reflexes were the best – she was probably used to escapees – her hand snatched me up before I could plummet over the edge and meet a merciful doom on the tile floor. Swear words issued from my mouth in an incoherent stream, until I was red in the face and huffing, waving my arms aggressively at anything that got too close to my face.

“JUST RELAX,” said the vet, soothingly. “COME ON, I NEED YOU TO BE A BIG MAN NOW. YOU’RE GIVING YOURSELF A PANIC ATTACK. THE MORE YOU STRUGGLE, THE MORE THIS WILL HURT.”

I felt a bee sting around my shoulder, and then a warm calmness enveloped me. I slackened in the vet’s grip as my breathing became slower and more regular.

With one hand, the vet slipped her fingers around my torso and held firm. At the same time, her thumb stroked my spine, bending me over the crook of her middle finger. Now my butt was sticking in the air at her. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, yet another part of myself felt detached and helpless.

In a second I could feel the lubed up thermometer easily parting my cheeks and invading my sphincter. I stared at the silver table resentfully. The vet held me and stroked my spine in an effort to keep me calm. I could feel it tickling my prostate, and to add insult to injury, it was making me involuntarily hard. Finally, the thermometer beeped, whereon she slid the thing out again and removed her gloves, revealing glossy, well-maintained fingernails.

“ALL NORMAL,” she said. She looked down at me, smiled and ruffled my hair. “YOU’RE FREE TO GO, MIGHTY MOUSE.” I stood awkwardly, not being able to meet anyone’s eyes. At my palpable arousal, the vet said, “THIS IS A TOTALLY NORMAL RESPONSE, TOO.” She gave my erect penis a tweak between a manicured forefinger and thumb, and with a wink at Stuart and Jennifer, added, “LOOK AT THAT LITTLE RED JUGGERNAUT – IT’S A REAL BEAUTY, ISN’T IT?”

Half conked out from the drug she’d administered me, as well as a generous dose of shame, I clumsily began putting on my superman costume again, but all dressed, with my dick poking hard out the front of the costume, I managed to make myself look even sillier, a lewd cartoon character.

“IT’S WONDERFUL TO HEAR THAT HE’S HEALTHY,” said Jennifer, sounding relieved.

“YEAH, A WEIGHT OFF YOUR SHOULDERS, HUH?” said Stuart.

“YOU’RE RELIEVED TO HEAR THAT, AREN’T YOU?” Jennifer poked me in the belly as if to goad a peep out of me, but before pulling away, her finger lovingly stroked my lower belly a moment too long, silently conveying the message – only to me – that she would’ve keenly ventured lower if the vet was out of the scene. I’m sure the sight of my dick rocketing out the front of a miniature superman costume was irresistible to her, hilarious and erotic catnip, and much to her idiosyncratic and bizarre taste.

I grunted something that might have been a ‘yes,’ and, stunned with shame, stood like a zombie –the drooling and glazed look as much due to shock the sedative. I had thought I couldn’t possibly feel worse the moment after I’d awoken from the Flip. But I was now convinced that this was officially the worst day of my life, now and at any time in the future.

Meanwhile, over my head, the vet had a discussion with Jennifer and Stuart about the results of the tests, and my general state of health and wellbeing. Great results, but failed to make me feel any better. And to make matters worse, every so often, she would scoop me up with one hand to absent-mindedly nip at my penis with detached fascination, and twiddle it with her thumb, though I was trying my best to will it to go flaccid again, but for her intervention.

Meanwhile, I was inwardly frustrated at the vet’s words. Whatever I was, I was not ‘all normal.’ That was the last thing I was. Was that really her final verdict? Couldn’t she see I was freakishly small? What was the prognosis for that?

“LET HIM REST WHILE THE SEDATIVE WEARS OFF,” the vet said to Jennifer and Stuart.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA ABOUT HIS SIZE?” Stuart piped up, finally.

The vet considered the question with about as much investment as someone being asked whether it will rain tomorrow.

“’AFRAID NOT. I’VE HONESTLY NEVER SEEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS BEFORE. HONESTLY, I FIND IT AMAZING – I’D ENJOY IT FOR WHAT IT IS.”

My lips trembled. There it was again. A tiny spasm of fear I’d also felt back when Remy said I’d blacked out for over eight minutes after shrinking, ruling out using the machine again.

“I’D LOVE TO RUN TESTS ON HIM,” the vet continued, “BUT MY GUT TELLS ME WE DON’T HAVE THE TECHNOLOGY RIGHT NOW FOR ANYTHING OF THIS NATURE. SO I THINK IT’LL JUST BE NEEDLESS EXPENSIVE COSTS FOR YOU GUYS. YOU’RE BETTER OFF WAITING AND SEEING WHAT DEVELOPMENTS CROP UP SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE – BUT I WOUDN’T HOLD MY BREATH.”

A plummeting sense of helplessness in the face of the possibility that I might be stuck this way forever. I couldn’t bear to imagine it, but as my options dwindled, the hopelessness kept resurfacing, threatening to engulf me; my present and future. 

“KEEP HIM WELL FED AND HAPPY AND I’M SURE HE’LL LIVE A LONG, ENJOYABLE LIFE,” the vet instructed before we left the clinic. “I DON’T THINK I NEED TO WORRY, THOUGH. YOU OBVIOUSLY LOVE HIM VERY MUCH.”

“I DO,” Jennifer said automatically.

“WELL, THAT’S THE MAIN THING. HE’S CARED FOR.”

Meanwhile, I was distracted and vexed with the question; exactly what was the vet’s measure of ‘enjoyable’ as applied to me? To a mouse, ‘enjoyable’ was getting cheese and a run on the hamster wheel – easily satisfied. To a human, enjoyable meant living a rich and complex life, being part of productive society, regarded by others as one of their own kind, have normal relationships with equals, marry, have kids, be self-sufficient, be able to physically do what interested you, pursuing goals, being challenged but not broken down, and rewarded for your achievements. In short, they may share the same physical space, the enjoyments of mice and men were worlds apart.

“JESUS, JERRY,” Stuart said in the car during the drive home. “I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE PACKING SUCH ARM CANNONS.”

“HE’S BEEN WORKING OUT,” Jennifer said, running her thumb up my spine. “HAVEN’T YOU?”

"Yeah," I lied, wanting the flattery. "Got to pass the time somehow."

“BUT,” Stuart went on blithely, “EVEN YOUR… YOU KNOW. BALLS AND EVERYTHING. IF YOU WERE NORMAL HEIGHT WITH YOUR SIZE…SHEESH, MAN. I HATE TO IMAGINE.”

“IT WAS THE FLIP, WASN’T IT?” Jennifer said perceptively. “THAT MACHINE.”

“Well, glad to know it did something right.” I was being partly sarcastic. As if the growth was of any use now.

We sat around the dining table, each on a separate side. I sat on a folded up napkin on top of the table itself, with my legs crossed. It was amazing, actually, I could never manage the full lotus before, but could now get my ankles up on my thighs, fairly effortlessly. Somehow the reduction in size had corresponded with an increase in flexibility. I also found myself marveling at the way my thigh muscles bulged in way I’d never seen before. Experimentally, I clenched my fist and watched my bicep and pectoral ripple and flex impressively. What a cosmic joke this was; a predator’s form but the figure of prey. It was like a wish on a monkey paw.

Once we’d come back from the vet earlier I’d slept off the sedative for a few hours, and woke up in the evening for dinner. Jennifer and Stuart were chatting to each other, still eating. I had finished resting. I was ravenously hungry and sped through my dinner of finely chopped up meat and vegetables. Apart from having to adjust portion size, they marveled at how easy it was to feed me, how little I ate.

I hadn’t properly seen either of them eat before now, and it was disconcerting. I could acutely make out the sounds of food being moistly grinded down, and when I was, myself, little bigger than some of the food items on their plates, it raised some nauseating associations. I caught sight of some beef being flatted and stripped apart, and, with a chill, resolved never to look again. Jennifer had poured herself some wine, too. I stared desirously every time she raised the hock glass to her mouth – I would’ve killed for some wine – but said nothing.

As they finished eating, they began to talk about work, and hours. They were trying to arrange their respective hours to enable at least of them one to be home at one time, or at least reduce the blocks of hours I would at home alone.

Though I appreciated this, a sheen of nervous sweat was beginning to build on my brow.

“How am I going to work?” I finally piped up, during a lull in the discussion.

They both turned and stared at me like I’d started speaking in a foreign language.

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO WORK LIKE THAT,” Jennifer said conclusively.

“Then how am I supposed to support myself?”

“JERRY,” she gave a disbelieving chuckle and shook her head, “AT YOUR CURRENT SIZE, YOU WOULDN’T BE ABLE TO SUPPORT YOURSELF IF I PUT A STACK OF BOOKS ON YOUR HEAD.”

“HONEY,” Stuart said in a low voice, giving her a side look, “THERE’S NO NEED TO RUB IT IN. YOU CAN SEE HE’S STRUGGLING TO COPE AT THE MOMENT.”

“I am not struggling to cope!” I shrieked. The last thing I needed was a psychotherapist, or, more aptly, a ‘shrink.’

“ALL I MEANT IS,” Stuart said clinically, “WE NEED TO ADDRESS THINGS ONE STEP AT A TIME. JEN AND I JUST THINK YOU RESUMING WORK IS TAKING THINGS TOO QUICKLY.”

“But – ”

“YOU HAVE SICK LEAVE,” Stuart continued, “DON’T YOU? PLUS, WE’RE APPLYING FOR ASSISTANCE FOR YOU.”

“On what grounds?”

“THERE’S A SPECIAL CATEGORY FOR PEOPLE SERIOUSLY INJURED BY DEVASTATING ATOMIC WEAPON. WE JUST HAVE TO GET THEM TO AGREE THAT IT INCLUDES ELECTROMAGNETIC WEAPONS, AND THAT REMY’S THING – WHATEVER IT WAS – IS AN ‘ATOMIC WEAPON’, AND THAT YOU HAVE BEEN ‘SERIOUSLY INJURED,’ BY IT.”

“IT’S OBVIOUSLY ‘SERIOUSLY INJURED’ YOUR EGO,” Jennifer added unhelpfully.

“YOU ARE SUBSTANTIALLY DISABLED, JERRY,” Stuart continued, “EVEN THOUGH YOU MAY FEEL EXACTLY THE SAME AS BEFORE, MOSTLY.”

“Oh, I recognize that, thank you,” I said hotly. “Everything’s way above my head. Getting to the ends of the house involves a marathon. Going outside,” I shuddered inwardly, thinking of bees and spiders, “is basically out of the question.”

“WELL, THE REAL WORRY,” Stuart carried on nervously, “ – AND JEN AGREES – IS THE RISK OF YOU HURTING YOURSELF, OR GETTING HURT.”

“As long as everyone looks where they put their feet,” I said with accusation, “that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Stuart’s phone buzzed.

“SORRY,” he said, getting to his feet, “I’VE GOT TO TAKE THIS.”

He stepped out of the dining room. Jennifer collected the plates and put them over by the sink. Then she scooped me up in one hand, took her glass in the other, and went into the living room. She sunk down onto the sofa, cradling me in her lap, and switched the TV on to play softly, no apparent intention to watch.

"WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH YOU?” she said.

“Shrink a zoo and start up a miniature circus,” I said sarcastically. “I’ll be the ringleader. Fucking help me grow back, that’s what.”

“YOU’RE SO ANGRY ALL OF A SUDDEN,” Jennifer said, with the hint of a smile. “I’VE NEVER SEEN YOU LIKE THIS BEFORE. BUT I LIKE IT. GOD KNOWS I’VE BEEN TRYING TO LIGHT A FIRE IN YOU FOR YEARS…IF SOMEONE TOLD ME ALL I HAD TO DO WAS SHRINK YOU, IT WOULD HAVE SAVED ME A LOT OF TROUBLE.”

“Yeah, this must be hilarious from your end, Jen,” I glowered, turning my back on her. “Pray to God it wasn’t you in this position, and me the giant. Wouldn’t Stewey think you were pretty hot stuff for a Barbie doll.”

“IT WASN’T MY IDEA TO PLAY WITH SOME CRAZY HOMEMADE ELECTRIC THINGAMAJIG DURING THE BIGGEST ELECTROMAGNETIC EVENT OF THE MILLENIUM.” But she said this with an affectionate smile. My ridiculous insults excited her, which only pissed me off even more. And then I remembered, above everything else, my voice sounded faintly humourous to her – like Alvin the Chipmunk, Tasha had said. I hoped to God she had been exaggerating, otherwise I wasn’t going to command anyone’s respect anytime soon.

“It was a time machine,” I sighed. “And it was supposed to work. It really would have,” sadness welled inside me suddenly, tightening my chest, “but I did it wrong.”

“SURE, IT WOULD HAVE,” she said dubiously. “STILL HOOKED UP ON TIME TRAVEL, I SEE.”

The strain in my chest seemed to deflate. And then, if only to annoy her, I said: “I wanted to go back and say sorry.”

She didn’t have a response this time. In the awkward silence, I clenched my fists, regretting that I’d said anything.

“But I don’t need to,” I added brusquely. “You’re better with Stuart. Maybe he’ll even manage to bring out some of your natural humility,” I added ironically.

“HE’D LOVE TO CHANGE ME,” she said in an odd voice, “IF HE COULD. BUT YOU DIDN’T.”

“He’s jealous,” I said, watching the TV idly. “I know what it’s like. Guys looking at you all the time. You don’t do a thing to deter them.” It felt good to get all this out now, and it surprised me. We were no lonnger together, so I didn’t have to tip-toe around things, or sugar coat my language. So I went on:

“He’s scared of the attention and of you. He doesn’t know why you act like a puppy that’s been let off the lead, or know what you really want.”

“NEITHER DID YOU,” she cut in, poking me in the ribs.

“Maybe not, but I didn’t fight it. I just…gave up, and accepted it. For me, it was a vanity thing; none of those guys could have you, as much as they wanted. But in the end, I guess I couldn’t, either.”

“WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME ALL THIS NOW?” She said with some thinly concealed frustration. “I THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T NOTICE; YOU DIDN’T CARE.”

“I did care,” I said wistfully. “But I don’t anymore.”

I realized, if I’d had any slim chance of getting back with Jennifer, the shrinking thing had effectively killed it. And besides, it hadn’t exactly been an aphrodisiac for me, either. Jennifer’s mere presence put me on edge; I couldn’t relax if I felt her standing over me, or even just looking at me. Even a soft, sensual whisper, coming from her, vibrated like thunder in my ears. The closest thing we could do to hugging was for her to enclose me in her fist, and that didn’t feel like cuddling; it felt like containment. Kissing would have to be cautiously undertaken, to avoid the risk of her accidentally inhaling my head. Sex – an assuredly lethal endeavor – was out of the question. Not to mention, there was no way in which I could touch her, or do anything to her, that would remotely resemble a satisfying sex act – in short, I was now not only emotionally incapable, but physically incapable of pleasuring her. No wonder Stuart didn’t see me as a threat.

I wanted to get off the subject now, so I said:

“Have you heard anything from Remy since yesterday?”

“NO.”

“What about Scott or Tasha?”

“NO. SHOULD I EXPECT TO? WHAT CAN THEY DO?”

“I don’t know, not much, I guess, but just be there, as friends.”

"SCOTT AND TASHA LEFT. THEY TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT, RIGHT?"

I faltered.

"They still went?"

Was it conceited of me to think, with what happened, they might put their trip on hold?

“WELL, THEY COULDN’T CANCEL THE PLANE TICKETS,” Jennifer said in a softer voice, “COULD THEY?”

“Well, no, but…” my voice dwindled away. I knew it shouldn’t be taking it personally, but with everything that had happened, and how adrift and friendless I felt right now, Scott and Tasha’s departure felt like just another punch to my gut while I was already down. All familiar points of orientation in my life were fast evaporating; they just happened to be one more. I hadn’t just lost physical stature; I was losing chunks of my life. Everything that was formerly recognizably me – my size, my job, my home, my dignity, my friends, and maybe eventually, my humanity – was dwindling away until there would be nothing left.

It felt like my throat had turned to stone, and my chest felt unbearably tight. I put my head in my hands and before I could stop it, I was sobbing.

“OH, JERRY…” Jennifer said, bringing me up to her face in concern. “I KNOW SCOTT WAS YOUR BEST FRIEND. THEY DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE YOU THIS WAY. IT’S JUST AWFUL TIMING THAT THIS HAD TO HAPPEN NOW.”

“I can’t just go and make new friends,” I said in a defeated voice. “Not like this.”

“YOU STILL HAVE FRIENDS. YOU HAVE STUART AND ME.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t explain to her that they didn’t count. They had each other. I was the third wheel. If it weren’t for the shrinking, I wouldn’t want anything to do with their coupledom, and I presumed they wouldn’t have wanted anything much to do with me. If, the morning of the Flip, someone had told me that, twenty four hours later, I’d have unofficially moved in to live with them, I would have laughed in their face – no way, brother. Embarrassing. Not even if you held a gun to my head.

They had their life now, and I had mine. I should have been making new friends and getting into new relationships with girls, but now I was stuck in some kind of short-statured limbo that was putting my life on hold and preventing me from moving on.

“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH I STILL CARE ABOUT YOU, JERRY,” Jennifer insisted, taking me in with her eyes for a long moment.  Her breath was hot against my neck, and richly fruity from the wine. For a second she seemed to be seriously considering kissing me, but let her better judgment intervene at the last moment. I was glad she reconsidered; I still had remnants of the vet’s gum in my hair from earlier, and felt disgusting and ashamed of myself.

She slowly lowered me from her face and sighed.

“IT’S BEEN A BIG, CONFUSING DAY FOR YOU. I THINK I NEED TO PUT YOU TO BED.”

I wasn’t that tired, but I shrugged and didn’t protest, just wanting some alone time.

She took me into the guest room and lay me down in my sponge bed, and tucked me in.

“GET SOME REST BEFORE YOU WORRY YOURSELF SICK,” she said softly, tousling my hair with one finger, “AND I’LL SEE YOU IN THE MORNING.”

Then she gently pressed two fingers against my cheek, and I had a strong suspicion she had kissed them beforehand. She stepped out, switching off the bedroom light after her.

It was dark and quiet for some time.

Sometime later I awoke to the sounds of Jennifer and Stuart having sex from their bedroom.

Stuart’s rhythmic grunting was punctuated by Jennifer’s liquid moans. Neither of them realized my hearing was more sensitive now. I stared at the opposite wall listening blankly. The thought of those two giant bodies having sex, like two blue whales thrashing around, was so absurd and alien that I had no feeling at all in response.

It sounded aggressive, with the sounds of a bed frame banging against a wall. Not unusual for Jennifer, but hard for me to imagine mild-mannered Stuart caught up in this unfolding pornographic drama. They climbed to a shattering, pleading orgasm, and then went quiet. But now my dick was hard.

In frustration, I stripped off my superman costume to free and satisfy it. Then it struck me; would I ever be capable of experiencing something like that, in my current state, with another person? Unlikely. That turned me cold off jerking off.

Plus, I’d only be jerking off to the thought of Jennifer – no other girl came to mind – really not helpful right now. Plus, my butt was still kind of sore from the vet visit – a massive turn off. Cursing myself, I turned over and shut my eyes again, keen for the amnesia of sleep to steal the sounds of their making out from my memory. My anger was flaring up again, like water boiling in a kettle.

Little under an hour later, I was awoken by it all over again. The groaning and pleading, and finally building to an orgasm that, this time, actually sounded painful.

Holy smokes! I thought. Calm the fuck down. It eluded me that either of them could work themselves into sexual arousal right now. But that was the difference between their understanding of my situation, compared to my own. They got the luxury of retiring from it once they got to bed. For me, it never ended.

This time, all I could do was laugh. What a depressing end to a horrible day. It made me feel so pathetic that it actually went around full circle and became funny. Yet, there was something a little disingenuous about the fact that Jennifer had witnessed my little breakdown and was now, so shortly after, fucking the brains out of Stewey boy with wild Playboy abandon, like she couldn’t wait to get my problems off her mind.

But it should not have disgusted me. There was no betrayal because Jennifer didn’t owe me anything. Maybe it was in slightly bad taste, but could I honestly expect them to regulate the natural habits of their relationship just because I lived here now, too? This was their house, their rules.

Still, I couldn’t help but think, though I lived with them, I was alone here.

Totally alone.

Thinking this, my eyelids drooped and I was shortly asleep again.

I could feel the cold all over my body, as well as my penis twitching in frustration. I didn’t need to look to know that it was rock solid and pointing at the ceiling. I fumbled for my hand towel blanket, but it wasn’t anywhere in reach. I groaned, hoping it hadn’t fallen off the table, onto the ground. At this size, I was finding the most trivial things could mess up your day.

Opening my eyes in confusion, I found myself looking up at Jennifer, who was standing over me, in her silk night slip.

Shit, how long had she been standing there?

I was naked, having forgotten to put my superman costume back on in the night. My hand towel blanket lay uselessly on the table surface beside my sponge bed. Had I kicked it off sometime in the night, or had Jennifer pulled it off me just now? – Both were equally likely.

Not saying anything, she reached over and began to stroke my lower belly, and coming way too close to my erect penis in the process – so close in fact as to convey the message that my stomach wasn’t really the target and she was merely restraining herself. This was one of her games.

But it was something else, as well. She knew that it wasn’t normal for me to get this ludicrously, agonizingly hard in the mornings. I already mentioned how, when we’d been together, she had tried lacing my food with Viagra to get me ‘up’ – my temperamental sex drive could never compete with hers. Now a state of radiant tumescence was happening frequently and robustly on its own and we were no longer together, of course she wanted to know why.

It must have had something to do with the shrinking, I thought. It had changed my body in many ways, making it firmer, more flexible, increasing my dick’s girth and now – evidently – increasing my circulation. But she didn’t know that, and I had no intention to share those private suspicions with her, either. I secretly enjoyed the thought of her helplessly wondering about it. She didn’t own my body anymore; that was the one small satisfaction I had gotten from our break up.

“THINKING ABOUT LADY HOMUNCULI?” she smirked.

I frowned.

“I need you to knock first,” I said.

She tilted her head down at me.

“THEN I WOULDN’T GET TO SEE YOUR ANGELIC LITTLE SLEEPING FACE.”

“Well then let me sleep.”

“NO, YOU’RE WASHING WITH ME THIS MORNING.”

I sat up defensively. “What?”

“I DON’T THINK YOU NOTICE, BUT YOU STILL HAVE SOME CHEWING GUM IN YOUR HAIR.”

I cringed. That incident alone was almost enough to give me PTSD from gummy waterboarding.

“Don’t remind me about that – Dear God.”

She giggled. At least one of us found it funny, I thought darkly.

“I don’t need you to do this,” I said.

“YES, YOU DO,” she said, not even looking at me. She splayed a hand idly examining her nails. “YOU CAN’T EVEN TURN THE WATER ON. AND EVEN IF YOU MANAGED TO PULL THE PLUG OUT YOU’D GET SUCKED DOWN THE DRAIN.”

“I’m not that small,” I glared. “And if I’m physically challenged, I’m not mentally incapable. I can evaluate risks and make decisions for myself.”

“YOU NEED HELP, JERRY. THAT’S NOT AN OPINION.”

“Grant me some goddamn independence, for God’s sake – !” I spluttered.

“HEY!” she tutted and carried on in an undertone meant to be heard by me alone, “ANOTHER WORD OF PROTEST AND I’LL MAKE YOU CLIP MY TOENAILS USING ONLY YOUR TEETH.”

While I dived around mentally for a clever retort, she wrapped her fingers around my torso and lifted me up off the table. Then, taking me down the hall, we came into the bathroom – their en suite, I noted, not the common bathroom I’d washed in the previous day. Here, there was a huge, deep bath (not just by my measure, but even to a normal sized person).

Placing me up beside the sink, she started the bathwater. Then, while it filled, and without a trace of self-consciousness, she removed her slip nightie, leaving her in a black bra and panties – a scant pair having obviously been intentionally selected to amplify last night’s sexual fervor – and successfully making my own heart speed up now, too. And only a moment later she’d she quickly slipped out of those, until she was baring herself completely to me.

I guess she reasoned there was no cause for shyness as I was baldly naked myself. Still, I didn’t have the luxury of fitting clothes, and also, when you made up sixty feet of nakedness, it was a great deal more confronting. I could see details of her body that I’d never glimpsed before, even when we’d been together. 

I shifted on my feet uncomfortably, not sure if I should pointedly avoid looking or act like I didn’t care. Both of those choices felt impossible. Scott hadn’t been joking around when he said Jennifer had a gorgeous body. It was firm, graceful and fit, like a dancer; you saw her muscles tighten in all the right places when she moved. The firmness gave her full breasts a desirous spring when she walked.

Like her breasts, her ass was well shaped but wasn’t freakishly huge. It was something whose size didn’t hit you between the eyes, but got your attention by surprise, jutting out in peripheral when she bent over, and – even better – performing a small sensual muscular squeeze as she straightened again. The most attractive thing was how well-proportioned everything was; nothing was big or eye-catching to the exclusion of everything else, from her face to her feet. The eye was pulled in ten different directions at once and quickly overwhelmed.

My dick – which had softened since I’d awoken – had swelled again in painful longing.

The bath was full. Jennifer stopped the water and then turned back to me. Her eyes fell onto my re-hardened dick and a smug smile crossed her face. Even she knew what had caused this most recent reaction, and there was no denying it. She slinked over to me, her breasts bobbing hypnotically, and then picked me up off the sink in one hand, stepped into the bath and slid down into the water until she was sitting with her long legs stretched out before her.

She did not put me in the water, but placed me in a soap dish off to the side while she started lathering product on her hands, and then began massaging it into her skin – and a variety of different places. Throughout this whole procedure, I was forced to sit there and watch, helpless as sexual arousal slowly built up inside me, and my dick throbbed like it was running a marathon in competition with my heart.

She also washed her hair for what seemed like ages, and then rinsed it. After what seemed like a long time, she washed off all the gel and soap from her body. Then she slipped some lotion on the end of a toothbrush. I recognized she did not intend to brush her teeth, but before I could react,   she reached over and attempted to pick me up. In fact she tried several times, but each time her hand was so soapy that I slipped through her grasp like oil through water. I began to laugh.

Impatient, she finally grabbed me up in her fist like I was sponge and squeezed firmly, knocking the air clean out of my lungs. Then she began scrubbing my hair with the toothbrush. I closed my eyes against the lotion bubbling around my face. Next, she applied the toothbrush to the rest of my body, alternating between scrubbing with the toothbrush and massaging lotion into my skin with her fingertips. Every so often I was rotated in her hands to allow her to reach a different part of my body. It was rough and mechanical; there was nothing sensual meant by it. It was worlds apart from the times in our relationship we’d shared a shower and she had teasingly begun washing me, not because I was incapable, but as an excuse for physical contact.

But the roughness held its own perverse attraction; the full body massage, the subtle, ever present fear of being accidentally hurt, the blatant power disparity, and the unavoidable objectification. For whatever reason, it thrilled me that she didn’t know her own strength; was capable of immobilizing me without meaning to, merely holding my chest she managed to compress my ribcage without realizing it, grasping my head made me feel trapped and panicked like a dog who’d gotten his head stuck in a bar fence. It was alarming how weak I truly was – even with all my muscular development – she effortlessly manipulated my body to her whim, rotating me and passing me back and forth between her hands like she was trying to solve a Rubik’s cube. Having my appendages tugged and massaged so indiscriminately, I felt less and less like a person and more like a piece of clay she was trying to mold into the shape of a person.

But I never seriously felt in danger. Her touch against my naked body was alien and familiar at the same time. And the fact that she was wasn’t deliberately trying to turn me on – for once in her life – had the contradictory result of doing just that. Not only did I get hard, I seemed to progress through cycles of erections, getting as hard as I thought possible, and then somehow actually defying belief by getting even harder. Every time I thought I was about to come, the feeling froze, held, and then I was shifted about and the feeling began to build up all over again. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever had such protracted, deep, throbbing sexual arousal – and this wasn’t even sexual activity, it was a bath!

After I was thoroughly lathered up, Jennifer dunked me under the water several times to wash off all the lotion and soap. Unhelpfully, she did not give me any warning each time she did so, so it took me some trial and error knowing when to hold my breath and when to let it out.

Unluckily, she happened to dunk me right between her spread thighs, and a couple of times I got a flash of her enormous womanhood while underwater, a fleshy cleft about the height of a standard doorway, and probably capable of opening up just as wide, if not more. And I, by comparison, was small enough to fit through – with some gentle maneuvering. That thought made my heart race, and not pleasantly. Also, she looked slightly redder than normal. It might have been the water making it look darker, or she was actually turned on. 

Finally, my vision was clear of suds and the sight that awaited me made me weak as a kitten in her hand, and almost toppling out of it back into the water.

Her glistening wet torso stretched up into the heavens, the twin boulders that were her breasts hung over my head, heaving slightly as she breathed, the disturbance intermittently raining droplets onto me. Her giant nipples were tight and hard.

I forgot I was staring at a person, and not a humungous sculpture of Venus. A long time seemed to pass before I was able to wrench my eyes away, whereon I found her watching me calmly, but somewhat inquisitively. She was in absolutely no rush to break my trance, like a cat who had just finished eating before it saw a mouse; keenly interested, but not in immediate want. I was giving her attention, I reminded myself; the last thing she needed, in my view. As long as she got it, she didn’t care where it came from, or which relationship barriers it crossed, as long as she was regularly fed by it.

But this was a smug satisfaction I’d never seen before. My attention was exquisitely flattering, because I betrayed a degree of captivation and awe at her sheer size that she found irresistibly intoxicating. Stuart couldn’t compete with that, I realized with a sinking feeling in my gut. No other man on the planet could compete with that.

Was this why she and Stuart had moved so quickly to have me live here? I wondered. It wasn’t a charity, but a self-serving arrangement. And was Stuart not a co-conspirator, like I’d originally assumed, but an unwilling agent? Had she twisted Stuart’s arm in making this happen? I had no memory of the conversation they must have had about arranging me to live with them before taking me home with them – I was conveniently blacked out, or asleep. I suddenly wished I hadn’t been. It felt like a missing jigsaw piece.

Surely, this was all just paranoia, I told myself. Even for Jennifer, that was too manipulative.

“WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND?”

Her voice broke through my thoughts, and I found my jaw being tilted up by her finger until I was meeting her fixed, almost serpentine gaze, as if she thought my eyes were at risk of getting hopelessly lost in her cleavage again – though she hadn’t seemed to mind the first time.

I looked away (exceedingly difficult, because she took up 90% of my field of view).

“Nothing.”

This was actually true – my mind had gone blank while I had been staring at her. But it didn’t convince her.

“WHY DON’T I BELIEVE YOU?” she said.

And with no warning, her little finger which had been resting against my buttocks, slid down between my legs, parting them easily, and tickled my penis from underneath. It was so quick, smooth and unselfconscious that you could have sworn her finger had merely slipped.

This was a shade too much for my exasperated member, and I blew my load. With nowhere else to go, it spurt onto the great rolling plain of her torso, just below the solar plexus,  leaving a tiny stain; little more than mouse piss, and quickly washing off again with an indifferent smear of her thumb.

“OOPS,” she said, sounding more surprised than she had any right to be. “BUT I KNOW I GIVE A FIRST RATE CLEAN ALL OVER.”

That was ironic, because I suddenly felt tremendously dirty. It was amazing how Jennifer was capable of bringing the most lewd evocation into your mind at the slightest tough, suggestion, or even just tone of voice. And whatever she did to the male brain in general, there was just something about her that enlivened mine uniquely; something vulnerable that she irritated until it was raw and stinging. Some women aroused more subtle feelings; tickled your insides, made you feel fluttery, or gave you a small shot of heady confidence. Whereas, Jennifer made me feel like my dick was a throbbing toothache and she was codeine.

She gently dabbed at my genitals with a wet wash cloth. I gripped her fingers hard, still caught up in tiny spasms.

“GOT TO BE THOROUGH,” she explained.

By the end of the bath, I felt unbearably warm and my pulse was pounding as if I’d come out of a long sauna.

I needed something to take my mind off Jennifer, so later, I got on Stuart’s laptop, and – pushing the mouse around like it was a big exercise ball – I got onto an online dating site. Impulsively, I created a profile and provided some honest facts about myself and my situation. I made sure to note that I didn’t have transport (so the woman had to pick me up for a date) but was otherwise financially independent and well-educated. Then I sent away some messages to several women’s accounts. I also took a picture of myself with the laptop’s webcam (holding a lance-sized pencil, to corroborate the unbelievable assertions in my account).

It turned out to be a good idea for me to get squeaky clean, though, because later that day we had some visitors.

There was a knock at the door. Stuart went over to answer it and found six people from a media team standing around on the porch.

I heard them from the living room.

“HELLO,” they said. “WE’RE LOOKING FOR THE MAN WHO WAS MINIATURIZED BY THE FLIP. WE’RE FROM ‘THE BIRDSEYE’ AND WE’D LIKE TO RUN A STORY ON HIM. WE’RE OFFERING A COMPETITIVE RATE FOR YOUR TROUBLE.”

Dumbfounded, I cast around in my mind for who might have told them. Maybe it had been the vet – as if he hadn’t done enough damage! But who else knew? Apart from Remy, Scott and Tasha. And what would any of them have to gain spilling the secret?

“LOOK,” I heard Stuart say, sounding a little disgruntled, “I DON’T THINK HE NEEDS THE PUBLICITY RIGHT NOW.”

Even though the reporters’ presence annoyed me, too, what also annoyed me was Stuart overriding my ability to make decisions for myself.

“WOULD YOU JUST PUT OUR OFFER TO HIM?” the reporters persisted. “WE’RE KEEN TO ACCOMMODATE.”

Stuart came into the living room for me. Jennifer was already standing fixedly, as if she was ready to pull out a sword and shield on my behalf.

If for no other reason than to contradict Stuart, I nodded.

“I want to. Sure. Whatever.”

They both looked at me with reticence.

“ARE YOU SURE, JERRY?” said Stuart. “THIS IS GOING INTO THE PUBLIC SPHERE.”

“YOU AREN’T TEMPTED BY THE MONEY, ARE YOU?” Jennifer said. 

“It’s not about the money,” I said. “I want people to know what happened. I want them to know I’m still a person.”

With no further argument from either of them, Stuart went and invited the media people in. They brought their stuff with them: camera, lights, other gear. They immediately started surveying the living room, looking at backgrounds, angles, spaces.

“WE HAVE TO MOVE THAT,” said one of the team, pointing at a tall pot plant in the corner. Stuart gave the okay, and the people set to work pushing it aside. Then the camera-guy began setting up his camera on a stand, as power cables were set up, and some people adjusted lights.

Sitting on my sponge bed on the kitchen counter, I watched them putter around, with a growing mixture of awe and dread. I didn’t realize they wanted footage as well as an interview, and was starting to second guess my initial enthusiasm.

One of the media guys passed by me, his head and eyes turning to follow me as he kept moving.

“Don’t you want to talk to the guy who made me like this?” I piped up hesitantly. “He could tell you a lot more about how it happened. I don’t understand the science behind it.”

One of the guys fixing up the camera lifted his head and shook it.

“THIS IS FOR TV,” he grunted. “BROADCAST – BROAD RECEPTION. NO SCIENCE OR JARGON OR ANYTHING. LOOK, WE’RE JUST HERE TO GET SOME FILM OF A TINY MAN GOING ABOUT HIS DAILY LIFE.”

“LET’S GET A WIDE OF THE ROOM, FIRST,” one of the team said to the camera-man. “GET SOME PERSPECTIVE.”

The team was introduced to us, one by one.

“I’M JULIENNA,” said a young made-up woman who had taken a kind of leadership role directing the others. “THE INTERVIEWER. THIS IS CRAIG ON THE CAMERA. THAT’S LISA ASSISTING CRAIG. AND CLAUDIA, SHE’S GOING TO DO MAKE-UP. THAT’S TOM OUR PRODUCER, AND HIS ASSISTANT OSCAR.”

My head spun trying to remember all the names.

The assistant took a half step forward across the room – seemingly without thinking – as if to shake my hand, before realizing to his embarrassment that this was a problem.

Julienna looked over at me: “WE’D LIKE TO SHOOT YOU DOWN THERE ON THE SOFA, MR MOUSSEAU. IF WE COULD ALSO GET ANOTHER MEMBER OF THE FAMILY – ” her eyes swept briefly over Stuart and Jennifer, “—TO STAND BESIDE HIM WHEN WE START SHOOTING, THAT’D BE GREAT.”

“We’re not family,” I said loudly.

At the exact same time, Jennifer proclaimed: “WE’RE NOT RELATED.”

Unruffled, the woman said: “OKAY. FRIENDS?”

“More like housemates,” I said.

“I LIKE TO THINK WE’RE A LITTLE MORE THAN THAT,” Jennifer said, somewhat tersely. She turned to the interviewer. “JERRY AND I USED TO DATE.”

The media team stared at her. Their eyes flicked from her, to me, then back to her. I gritted my teeth, feeling a nerve flicker in my temple.

I could imagine what they were thinking: No wonder you broke up.

Jennifer, shut up, I thought to myself. Let’s not give them a fucking Cosmopolitan sob story. Or a page out of Playboy.

The woman interviewer composed herself in a beat, looking Jennifer up and down. In response, Jennifer looked her up and down. She was just wearing casual clothes whereas the interviewer was dressed up, styled her hair and had applied make-up.

“REALLY? I MEAN, GREAT. WE’D LIKE TO GET YOU IN A FEW SHOTS.”

“FINE WITH ME,” Jennifer said intently.

Julienna signaled for someone to get me onto the sofa. The camera assistant Lisa stepped forward obediently, holding her hands out to me cautiously a little like a beggar asking for food. She was a slim girl, and quite young – probably the youngest person in the room.

“I’M GOING TO PICK YOU UP NOW, MR MOUSSEAU,” she said in a loud clear voice, as if my size made me somehow mentally deficient. She made a small initial motion with her hand, as if gauging how to best get it around me, before deciding to wrap both hands around my torso. I couldn’t help but tense up as her hands pinned my arms against my size. Her palms smelled like zesty soap.

Then I was lifted into the air and held close against her chest, engulfing me in a cloud of her perfume; the zing of citrus but with the punch of wasabi. Spasmed coughs erupted from my throat.

“I’M SORRY, WHAT IS THAT?” Julienna smiled, looking around. “IS HE – ARE YOU – COUGHING? MY WORD, ISN’T THAT IS JUST THE CUTEST LITTLE SOUND.”

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jennifer’s eyes darkening. Incidentally, Lisa, like Julienna, was dressed up stylishly and had make-up on.

Lisa deposited me onto the sofa seat, and I arranged myself into a sitting position with my legs stretched out in front of me.

“CAN YOU GET DOWN FROM THERE IF YOU WANT, MR MOUSSEAU?” enquired Julienna.

“Pretty sure I could manage,” I said. “And you can call me Jerry.”

“OKAY, JERRY.” She nodded at the cameraman. “WE’LL WANT SOME FOOTAGE OF THAT, LATER.”

Then she caught the eye of the other woman of the group.

“CLAUDIA, YOU BETTER START.”

Without pause, the woman squatted in front of the sofa and began to apply a couple of huge fingertips to my face, rubbing foundation into my cheeks. I froze, startled into silence by the proximity. I could feel her warm breath beating into my brow as she stared into my eyes.

Her enormous fingertips slid over my face in circular patterns, partially blocking my vision as they passed over my eyeline. It felt like I was a little doll or something and she was painting my facial features on. I didn’t like having make-up put on me at the best of times, but this was utterly disturbing, and even kind of degrading.

My breath hitched a moment as the sharp trimmed white tip of the nail of her middle finger passed precariously close to my eyeball. It did this repeatedly as her finger cycled around near the bridge of my nose. My eyes began to water.

“OH, CAREFUL, SWEETIE,” she murmured tenderly, “DON’T LET IT RUN. IT’S GOING TO MAKE YOU LOOK SWEATY IF IT GETS WET.”

The pad of her little finger extended and began to rub each of my eyes gently, wiping the moisture away. I bit my tongue, hating the pressure of her huge mitts on my face. I let out a shaky breath. It was enough just trying not to scream for everyone to leave, but I held it in. This was about making people understand me, not alienating them.

Once Claudia’s hands had retreated out of my view, I noticed Jennifer out of the corner of my (blurry) eye again. Her jaw was set and she had this exquisite look of restraint on her face. It seemed she was just as bothered by another woman pawing all over my face as I was.

“CLAUDIA WILL TOUCH YOU UP AS WELL, HONEY,” Julienna said to Jennifer.

“WHAT FOR?” she joked coolly.

There was a pause heavy with tension.

The media women were dressed up and done up glamorously, but Jennifer was the most beautiful woman in the room. Her natural sexiness was ever-present no matter what state she was in. It wasn’t just that she was gorgeous, it was her attitude, her devil-may-care cockiness; appearance alone did not convey it.

I remember Jennifer telling me she had trouble getting along with other women, she got along better with guys. It started in high school and as she got older and went to university, the quality of her female friendships declined. She said she felt like other women were intimidated by her, took her the wrong way, and felt like she was competing with them.

When we were together she ran through all her past female friends with me, diagnosing and over psychoanalyzing when I thought there was a very simple reason for the estrogen friction.

Other women were jealous of her radiant beauty.

Even a demure girl who looked like her might have had the same problems, but Jen’s capricious attitude just compounded it.

It was only that I knew her well enough, that I knew she wasn’t trying to make fun of other women. And if she did, it was only because she made fun of everyone – everyone was fair game for her unfair games. In fact, it was only when she targeted you in particular that you knew she liked you above the rest.

I didn’t resent Jen her interpersonal issues – didn’t we all have them? But right now I wished she and her big self would not interpose and just let the media people do their job, roll up and go home. So much attention by so many people was making me uncomfortable, and we hadn’t even interviewed yet.

One of the media guys was lurking by the mantel, examining some framed photos.

“LOOK AT THIS, JULE,” he said, turning around.

The woman interviewer strode over and picked up what he was pointing at, holding it up. It was a photo of two smiling people, leaning into each other. The man had his arm casually around the woman, who had long dark hair with white tips, and ivory skin.

I felt a jolt in my chest as I recognized the photo immediately.

It was Jennifer and me.

It had been taken back when I hadn’t know her very well, and, a little drunk, I’d noticed her across the room at a friend’s get-together, standing with a girl I knew. She’d looked familiar, like I’d met her before, but I couldn’t remember when. I thought she was gorgeous and that was good enough for me.

Thinking this friend of hers was stunning and curiously unencumbered by male attention, I approached them confidently, told the female friend to whip out her camera and pounced on the stunner with the strange hair dye job for a quick photo, exclaiming ‘I know you’ and pulling her against me as my friend took the photo, before carrying on my way before we could get talking. I didn’t know her name – or even if we really did know each other.

And I forgot to ask the friend for the photo. In fact I’d never seen it before now.  I had no idea Jennifer had it – still had it – let alone why it was framed and on the mantel.

Jennifer had noticed it too, and her eyes had gone wide. “HEY, WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?”

“IS THIS THE TWO OF YOU?” Julienna enquired.

Jennifer’s mouth worked for a moment struggling to respond. I couldn’t help but think she looked cute when she was flabbergasted, if only because she rarely was.

“Yes,” I spoke up. “It’s from a few years ago.”

“OH, THAT’S PERFECT.” Julienna gripped the photo triumphantly like a trophy. She brought it closer to her face for analysis.

“A SHAME YOU DON’T LOOK EXACTLY LIKE THE PHOTO,” she lamented, looking between the photo and Jennifer. It wasn’t clear to me what differences she was making out. Maybe she was referring to how the slightly younger Jennifer in the photo looked a little shy, caught off guard by my spontaneous gesture. If anything, Jennifer had only gotten more attractive since the photo was taken. She was more confident, more assertive, more herself. In the photo she looked surprised – again, not a normal state of being for her.

“WE’LL NEED TO MAKE THAT CLEAR TO THE AUDIENCE THAT IT’S YOU.”

“NO, THAT’S AN ANGLE,” Craig, the cameraman said, “THEY’VE BOTH CHANGED.”

I also looked different in the photo. My hair was fluffy and unruly then, whereas I’d since had it cut short. In the photo I was grinning easily, while in real life – right now – my mouth was tight and set like stone. Maybe the cameraman was right I thought despondently.

One of the assistants attached a microphone to my shirt, clipping it on my sleeve. At my size it was a veritable speaker in its own right.

Once the cameras were rolling, they didn’t waste any time jumping into the meaty questions. I guessed they would insert a voice over intro segment later. Jennifer and Stuart stood off to the side, watching, as if ready to jump in should the interview get too personal.

Julienna started off asking me a little about myself generally; age, background, relationship status, trying to build up a picture of my life before the accident. Then she asked me how I ‘came to be’ so small, as if it was a process I’d just stumbled into.

Then again, I had literally stumbled into it, in a manner of speaking.

I tried to explain what happened; the Geomagnetic Flip and tripping into the time warp, waking up tiny...

Even I was alarmed at how ludicrous it sounded now, coming out of my mouth, like a rejected proposal for a Twilight Zone episode. A blush was creeping into my cheeks and perspiration beginning to prick my brow. I couldn’t help wonder if they’d think being tiny had made me start to go crazy. Well, fair question.

I left out the part about being incredibly drunk at the time – I didn’t want to sound like a complete loser. Stuart was silent and still as I talked, while every so often I noticed in my peripheral vision, Jennifer’s brow deepen, or her lips purse. Maybe she picked up on my evasiveness – she knew my behavior at the time had been highly irregular and unrepresentative of my usual personality.

Suddenly she interrupted from off to the side:

“WE DON’T KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED,” she said dismissively. “WHY DON’T YOU FOCUS ON HOW HE’S DOING NOW?”

“CUT,” said Julienna, with professional dispassion. Without looking at Jennifer, she said to me, “EVEN SO, I THINK IT’S IMPORTANT TO GIVE THE DETAILS AND EXPLAIN WHAT YOU WERE DOING AT THE TIME.”

“There were so many variables,” I shrugged.

“AND HOW DID YOU GET FROM THERE TO HERE?” she proceeded.

“I don’t remember. I woke up here.”

“UH,” Stuart cut in hesitantly, seemingly a little intimidated by the whole media tour de force, “I THINK I CAN ANSWER THAT. JEN AND MYSELF AGREED TO HAVE HIM ON FOR…HOWEVER LONG IT TOOK FOR HIS LIFE TO RETURN TO NORMAL.”

Julienna didn't miss a beat.

“AND IF IT DOESN’T?”

Stuart swallowed, looking briefly to Jennifer as if for support, but she wasn’t looking at him. “WE HAVEN’T DISCUSSED THAT. WE TAKE EACH DAY AS IT COMES.”

The interviewer swiftly turned back to me.

“JERRY, DO YOU EVER SEE YOURSELF LIVING INDEPENDENTLY AGAIN?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’d love to, personally, but at this stage it’s difficult to envision.”

The journalist surged on as if she already had the next 10 questions in mind (she probably did).

“HOW DO YOU WASH?”

“Well, obviously I can’t shower – I mean, not on my own. I bathe in the bathroom sink.”

“CUT. CAN WE GET SOME FOOTAGE OF THIS?”

My eyebrows jumped up. “Er, you mean, in the water? Without clothes on?”

"YES," she said matter-of-factly. “I DON’T MEAN EXPOSED. THIS IS DAYTIME TV. BUT UNDER THE WATER, JUST YOUR HEAD ABOVE THE SURFACE.”

Jennifer’s eyes lit up. “I’LL FIX IT UP FOR YOU.”

Next to her, Stuart scratched his head, probably closer on my wavelength. “Is that, uh, really necessary?”

“IT’S THE EVERYDAY LITTLE THINGS OUR AUDIENCE WILL WANT TO SEE: WASHING, BEDDING, TRAVELLING, INTIMATE HUMAN CONTACT—”

“Uh,” I stammered, “intimate?”

“YES.” She gestured between Jennifer and I. “YOU TWO ARE TOGETHER?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I never said we were.” And I had no interest whatsoever in divulging the incidentals of our unusual relationship – whatever it was – to this team of random people I’d only just met – to say nothing of the potential millions of anonymous broadcast audience.

Julienna put a hand to her forehead. “OH THAT’S RIGHT, YOU SPLIT. YOU SAID THAT.” There was a pause, pregnant with unspoken meaning. “BUT YOU LIVE TOGETHER…” She punctuated this with fingertips pressed together, held in the air – that overused public speaking gesture – like this was a salient point.

“Our relationship is…complicated. You could say we’re friends,” I offered reluctantly. Then thought I caught a flicker of annoyance cross Jennifer’s face.

“WE KNOW IN REAL LIFE RELATIONSHIPS ARE AMBIGUOUS,” the woman went on steadily, “BUT TV VIEWERS DON’T LIKE AMBIGUITY. SO I WANT TO PLAY UP THIS ANGLE THAT YOU GUYS STILL HAVE FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER. SO IF YOU TWO COULD, YOU KNOW, MAYBE FLUTTER YOUR EYELASHES AT EACH OTHER A LITTLE MORE AND SO ON, THAT WOULD BE HELPFUL.”

Stuart glanced at Jennifer.

“DOESN’T BOTHER ME, HONEY,” he said earnestly. “IT’S JUST TV; WE’RE GIVING THEM WHAT THEY WANT.” Obviously he didn’t see me as any kind of threat – if he did, he probably would never have agreed for me to live here with them.

Jennifer didn’t say anything.

Without a beat, Julienna went back into interview mode.

“JERRY, DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN A RELATIONSHIP IN THE FUTURE?”

My cheeks were growing hot again, not so much with nerves but irritation. They sure wasted no time diving into the personal laundry pile. “Haven’t really thought about it. It’d be nice, sure.”

“WOULD SHE BE NORMAL SIZED?”

The vet’s ‘lady homunculi’ remark flashed into my mind, and I repressed a shudder.

“I don’t see what else she could be,” I said, and one of the cameramen chuckled. I secretly hoped he was chuckling at what I’d said, and not the image of me in a relationship with a normal sized woman.

“DO YOU HAVE A STRATEGY FOR HOW YOU’LL NAVIGATE THE FORESEEABLE OBSTACLES?”

“I guess that’s something to discuss with the woman in question.”

“WHEN YOU SEE YOURSELF IN THIS RELATIONSHIP, DO YOU IMAGINE THE WOMAN IS THE SAME SIZE AS YOU, OR DO YOU FACTOR IN THE SIZE DISPARITY?”

I was starting to get an uncomfortable premonition of where this line of questioning was going. It was moving apace into non G-rated content. My blush was deepening.

At my reluctance to answer, Julienna smoothly changed tack:

“HAS YOUR ACCIDENT CHANGED THE WAY YOU VIEW PEOPLE? BECAUSE REGULAR SIZED PEOPLE MUST LOOK ASTONISHINGLY BIG FROM YOUR PERSPECTIVE.”

“I don’t mingle with people I don’t trust.”

“DON’T YOU FEAR NORMAL SIZED PEOPLE? DON’T YOU WORRY THEY’LL ACCIDENTALLY HURT YOU?”

“Well, people can accidentally hurt you at normal size, too.”

“CUT.” The seat creaked as Julienna leaned forward towards me, clasping her hands together and crouching her upper body as low as possible, as if I was a little child. “JERRY, WHAT WE’RE GETTING IS GREAT, BUT WE NEED YOU TO OPEN UP A LITTLE. WE NEED YOU TO BARE SOME VULNERABILITY. HOPES AND FEARS.” She stood up and looked around.

“JENNA – ”

“JENNIFER.”

“YES, JENNIFER. COME OVER AND GET INTO POSITION ON THE SOFA WITH JERRY.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?”

“HOLD HIM, SHOW SOME AFFECTION. WHATEVER IS COMFORTABLE. WE WANT TO MAKE A CONNECTION WITH THE VIEWER.”

Now that she was directly involved in the interview, Jennifer came out of herself, no longer glowering on the sidelines. Unlike me, she had a very easy presence in front of the camera, unable to keep the smile from her face. I couldn’t tell if it was natural or acted.

She skipped over and plonked down on the sofa right next to me, causing me to bounce up into the air and rocket into her firm thigh.

Everyone laughed. Jennifer scooped me up and placed me onto her lap. She was wearing a tight skirt which pulled taut between her thighs, creating a natural platform for me.

The questions resumed, now directed at her:

“TELL ME ABOUT THE FIRST TIME YOU MET.”

“THAT WAS TWO YEARS AGO, AT A PARTY. I WAS, UH – ” she chuckled a little, “—FAIRLY DRUNK, AND JERRY WAS PRACTICALLY ASLEEP. I FELL OVER RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM, AND IT WOKE HIM UP. HE MADE A JOKE THAT PUT ME AT EASE. I FELL IN LOVE WITH HIM THAT NIGHT – I KNOW, TERRIBLE JOKE – BUT IT’S TRUE…”

*insert flashback sequence effects*

No guy she'd been with ever understood that kidding around was her way of showing affection.

She grew up with three brothers. You didn't hold doll tea parties, you wrestled, climbed trees and ran around playing medieval knights, or Jedis with baseball bats and golf clubs until dad yelled at you. You pranked and embarrassed each other. You made fun of each others' flaws and insecurities. This had been so ingrained in the course of her upbringing that she was virtually immune to ridicule, and when it came from a guy she liked, these days it even kind of excited her.

Older, she heard the sexual details of her brothers' love lives as they boasted to each other, and was habituated to frank sexual discussion.

It didn't occur to her that girls weren't supposed to act like this, at least, not until she went to a female boarding school and found herself irritated and bemused by the coy titters and giggles of the other girls, and their evasive language. They also didn't get her colorful and sometimes abrasive sense of humor.

Still, she tried to model after them, at least physically. They were experts on hair, makeup and fashion, poise, posture, voice, language -- the micro management of every female sexual indicator tailored to attract male attention. And she needed to catch up. She learned quickly. She needn't have tried hard, though; for her, puberty delivered in spades, giving her an enormously unfair share of male attention. That only made the other girls more distant from her.

She was in a couple of relationships with guys, which didn't amount to much because they didn't get her. They were too protective, or too adoring of her, or too critical if she made an unexpected jibe at their expense. She was like a free roaming puppy and they wanted to harness her and train her. They never became angry with her, or made fun of her, and she needed that. Just like a puppy needed rough play, she needed charged verbal intercourse.

And then she went into a brief period of despondent singledom, wondering if her standards were too high and that's just how relationships were.

Finally, one night, at a big party at a friend’s house, she wandered off to look for the friend’s cat, not really knowing anyone and feeling alienated by the other womens’ idle conversation. After losing a game of pool, she also lost her balance on a towering pair of slingback heels and nearly fell into a pool beyond the patio. To be fair, she was courting certain disaster after so many cocktails. And not the girly kind.

A man sputtered with laughter from one of the deck chairs facing the pool. Surprised laughter, but not cruel though he was not just laughing, but openly, carelessly. He wasn't even drunk by the sounds of it. She automatically twinged with embarrassment for a fraction of a second before realizing she was too drunk to care, to be honest she was just grateful she hadn't smashed her face on the pool perimeter. No damage done, not even a scrape. The pool was bordered by wood panelling, thankfully, rather than less forgiving concrete.

"Jerry, you cow!" a woman piped up with irritation and came over to help Jennifer up. "Gosh, are you alright?"

Jennifer gently brushed the woman away. "I'm fine."

"You missed the diving board..." the man said baldly, "...and the pool. Have another try."

Jennifer found herself smiling in spite of herself as she began removing her heels.

"Yeah, take the culprits off," the woman nodded, "yeesh, girl, are you trying to outdo Godzilla? You could flatten a skyline with those things. Then, misinterpreting Jennifer's smile for embarrassment, she said: "Don't worry about him. He has problems. He's come out here to sulk and be all alone."

Then, reassured that Jennifer was okay, the woman wandered off, but not before shooting the man one last dirty look over her shoulder.

It was difficult to make out the man's features in the dark but he looked kind of nice, not nasty and crabby at all, like she'd expected. He didn't look very tall, either, which emboldened her to walk, barefooted, over to him and sit herself on the nearest deck chair. There was a stand propped with a tray and an almost full drink on it. She took it and had a taste, not caring what it was, just hoping it was his and that he would tell her off for appropriating it, but he didn't.

She ribbed him about being on his own, he smiled and took it without argument. His ears were slightly big, she noticed, not distractingly so, actually kind of endearing, but she made fun and he took that gracefully, too.

Then he asked about her. She faltered. Her voice went deep inside herself and wandered around in circles, but she found herself opening up, losing her low defensive voice, her tone enrichening with humor and exposing her unique brand of ribald flirtiness that made men so uncomfortable but did not dent his confidence at all.

Instead, it was her insides that were weak and fluttery, in a way that made her feel silly and girlish -- the kind of thing she'd distanced herself from for so long. She kept reminding herself, though she was drunk, he was not; his was genuine warmth and confidence that was not going to vanish by tomorrow morning. And she did want to see him tomorrow morning. He wasn't darkly handsome in the smoldering sense but boyishly cute. There was plenty of male eye candy back inside, but he was also easy to talk to, fun, unjudgmental, and didn't balk at her jokes. She didn't understand why he was out here on his own, content to drink and silently watch people swim. Then again, she realized, she was hardly mingling with much success herself.

Some people were playing around in the pool and threatening to splash them now. What time was it? she wondered. She felt like she'd been in a trance. The man gingerly got to his feet.

"Nice talking to you," he smiled at her with a flash of genuine warmth, and began to wander back to the house. She jumped up, grabbed her heels, and followed him back inside, hit with a sudden paranoid fear that this guy was a unicorn and if she let him waver back into the crowd, she would never see him again and no one would know who he was. She racked her brains frantically; had she even given her name? And what did he say his name was again?

"Hey you!" a loud male voice said. "Where have you been hiding?" And suddenly the man was pulled away from her by an incredibly tall, broad-shouldered guy, who wrapped his muscled arm around his neck and raked his knuckles along his scalp. Then he yanked the smaller man’s shirt cleanly over his head, scrunched it up and tossed it across the room, and then shoved him into the generous-sized, beer-bloated stomach of his equally large, broad friend.

"Yeah, bare me some titty, doll," the man grinned widely, and before the smaller man could react, reached in and tweaked his nipples between his huge, blunt ended fingers, absurdly preventing Jerry's escape. Then the man took him up under the armpits and lifted him onto his thigh, supporting him with one Herculean arm around his back, another giant hand parting his legs to cup his groin. He bounced the smaller man on his leg, miming a sex act, and lampooning the display with exaggerated moans and facial expressions of anguished bliss.

"Wow, three seconds," the smaller man said blankly, being put back down on terra firma. "That's a new record for you."

The guys roared with laughter. As the smaller man bowed to snatch up his t shirt off the ground, one of the guys shoved his head, causing him to stagger.

At some point Jennifer had lost her voice, and felt bad at herself for standing there goggling, like the rest of the crowd. But she felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights. She never imagined the warm, confident guy she'd just been talking and laughing with in a scene like this. Earlier, she had targeted him where she thought it would hurt, and he had just brushed her off cheerfully.

The man just sauntered out of the building without looking back, somehow maintaining his dignity, though his shirt was still off and his nipples were red.

Suddenly Jennifer found her voice again, and cursed herself for not getting his number when she had the chance. Avoiding the gorillas now high fiving each other, she identified a familiar female face in the crowd and went over. The friend was still giggling, Jennifer noticed with a twinge of irritation.

"What was that about?" she said casually.

"Oh, just playing," said the friend, shaking her head. "They always do that. Jerry's used to it."

Jerry, she repeated to herself, willing herself to remember.

"Was that the smaller guy?" He wasn't even that small, just those guys had been so unfairly huge.

"Yeah. Why?"

"He left something of his by the pool," Jennifer lied. "I better return it. You know his number?"

The woman nodded and scrolled through her phone's contacts, and then gave Jennifer his number. Turns out his last name was 'Mousseau,' pronounced 'Moo-so' – French, though he didn't have the accent.

The next day she called the number. Turns out the number was inactive. The woman hadn’t updated her contact list in a while.

Jennifer ended the story on the photo on the mantelpiece that the media team had expressed interest in earlier. After failing to contact me, we bumped into each other again some weeks later when I went over and took the picture with us. It hadn’t clicked with me at the time she was the same girl, whose hair had been dyed differently, so from my point of view it was like our first meeting.

She giggled a little as she said:

“I DIDN’T THINK I’D EVER SEE HIM AGAIN, SO AFTER HE CAME UP FOR THE PHOTO, I THOUGHT, I’VE GOT TO MARRY HIM NOW. IT WAS ONLY A JOKE. IT JUST SEEMED CRAZY THAT HE FOUND ME AGAIN. LIKE FATE WAS TRYING TO SET US UP.”

“SO,” said Julienna, “JERRY’S ACCIDENT MUST HAVE BEEN A TERRIBLE SHOCK TO WHAT SEEMED LIKE A PERFECT RELATIONSHIP.”

“OH, NO,” Jennifer said lightly. “IT WASN’T THAT AT ALL. WE’D ALREADY SEPARATED WHEN THAT HAPPENED, AND I’D STARTED SEEING STUART.”

Jennifer’s response struck me as odd for some reason. Too flippant? Maybe she was just comfortable in front of the camera. Much more comfortable than me.

Maybe I was reading too much into things. With everyone looking at the interviewer or Jennifer, I felt oddly out of place now. They talked about me but not at me. Their heads and eyelines were all way above me. No one acknowledged me. I sat mostly forgotten on Jennifer’s lap. She had one palm coiled protectively around me while her other hand hovered closeby, her forefinger brushing my hair and stroking the back of my neck. I felt more like a house pet than ever.

“OBVIOUSLY YOU’RE STILL CLOSE TO JERRY,” said Julienna. “HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF HE STARTED SEEING SOMEONE ELSE?”

Jennifer hesitated for a long moment. Her fingers stopped stroking me and just held me, firmly. It seemed like she was holding herself back from answering. Finally she said:

“I GUESS IT’S NATURAL FOR HIM TO WANT TO START SEEING SOMEONE EVEN AT HIS SIZE. I JUST THINK IT WOULD BE AWKWARD WHILE HE’S LIVING HERE. AND I WORRY IF HE’LL GET THE APPROPRIATE CARE. HE’S A VERY DELICATE LITTLE MAN, AS YOU CAN OBVIOUSLY SEE. I HATE TO THINK OF SOME OTHER WOMAN KEEPING HIM UNDER HER THUMB. IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.”

I suppressed an exasperated smile.

“NO PRESSURE,” Julienna directed, “BUT CAN YOU GIVE HIM A KISS. LIKE A BELOVED FRIEND. WE WANT THE FACE COMPARISON IN AN ORGANIC WAY.”

Jennifer fingers squeezed me, lifting me in her cupped hand up towards her face. If the cameras hadn’t been on her she probably would have been rougher, pulling me up by the collar.

Her warm breath gusted against my face as she tilted my face up towards her lips. I shut my eyes as one whole side of my face was captured beneath the soft pressure of puffy moist lips. Her tongue very briefly lashed against my ear as her lips drew away again, and one of her fingerpads brushed subtly over the fork of my pants as her fingers shifted to lower me to her lap again. My stomach clenched. Anyone looking closely enough could see this fell way outside the bounds of ‘beloved friend’ territory, but no one said anything. Endeared by the display, some of the women twittered.

They then captured some film of me climbing up and down the sofa. I clambered around faster than I normally would have, as I was keen to dispel any notion that I was physically disabled. The media team made appropriate noises of awe at my flexing biceps as I scaled the vertical face of the arm rest.

“YOU’RE SO STRONG,” Lisa admired, blushing slightly. "I MEAN, FOR YOUR SIZE."

“IF YOU EVER NEED A HARDER WORKOUT,” Julienna smirked, “THERE’S PLENTY OF FURNITURE AT MY PLACE.”

“BETTER WATCH YOURSELF, MISTER,” said Claudia, “OR ONE OF US WILL SMUGGLE YOU HOME IN HER HANDBAG.”

The women giggled.  

My earlier interview gave them a false sense of comfort around me, like they knew me. They were less inhibited. More than that, my displays of strength – even if in miniature – seemed to bring out the gushy schoolgirl them. I was cute like a tiny animal but beefed up like the protagonist of a romance novel. It probably crossed the wires in their brains.

They were very keen now to get some film of me getting a bath. Probably a little too keen.

Whatever she thought of the women’s affectionate clucking, Jennifer all too happily obliged to give them their PG13 footage of me in a waterhole.

I was taken into the bathroom while Jennifer made up the sink. Not everyone could fit inside, so Julienna and Craig the cameraman went in while the others hovered around the doorway. Stuart waited back in the living room.

Julienna announced, “IF YOU COULD TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF AND GET IN FOR A COUPLE OF MINUTES.”

“I thought I wasn’t getting naked,” fisting my hands and feeling locked under the almost palpable weight of their staring.

“OF COURSE. YOU CAN KEEP YOUR UNDERWEAR ON.”

Only problem: I wasn’t wearing any. I didn’t have enough pairs of tiny underwear to wear a pair every day. So it was commando day every other day.

Jennifer knew this (she did the laundry after all), but – God bless her – she said nothing, allowing my cheeks to develop a red glow under the bathroom lights, which seemed hotter than usual. The bathroom also seemed much smaller than I remember. I certainly had not gotten bigger.

“I’ve only got these pants on.”

“OKAY,” the woman interviewer nodded curtly, still keen to get her film, “WHAT IF WE CLOSE THE DOOR A SECOND, OR HOLD UP A TOWEL?”

“NO WORRIES,” said Jennifer, “I’LL COVER YOU.”

She took the initiative to position herself behind me and placed her hand up on its edge like a makeshift fence, shielding my body from view of the others.

I hesitated for a moment, not trusting that Jennifer might take her hand away as soon as I was naked – it was the type of thing she’d take delight in.

“DON’T WORRY,” Julienna said to me. “CAMERA IS OFF UNTIL YOU’RE IN THE WATER.”

I began to undress slowly. I could feel the media peoples’ eyes on me, even though they couldn’t see my body behind Jennifer’s hand. But unlike them, Jennifer retained a full view of my nudity. This was no big deal, I guess, seeing as though it wasn’t the first time she’d seen me in the buff. It’s just that it seemed very different since I’d shrunk; with her great mass hovering over me, basically casting her shadow over me, and her eyes sweeping over me like a lighthouse beam, it always seemed oppressively intimate.

The smallest sexually suggestive gesture, in the presence of a giant, was magnified into something breathtakingly carnal, because giants had such an unavoidable bodily presence, and that presence weighed on you with its suggestion of skewed power. The power was always there, even if the giant did not use it.

It wasn’t just that I was taking off my clothes; there was the unspoken intimidation that Jennifer could effortlessly rip them off my body, if she wanted to.

Once I was bare, her fingers swept around me, covering me up from the media people, and she lifted me off the sink counter. Her thumb was pressed along my spine, and her little finger was hooked around my lower belly. I inhaled stiffly as I felt my package squeezed into the space at the base of her little finger, where the lowest joint met her palm. Her littlest finger shifted back and forth subtly over my member, as if trying to identify exactly where it was.

Unable to protest under the media peoples’ watchfulness, I bit my tongue.

The flat glassy surface of the sink water rose up towards my dangling feet. Without warning, she dunked me fully under the water.

Her hand surfaced me again, coughing and gasping.

“THIS IS HOW I WASH HIM,” Jennifer said over her shoulder, a trace of glee in her voice. I realized the camera was shooting us now.

Barely getting a breath in, I was dunked a second time. Underwater, the bathroom light dimmed and Jennifer’s voice was muted. Her little finger gave my junk a firm squeeze, and released it again as she brought my head back above the surface.

“I’VE GOT TO WASH HIM LIKE HE’S A LITTLE BABY, BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY HE CAN’T WASH HIMSELF.”

“DON’T I, SWEETIE?” She cooed down at me, tickling my scalp. “YOU LIKE IT WHEN I WASH YOU, DON’T YOU?” She even followed this with some kissing noises down at me, like I was a baby animal.

The media people tittered again with amusement, which I hoped they would remember to edit out of the film back in the studio. In fact, right about now, sporting a furious blush on my cheeks like an allergic reaction, I wished some cosmic censor would edit me out of the picture entirely.

Once this infantilizing display was mercifully over, Jennifer’s fingertips captured me around the chest and went to lift me out of the sink.

My eyes went wide.

“Wait—”

I flew through the air, dripping, and was placed down on the sink, while her hand automatically withdrew. Their eyes hung over me.

“OOPS,” she said, referring to the fact she’d just bared me at the camera, putting my conflicted boner on full show. She quickly lifted her hand in front of me, but the damage was done. Everyone had seen Jerry Junior at full mast. 

The females (Lisa and Claudia had poked their head around the door by now) were blushing almost as much as me, and sniggering with surprise – and probably other emotions.

“IT’S FINE,” Julienna said quickly, trying to hide a smile, “WE’LL EDIT IT.”

I got dressed behind Jennifer’s hand and then we went back out into the living room again.

“I THINK JERRY’S GETTING TIRED NOW,” Jennifer said. “HE NEEDS A REST.” As much as I appreciated her concern, I wish hadn’t phrased it in a way that infantilized me, like I was a grumpy baby.

The media team obligingly wrapped up the interview, and thanked me. Julienna seemed about to shake my on the way out, but opting against it, patted me on the head instead, her huge hand overshadowing me like an umbrella. The women were practically gushing over me now, and seemed like they would have been eager for some physical contact as well – maybe even a goodbye kiss – but Jennifer was quick to sweep the whole crew out the door.

Stuart and Jennifer were going to work, coming home, checking in with my needs. I stayed inside. A couple of times I had gone outside, kept in the breast pocket of Stuart’s shirt as he mowed the lawn, or sat in the front basket of Jennifer’s bike as the two of them went cycling. But not often. I always felt like a nuisance and a ‘clinger-on’ on their adventures because Jennifer prohibited me going outside on my own, worried a bird might snatch me up. Besides, the world was so unimaginably vast and frightening on my scale. I once saw a thick segmented worm the size of an snake break through the soil right between my feet, and a wasp with a kitchen knife-sized stinger zoom overhead, to say nothing of stray cats and dogs.

But I was kept busy enough indoors. A lot of time was taken up just learning to get around; climbing the furniture, making my way from one end of the house to the other. It was not unusual for me to be exhausted by nightfall. All the exercise made me even fitter and more muscular, if possible.

I was learning to deal with the situation in my own way, and prone to internalizing; not discussing it with Stuart or Jen.

Telling my story to the reporters, they had asked so many questions that stumped me (“Where do you see yourself in ten years time?”), and it made me realize how essential it was to take some kind of meaning away from the Flip, or create my own sense of meaning. My life had separated into two hemispheres; ‘old’ pre-Flip Jerry, and the new shrunken Jerry.  I was still trying so hard to be ‘old’ Jerry and pretend nothing odd had happened, and that’s where I guessed my stress was coming from. I couldn’t keep doing that, otherwise things were going to fall apart, sooner or later.

Now that I had been introduced to the public via the TV special, Stuart and Jennifer experimented with taking me into town with them on a number of occasions. I rode in the cart as Jennifer shopped for groceries, or accompanied Stuart to the gym. He thought I was a great mascot for inspiring him to get into shape, but in his case, tall and lean and with a soft belly that Jennifer – a little condescendingly – called ‘cuddly’ it might take him a while longer to build up my physique. Meanwhile, I just looked at all the weight blocks clanking together loudly and tried not to imagine myself sandwiched between them.

On Jennifer’s birthday, Stuart drove me into town for my opinion on getting her a gift, though she was typically so temperamental with gifts that I often had no better idea than him. Still, I was always up for an excuse to get out of the house. Particularly if Jennifer wasn’t coming. 

“There’s this perfume…” I began telling him about it.

We were in the car; I lounged on the shotgun seat while Stuart drove. I found it very easily to chat with Stuart while Jennifer wasn’t around; he just took what I said at face value and didn’t make me feel analyzed. Plus he let me sit on the seat like a normal person. Though I couldn’t wear a seatbelt, we’d established that, if the car braked, I was capable of gripping into the seat material with my tiny nails to prevent myself from going flying. Jennifer didn’t trust my reflexes, and it was only when she was in the car was I forced to be squished in place between her thighs for safekeeping.

“PERFUME, OKAY…” Stuart said slowly. He didn’t sound convinced, so I went on:

“It’s the best thing you ever smelled, and –” I almost said ‘she used to wear it when we were dating’ but caught myself just in time, “—and I think it’s her favorite.”

“ARE YOU SURE? I DON’T REMEMBER SEEING IT IN THE HOUSE.”

“Yeah,” I considered, “she hasn’t been wearing it so I guess she ran out. So, this is where you swoop in and give her another bottle.”

“MMM…” said Stuart.

I stifled an exasperated grunt.

“Okay. Nice clothing. She'll think you want to take her out in it.”

“AH, SHUCKS, I DON’T THINK I KNOW HER SIZE.”

God, you cradle her curves every night, I thought hotly to myself, you should have her size in a mental blueprint by now!

“A nice pair of shoes. She'll tell you there are never enough shoes in her closet."

“BUT THE SIZE ISSUE AGAIN…”

You’re telling me; my whole life is a size issue.

“Don’t buy her the clothes, she’ll only feel like you’re trying to dress her and she hates that. Get her the gift card for her favorite brand.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS.”

I told him.

“DON’T YOU THINK A GIFT CARD IS KINDA IMPERSONAL?”

“Yeah, but knowing the right brand makes it look like you’ve been paying attention to her body.”

“THANKS,” he said quietly, “BUT GEEZ, YOU’RE MAKING ME LOOK BAD.”

“Don’t worry. It took me ages to figure this stuff out. Too long.”

"I APPRECIATE YOUR HELP, JERRY," Stuart said in a hesitant voice that told me he was about to tack on a qualification, "BUT ALL THIS STUFF IS INTENSE."

"What do you mean?"

"LIKE, DRESSES, SHOES, PERFUME...YOU KNOW, SEXY STUFF."

"So, you think she’s sexy? What's the problem?"

"IT'S NOT VALENTINE'S DAY. WHAT'S WRONG WITH SOMETHING A LITTLE MORE PRACTICAL?"

"You’re missing the point. The stuff isn’t the gift. It’s the signal you’re sending her; that you’re going to take her out. That you guys are going to do stuff together. You’ve got to hint that.”

"YOU KEEP SAYING THAT BUT WE DO PRETTY WELL FOR OURSELVES KICKING BACK AT HOME, TOO."

"Keep telling yourself that, bud," I said kindly. "But we split because of these exact mistakes and you're giving me terrible flashbacks."

"IF I TOOK HER OUT AND SPOILED HER WHENEVER SHE WANTED IT WOULD WIPE ME OUT."

“You don’t have to break the bank. Her birthday’s only once a year.”

“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT MONEY. I MEAN PHYSICALLY. SHE'S A LIVE WIRE! I STRUGGLE TO KEEP UP WITH YOU TWO—”

“What? Me?”

“WELL, YEAH,” he said as if it was obvious.

“You must be joking. I almost never get out of the house!”

“BUT INISDE THE HOUSE. EVER SINCE YOUR ACCIDENT, YOU’VE GOT THIS CRAZY ENERGY. THE WAY YOU CLIMB UP THE FURNITURE AND RUN AROUND. YOU EVEN SURPRISE JEN. WHEREAS, I…” he let the word dangle self-evidently, “I’M MORE OF A RESTING HEART RATE KIND OF GUY.”

We went into some shops, and Stuart took a guess at her size and spontaneously bought her some lacy lingerie.

I urged him to try again.

“YOU SAID SEXY STUFF,” he whispered to me (I was riding in his shirt pocket).

“Not like that. It’s got to be things other people can see. You’re sending her the message that you’re going to take her out.”

He got her a bottle of bourbon and a trip to a day spa.

“Better,” I said, “although she’d get a huge kick if you did that pedicure and massage stuff for her at home.”

“YOU SAID SHE’D LIKE TO GO OUT SOMEWHERE.”

“Yeah, together, with you.”

We continued down the street until we came upon a gift shop with flowers and things.

“HOW ABOUT THAT PLACE?” he said, sounding like he was done with gift-shopping and just wanted some compromise. “NOT SEXY. JUST ROMANTIC.”

“Okay, but no chocolates. She has an issue with lactose.”

One of the shopkeepers began babbling as her eyes fell onto me, recognizing me from the TV. She asked to have her picture taken with me, and in return, pushed a big bouquet of roses over the counter at us. Stuart went to get out his card again, but the shopkeeper insisted we just take them. Considering she was a young, cute, woman whose cheeks faintly rouged when I gave her eye contact, the gift seemed more expressive than charitable, somehow.

Only during the drive home, it came to light Stuart had not bought any flowers. I pointed it out to him, thinking he’d forgotten.

“WE’RE GOING HOME NOW, JERRY.”

“Take my roses,” I blurted. “Give them to her.”

“ARE YOU SURE? THEY WERE A GIFT TO YOU FROM THAT NICE YOUNG WOMAN.”

“What am I going to do with them? They’re too tall for me.”

“IF YOU SAY SO. BUT ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO GIVE THEM AS A GIFT FROM YOU?”

“I can’t even hold one, let alone give her the whole lot. Just give them to her with your gifts."

To be honest I had no idea how the roses would go down. I’d never got her some when we’d been together. The only reason I thought up the ‘sexy stuff’ now was because of how Jennifer used to dress up to get my attention some nights, asking me to take her out somewhere.

Later they took me out for dinner with them, but I sat on the tabletop somewhat disgruntled as they leaned forwards and kissed and held hands and murmured sweet things to each other throughout the evening, trying to remind myself it was her night, not mine. They both derived a lot of fun out of feeding me off their forks. The chefs brought out an impressive birthday cake with glowing candles, and after slices were cut, Jennifer took delight in scooping up a chunk and pushing it onto my face like some shopworn gag from a cartoon. Then my hair accidentally caught on fire from a candle until Jennifer dumped her glass of water over me.

Later Stuart presented the gifts. He gave her his gifts first, and then thrust the bundle of roses into her arms as if wanting to get his own gifts out of the way without a lot of scrutinizing fanfare. She always had a stubborn poker face when receiving gifts; one of the reasons it was so hard to buy for her. At least until Stuart gave her the roses.

“OH, ROSES? REALLY? HOW ROMANTIC OF YOU.” She sounded taken aback. It occurred to me that Stuart probably wasn’t a naturally romantic person. This was confirmed a second later, as he blithely answered:

“OH, THE ROSES ARE FROM JERRY.”

D’oh. I nearly smacked my hand against my face. He wasn’t supposed to say they were from me, but from him. Then again I was just glad he didn't get cold feet and tell her the lingerie was from me, too.

“JERRY…?” she repeated uncertainly as her eyes turned upon me. Then she gave me a searching look that was admittedly uncomfortable, as if waiting for me to explain. Maybe she was wondering how I even managed to carry them inside. I longed to clarify the story of the roses to try and make the silence less awkward, but kept my mouth shut, as it would have devalued the gift in some way. Not to mention, pissed her off thinking some cute girl had showered them on me as an expression of a schoolgirl type crush. Better to make it seem like I’d intended it all along.

Maybe taking my silence for shyness, she looked away from me again.

“WELL…THAT’S UNEXPECTED. BUT THANK YOU. BOTH OF YOU.”

Later, as I was preparing for bed, she came over and tucked me in, and bent to kiss my cheek and ruffle my hair in an unusually gentle way.

*

On occasions, people stopped us in the street to say hello and gawk at me, though it was amazing how many people missed the sight of me when they weren’t looking too hard. I was reminded I wasn’t the same person every time I had an interaction with anyone from the outside world. It was naive to think people might shower me in concern and indulge me in self-righteous indignation at my condition -- "I heard what happened to you. You brave man, you hero, taking on the world at your size, you must be so strong.”

No, it felt more like, “And just what in the hell are you supposed to be?”

I got the sense I was so pitied by men I was completely removed from their empathy, a little clown or like a chimpanzee who had been taught to ride a unicycle; no matter if I walked upright or made human gestures, however convincing my human posturing, I was not in the same category of species as them, not even close. Women saw me the same way, but with an added touch of unnecessary fuss and sentimental affection for me as for a baby animal.

I couldn’t blame them; it was impossible to see someone as an equal when you had to search around on the ground to avoid stepping on them, or you could so easily pluck them up off the ground by the back of their collar.

Stuart was helpless to correct people’s misapprehensions about me; deep down he was a bit of a pushover and didn’t have that sense of vicarious indignation to stand up for me. Jennifer did, but she just liked to watch me squirm. I’m sure she liked clucky women embarrassing me to remind me, by contrast, that – at least in her view – she was the only woman who did, and who ever could, see me and love me for what I truly was. And it meant she could play with and tease me with impunity because at the end of the day, I couldn’t run from her because there was no other woman I could run to.

If there was any chance of me building up my ego again, I needed to embrace the identity and lifestyle of ‘new’ Jerry. I needed a new wardrobe, new things. I also needed a new vocabulary; I currently had no word for what had happened. Whenever we talked about, it was somewhat evasively, with imprecise language and euphemisms like ‘accident’ and ‘Flip’ and ‘machine.’ I didn’t even know what to call myself. If I was ‘human’, the word was beginning to mean less and less to me every day, every interaction I had with full sized humans increased the rift and my ability to identify with them. On the other hand, was I a ‘homunculus’ like the vet had suggested? But I had loathed the word when I first heard it. Would it be healthy for me to identify with something other than ‘human’? Or would it create an excuse to dehumanize my behavior to an animal?

At the rate I was going, it seemed adjustment would happen gradually, maybe months. The biggest hurdle was my confidence – I felt overly dependent on Jennifer and Stuart, though they never complained. But they were the wage earners and were structuring their hours to accommodate me. But that all changed when, one day, Stuart burst into the room with a huge grin.

"JERRY – YOU GOT LUCKY!"

I frowned. That was irony as I'd never heard it before.

"What?"

"THEY ACCEPTED YOUR CLAIM! Your SPECIAL CATEGORY assistance application was approved. They not only accepted the vet's evidence of your condition, but THEY DETERMINED YOUR INJURIES ARE SO UNCURABLY CATASTROPHIC THEY calculated a MASSIVE payout! YOU’RE SET UP FOR LIFE!”

My mouth hung open.

“It’s pronounced ‘incurably catastrophic’,” I said blankly. “And I’m not injured.”

“SURE. BUT, LOOK, JERRY, DIDN’T YOU JUST HEAR WHAT I SAID?”

“JUST WAIT,” Jennifer smiled, “IT’LL HIT HIM IN A SECOND.”

But the only thing that hit me were the words ‘incurably catastrophic’, over and over, ringing in my head like a death toll. Is that what the medical expertise really thought? Was this a cautious, cynical prognosis, or the most optimistic?”

In denial or not, I was still secretly holding out hope that one day soon Remy would jump on the phone and excitedly proclaim that he had a means of re-growing me. A deep, dark – but probably realistic – part of me refused this was possible, but still, that hope was all I had. As much as the payout figure reassured – no, excited me – money, of any amount, was only a flimsy second best to the prospect of returning to my normal size.

After all, what could I really spend the money on anyway? –
A car too big to drive;
A house too big to live in;
Clothes too big to wear;
The maintenance of a woman too big to fuck.  

That was the extra kick in shrinking, not only a misfortune in its own right, but it sucked up all the enjoyment of any other fortune you would otherwise have.

The bank was an ultra-modern building, all glass, steel and warm colors, none of that stately classic marble or Doric column look. However, there was nothing warm about it to me, was just as intimidating as the inside of a prison, or a zoo from the wrong side of a wild animal’s enclosure. The sheer size of its interior was even bigger than regular buildings -- which were already big enough -- it seemed to expand out in every direction. The amount of empty space around me was almost enough to give me space dementia. Giants swaggered by briskly, businesslike, seeming to pass by over my head like low flying aeroplanes.

They were all in their own self-contained worlds; on their phones or focusing up and straight ahead of them, amazingly, no one bothered to look down into Jennifer's hands to see the tiny man she was carrying, or they looked without seeing. Not expecting the sight, they simply didn't see me for what I was -- they saw some unimportant little blue and red object, not a person. Or if they did see a person, they thought I was a superman doll, and just assumed Jennifer was carrying it around for a little niece or nephew of hers not currently in sight.

That was one of the frightening realizations I was beginning to make about being out in public; how little people actually noticed, or cared even when something impossible was (literally) staring them right in the face. What had the character said in 'Alice in Wonderland' about believing six impossible things before breakfast? This wasn’t a fiction – clearly, people were well and truly capable of such feats.

“SO IS THIS A JOINT BANK ACCOUNT?” The bank teller looked at Jennifer and Stuart.

“NO,” said Stuart. “IT’S FOR HIM – ”

And Jennifer lifted me up into sight and placed me down on the counter, in my superman blue and reds.

The teller goggled.

“YOU’RE THAT LITTLE GUY ON THE TV,” she gushed. “OH MY GOD. IT’S JEFFREY, RIGHT?”

“Jerry,” I piped up.

“JERRY. LET ME SAY, I FIND YOUR STORY SO FASCINATING, I THINK IT’S JUST CRAZY WHAT’S HAPPENED TO YOU. YOU MUST FEEL SO SPECIAL, TO HAVE SURVIVED IT. LIKE GOD’S GOT A PLAN FOR YOU, HONEY –”

My mouth twisted in a frown. ‘Special’ was way off. And unless God had a particular obsession with what went on in mice holes, I don’t think it had been a directive from the celestial order. 

The teller began typing away on her computer.

“SO THIS IS YOUR ACCOUNT. WELL, YOU ALREADY HAVE AN ACCOUNT WITH US, SO HOW ABOUT I LINK IT UP?”

Within a few minutes it was all done. In the meantime, I’d started noticing people giving us – I say, me, specifically – second glances and murmuring to each other. Jennifer and Stuart tried to move closer to me, in an effort to cover me up, but it was no use. People recognized me.

When we got home, I got back on the laptop to check my online dating profile. I had left it alone for about a week, but what the media team had suggested – about me dating – struck something with me. By voicing the possibility it seemed to make it far less remote and fantastical, but something real, within my grasp, if I tried hard enough. I was worried normal size women might laugh at me, but meeting the media team reminded me women still found me attractive somehow, even though it was weird. Something about my size excited them.

To my surprise I had multiple messages from different profiles of attractive women. Some of these sounded like they were more interested in the fact I had been on TV than who I actually was. I ignored those. One of the messages, from a girl called Natalie, said:

Hey, it must be hard to have to live with your ex. If you ever need a place to hang, I got your back :P <3<3

This made me paranoidly wonder how much the reporters had in fact censored or edited out, but I pushed the thought out of mind. Her profile made her seem friendly, and she was the first person to not use the obvious, cliché sobriquet ‘cute’, and that was enough for me. Not to mention her profile picture depicted an attractive fair-haired girl in a sweater sitting demurely at a café somewhere. She was gorgeous, actually, but not shoving it in the camera.

Then I heard Jennifer come into the room and quickly closed the browser window.

“JERRY,” said Jennifer, her mouth remaining open for a fraction longer. Then her eyes narrowed and she interrupted herself. “—WHAT WERE YOU LOOKING AT JUST NOW?”

My jaw tightened. Whose idea was it for the laptop screen to be facing the doorway over my shoulder? Why hadn’t I questioned that arrangement before now? Terrible feng shui.

“Just…whatever.” I slid myself along the tabletop, away from the laptop as if trying to disown it. 

Before I could help it my eyes jumped up into hers. She held my gaze for what seemed like a long time, a silent staring challenge.

Finally she shifted, folding her arms and looking past me at the laptop screen.

“WELL, ANYWAY. CHECK THE PAYMENT WENT INTO YOUR ACCOUNT.”

“It might take some time to clear,” I said, logging onto my bank account. But it had been processed. My account balance had altered dramatically, unthinkably. A moment later Stuart had wandered in.

We all stared at the figure for a moment.

“YOU’RE RICH!” Stuart gasped, throwing up his hands with childlike glee. “IT’S A TECHNICALITY CAUSED BY THEIR CALCULATION OF YOUR ‘INJURY’,” Stuart considered, stroking his chin.

“I didn’t realize it would be so much,” I stammered. I felt conflicted. I hadn’t earned the money, it just happened to me. It didn’t seem like something you shouted from the rooftops. In a heartbeat I would have traded it for my previous size.

Stuart shuffled up behind Jennifer, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the back of her neck. She turned to reciprocate briefly, wrapping her arm up around his neck for a moment.

“LET’S GO OUT AND CELEBRATE,” she said.

Stuart stroked his chin in thought.

“THE ONLY REASON JERRY’S GOT ACCESS TO THIS FUND IS BECAUSE THE GOVERNMENT THINKS HE WAS IN A HORRIBLE ACCIDENT. IT SEEMS KIND OF TWISTED TO THROW A PARTY OVER IT.”

“FINE,” she huffed, “WE’RE NOT CELEBRATING THAT. WE’RE JUST GOING OUT FOR KICKS. I NEED TO GET OUT. OOH, WHAT ABOUT THAT FRENCH RESTAURANT ON THE WHARF?”

Stuart checked his watch. “IT’S ALMOST THREE. IF YOU’RE KEEN TO GO SOMEPLACE REALLY NICE IT’S GOING TO BE HARD GOING TRYING TO GET A RESERVATION AT THIS HOUR.”

Jennifer stepped away from him, pulling out her phone and scrolling through the screen.

Stuart’s face lit up with an idea. “HEY, HOW ABOUT PROSCUITTO PALACE?” he suggested. “YOU DON’T NEED RESERVATIONS.”

Jennifer stopped scrolling to close her eyes briefly.

“THAT’S A PIZZA PLACE, STEWEY. IF THEY DON’T TAKE BOOKINGS THEN EVERY WEIRDO OFF THE STREET IS GOING TO BE THERE.”

Stuart grinned goofily. “WELL DON’T THE THREE OF US MAKE FOR A BIT OF AN ODD GANG, OURSELVES? – YOU’RE COMING AREN’T YOU JERRY?”

“OF COURSE,” Jennifer butted in without looking up from the phone screen, even as my mouth hung open to answer.

“I’ll come if we go to the Golden Calf,” I added quickly.

Jennifer shook her head. “NEVER HEARD OF IT.”

“It used to be a really popular nightclub for university students, but they totally remodeled it to attract a wider crowd.”

Jennifer quickly called a couple of her favorite restaurants to book us in, but each one was out of seats. Finally, she tried the Golden Calf, and managed to get a table.

Putting away her phone she said with finality: “JERRY, WE’RE GOING TO YOUR PLACE. BE READY BY SIX.”

“YOU’RE THE BOSS, JEN,” said Stuart, even doing a little salute.

That was more succinct than I could have ever put it.

“Only thing is, it’s formal,” I said. “They won’t let you in if you’re not wearing a suit – I’ve tried. It’s the theme.”

“IT’S NOT A FLAPPER THING?” said Jennifer suspiciously, raising an eyebrow, “—LIKE THE GREAT GATSBY?”

She hated ‘era’ fashion – or basically the fashion of any era where female nudity only meant baring your arms. 

“No. Totally modern.”

“WELL,” said Stuart marching down the hall with purpose, “I’VE GOT SOME DIGGING IN THE CLOSET TO DO…”

I looked over at Jennifer and shrugged. “You wanted a nice place.”

She returned my look levelly. “SUITS ME. YOU KNOW I LOVE AN EXCUSE TO DRESS UP.”

I did know it. She didn’t just like an excuse to dress up. She liked an excuse to act up.

She wandered over to the table top where I was, placing her hands down on either side of me, with her upper body leaning over me. She liked posing like this over me. Waiting patiently for me to look up at her. But if I wanted to meet her eyes, I would have to look up and get an eyeful of her bust instead. I think she realized that.

After I stubbornly resisted her attention, she brought her massive fingertips around behind my head, and grasped the collar of my shirt, pulling me up straighter, almost lifting me off the surface.

“BUT WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO WEAR?”

“Dunno,” I muttered, grimacing as my feet left the polished table top and I found myself completely in the mercy of her grip. “I mean, you guys can go and I can stay here.”

Releasing me slowly, she leaned back from the table. “I THINK WE CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT.”

She pivoted around and strode out of the room, her heart shaped butt swaying mesmerizingly.

I sat back and watched TV for a little while. Down the hall I heard the shower running.

A short time later, Jennifer reappeared in the living room. The shower was still running so it must have been Stuart in there.

“GUESS WHAT?” she said triumphantly, marching over to me. “I FOUND YOU SOMETHING. SO IT LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE COMING!”

She showed me what she was holding in her hand. It was what appeared to be a small doll’s tuxedo. I let out a small sigh of relief, thinking it wasn’t as demeaning as I might have anticipated. It wasn’t a Barbie ballet dress, for instance.

“Where did you get that?” I said, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice. It seemed a little too perfect, like she’d hoarded it away for, well…a tiny wedding. The less I thought about that, the better.

“YOU KNOW HOW I HAD SOME ACTION FIGURES HERE FOR MY NEPHEW? WELL ONE OF THEM WAS A LITTLE JAMES BOND IN THIS CUTE LITTLE SUIT. HOW CONVENIENT, RIGHT?”

“Those dolls are just the gifts that just keep on giving,” I said. “I thought Rumplestiltskin must have tailored it for you.”

Jennifer paused at my caustic tone. Then, gripping the edge of the table, she brought herself down into a crouch, until her face became like a wall in front of me. Keeping her hypnotic eyes level with me, she said:

“YOU’VE GOT THE CUTE LOOK GOING ON – I COULD JUST EAT YOU UP. BUT TONIGHT I WANT YOU TO LOOK REALLY HANDSOME. I KNOW YOU CAN.”

“Settle for cute,” I said flatly, meeting her enormous eyes. “Because I’m not getting any bigger any time soon.”

She exhaled with exasperation; her warm breath fluttered through my hair.

“HEY,” she said gently, “WHAT IS THIS?”

One of her hands rose up and hovered in front of me. Her middle finger extended, sliding the front of my shirt up so she could run the flat of her thumb across my pecs and downwards over my abs. Her cool touch made me shiver.

I didn’t say anything.

Her fingers curled around my body, sealing it in her palm. My feet left the ground as I was swiftly brought right up under her nose. Her glossy black lashes were so close to my face I felt like they would swat me every time she blinked.

“JERRY, READ MY LIPS. YOU’RE MUCH HANDSOMER THAN YOU REALIZE.”

I could go one better; she was so close to my face that I could read the individual creases on her lips.

Then, she inclined her head a little and my vision darkened as the pair of soft velveteen masses pushed my eyelids closed and held there firmly as she planted a kiss on my forehead. Withdrawing again, she put me back onto the table.

Resignedly, I began to lift up my shirt but Jennifer held up a hand to stop me, pressing two fingers against my chest to prevent me taking my shirt off.

“JUST WAIT A MINUTE THERE, SPEEDY GONZALES. WE’VE GOT TO GET THAT LITTLE BOD OF YOURS LICKED CLEAN.”

I dropped my shirt down, staring up at her.

“Aren’t you going to shower, too?”

“ABSOLUTELY. AND YOU’RE GOING TO JOIN ME.”

“The shower? No.”

I had a mental image of myself scrambling around on the tiled shower cubicle floor as Jennifer’s feet stepped around haphazardly as she massaged her scalp with shampoo with her eyes firmly shut. Being in the shower cubicle wasn’t just debasing, it was dangerous; she could slip on me, squashing me once under her foot before squashing me a second time, lethally, under the bulk of her weight as she dropped on top of me by accident.

“YES,” she said in her louder voice. “IT’LL SAVE TIME.”

“No.”

“YES.” She pinched my cheeks between forefinger and thumb, squishing my lips shut. “NO MORE BUTS.”

She turned her head, looking down the hall. “SOUNDS LIKE STUART’S STILL IN THE BATHROOM. SO WE’VE GOT TIME.”

My eyebrows drew together. I wanted to say ‘got time for what?’ but I couldn’t speak, as my cheeks were still pinched between her fingers.

Her fingers released my face, only to snatch me up off the table and bring me over to the sofa, where her handbag was. She dropped down into one of the chairs, placing me down on the floor directly between her massive bare feet.

On either side of me, her toes began calmly scrunching into the carpet. It made me think of a cat flexing its claws. This comparison was helped by her toenails being so long, she obviously hadn’t trimmed them in a little while. I was distracted for a moment by her rippling toes; the cords of tendons in each toe pulling, tightening, and then relaxing again, only to repeat.

“NOTICE ANYTHING?” she said with no real urgency.

I looked up to meet her monumental face gazing down at me. She was leaning forward, her hands resting on her knees, so far forward that white-tipped strands of her long hair had fallen forward and trailed over her legs.

She was watching my face closely and I began to get a bad feeling. She always fixed me with this studying look when she was about to suggest something novel or unorthodox to me – usually at my expense.

“I AGREED TO YOUR RESTAURANT,” she started, rubbing a finger back and forth across her lips as if in thought, “BUT YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME ALSO.”

I squared my shoulders. “What’s that?”

Behind her fingertips, her lips curved into a small smile. “HERE’S A HINT…”

Her toes began to clench harder, the long raking into the carpet, now more restlessly, generating a low scratching sound. I watched the display before looking back up at her in confusion.

“Massage your feet?”

“THAT WOULD BE LOVELY, BUT NOT NOW. I HAVE SOMETHING PARTICULAR IN MIND. YOU DON’T SEE WHAT THE PROBLEM IS?”

Her toes carried on scratching through the carpet. It was the only sound except for the white noise down the hall which was Stuart showering. I continued to stare at them, as if struck dumb. I had never been this close to her feet, except that one time at Scott and Tasha’s house, when I’d woken up shrunk. But I hadn’t been thinking straight then. Now I could make out the lines on her soft leathery feet, the faint flaky scales of dead skin around her toenails, and the fine dusting of dried, crystallized sweat emerging from the base of her toes. The bulbs of her toes were like big balls of pale pink putty, or marshmallows, each topped with a nail like a softly shining porcelain plate with a generous length of white tip extending out. Her big toe was like a huge exercise ball; I could’ve stretched my back over it.

“YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT, WISEGUY,” she said after a minute’s silence. “YOU’RE JUST PLAYING DUMB, AREN’T YOU?”

“No,” I said tiredly. “You want me to lay down a new roll of carpet.”

There was an impatient sigh from above.

“CLOSE YOUR EYES.”

I gave her a suspicious look. “Why?”

“JUST DO IT, AND I’LL GIVE YOU ANOTHER HINT.”

Without another word, I shut my eyes. Somewhere very close by, her feet shifted. There was a soft draughty feeling; a displacement of air, and a presence of someone. Or not someone. You know when someone is right there in a room with you, you can’t see them but you know they’re there. Or someone is right behind your back. It was like that. But I knew it wasn’t someone, but something. And not behind my back, but right in front of me.

Then something soft began stroking up and down my jaw. It felt like someone’s palm; Jennifer’s palm. I could almost imagine her standing in front of me – both of us normal size – like it used to be. I knew it wasn’t her palm, but it was nice to think so.

For one thing, Jennifer was into scented hand soaps, so her hands were always very soft and fragrant. I knew this from being on the receiving end of spontaneous face massages back when we’d been together. She wasn’t a big massage person, except face massages, because it allowed her to carry on talking to me face to face at the same time (usually these massages were used to sugar-coat some degree of onerous request of me she was making at the same time). If I was sitting down, she would jump on my lap unannounced, straddling my thighs, push me back into the seat and start running her hands all over my face and hair, sometimes kissing me on the lips as well.

But at my current size – welp – no more of that! A single one of her thumbs could capably massage my entire head, and even then it was too big. She could have kept my entire head stuck under the flat of her thumb like a marble. At my previous size, she’d used to run her thumbs around my eyebrows and over my eyes, which I loved, because sometimes she would close my eyes this way and then plant a surprise kiss on my lips and then pull away before I opened my eyes again.

Now, her oppressively huge thumbs were no longer capable of such delicate actions on my person anymore, without squashing some of my essential facial features along the way.

Thinking this, I felt a twinge of longing and regret as the thing probing my features carried on up my cheek, over one of my eyes and along my brow. I tried clinging to the fantasy that it was her hand, but the thing currently touching my face was not as soft as her hands usually were, and it had a faint odor that made my nose wrinkle a little, without being intrusively offensive.

The pressure against my face withdrew. I opened my eyes to find the massive bulb of her big toe hovering just in front of my face, angled up to expose the concentric ridges of the toe print. For a fraction of a second, I had the impulse to draw my finger around the ridges, but repressed it. It would probably tickle her and her foot would lash out and boot me in the head by accident. Or deliberately.

Her foot rested on its heel, with the other toes splayed and shifting. I tilted my head up to see her face past this huge intrusive big toe, which was hovering right up under my nose like it was having to restrain itself from leaping onto my face again.

She had been leaning forward watching me the entire time. One forearm resting across her knees, the palm cupping the elbow of the other arm, which was raised to support her head. She was sucking her thumbnail with her expression arranged into a partly inquisitive, playful look. If I didn’t know any better I would have thought she seemed to love drawing her toe over my face even more than any other time she’d given me a normal face massage.

My member was starting to spring to life. This was giving me the most confusing hard on I’d ever had; I hated being tiny, being under her like this, being demeaningly explored by her toe like it was my job to stand still and let her do it. But the way her eyes were looking at me burned into me like a laser. She’d never looked at me like this when we were dating: like my body was a delight to her; a little toy, an apparatus she could manipulate for her own private enjoyment.

I was torn in two. I felt fear and passion in waves that made me feel like I wanted to throw up.

I was seeing the girl I loved and a towering, kind of frightening monolith that looked exactly like her, and whose actions I had little control and influence over.

I took a step back, but was uncomfortably aware that, unless I sprinted a little way, it wasn’t easy for me to move out from under the shadow of her great foot.

I swallowed, trying to calm myself down, then said:

“Okay, enough of that, what’s the hint?”

She observed me under her dark lashes calmly, continuing to bite her thumbnail. “TAKE A GUESS.”

The long thick overhanging white edge of her toenail swung forwards suddenly and tapped my nose. She did this with playful intent. Unfortunately, getting the first person perspective of that sharp toenail tip lancing at my eyeballs was about as playful as a python snapping for my face.

Obviously Jennifer had a lot of confidence in her accuracy. Or I hope she did.

For a brief instant my nose was in unwelcome proximity to the underside of her toenail, where a bunch of odorous God knows what was gummed up underneath, including something giving off that classic old cheddar foot smell, very likely toejam. Normally I was a big fan of vintage cheese. But this was going too far, even for me.

“Um, Jennifer,” I said slowly, swallowing as my sinuses felt like they were shriveling up and dying, “no offense, but you need to cut your toenails.”

Her smile deepened as she dropped her foot back onto the floor. One slender finger glided down to pet the crown of my head, like I was a dog that had just performed a trick.

“GOOD WORK, SHERLOCK. NOW – ” she smoothly pulled a toenail clipper out of her handbag and lowered it onto the floor at my feet, “—BEGIN.”

At my size, the gleaming silver toenail clipper looked like a two-handed weapon of torture. The Mafia could’ve used it to slice my fingers off.

My pupils disappeared up into my eyelids for a moment. “Do I have to?”

“IT’S ESSENTIAL. I PLAN ON WEARING SOME OPEN-TOED HEELS, SO MY FEET ARE GOING TO BE ALL EXPOSED. AND THIS IS A FANCY PLACE WE’RE GOING TO, YES?”

“You could just wear some closed shoes,” I suggested. Worth a shot.

“WHAT?" she said dangerously, "IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY FEET?”

I leaned back, looking away contritely. “Of course not.”

“WELL YOU’RE ALL THE WAY DOWN THERE,” she said, scrutinizing me carefully. “YOU HAVE A GOOD VIEW OF THEM. YOU TELL ME HOW THEY LOOK.”

She stared down at me, her toes wiggling impatiently. I took a moment to examine her feet, not sure what I was supposed to be noting. They looked fine to me already; smooth, flawless, her toes long and slender and muscular. It was just the toenails were a little on the long side, but so what? In a busy restaurant, who would even look? I regretted pointing them out in the first place.

“They’re perfect!” Trying to sell it, I even padded up to one of her big toes and pressed a kiss onto the hard smooth surface of her toenail.

“BULLSHIT! LOOK HOW LONG MY TOENAILS ARE! YOU FLINCHED WHEN I POKED YOUR NOSE!”

“That’s because I thought you were about to toe-punch my face.” I got to my feet, groaning. “You know it would be a million times faster if you did it.”

“I DON’T WANT SPEED. I WANT QUALITY. LOOK AT THOSE TINY, DELICATE HANDS,” she gestured down at me, “YOU’LL DO A REALLY FINE JOB. WE HAVE TIME.”

Letting out a heavy breath, I wheeled around and pulled the clippers up into my arms. Given they weren’t intended for dual handed grip, they did not sit comfortably in my arms like, say, a rifle. I noticed huge smudged fingerprints coating the reflective silver surface – where Jennifer’s fingers had been on it when she’d fished it out of her handbag.

Starting at the big toe, I carefully positioned the clipper blades into place around the white part of a nail, then used my body weight to push down against the lever. Luckily, the nails of each successive toe required less force. The big toe was the hardest.

The toenail fell away and I left it on the carpet, preparing to move onto the next toe. But Jennifer’s voice crackled above:

“UH UH,” she tutted. “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH IT?”

I paused, my mouth open as if to protest. Then I bent down and reluctantly picked up the toenail, which was so big I could have tucked it in my belt like a dagger. To my (well concealed) disgust, the underside of the toenail felt greasy and was covered in a film of greyish gunk like dirty starchy glue. It looked like cottage cheese but smelled like blue cheese. Although, with the dirt streaking it, it looked a little like blue cheese as well. Having this filthy comparison to my most favorite of foods was sacrilegious. I wondered if I could ever eat cheese the same ever again.

I placed the toenail down over to the side, then rubbed my hands against my shorts, but to no avail. As soon as the toenail juice touched my hands it stuck there and began to harden like clay, and I couldn’t get it off.

With each toe, more loose toenails joined the first, until a little pile began to grow. By the time I was finished, I was red-faced, panting and sweating. And that was just one foot. I was only halfway finished.

Jennifer observed me patiently as I hefted the clipper over to her other foot and got started all over again. I worked through her foot more quickly this time, having adjusted to the task. Nevertheless, by the time I was finished, my shoulders sagged, my back ached, and sweat was running my sides. Every big gulp of air I took seemed to be disagreeably scented with a sharp spice of cheddar.

“SEEING THOSE LITTLE BICEPS OF YOURS BULGE WHILE YOU WORK OVER MY FEET IS REALLY SOMETHING…” She purred. “YOU’RE LIKE MY OWN PERSONAL SLAVE.”

“I’m not your slave,” I said with a huff.

Her finger trailed down and brushed through my hair. “I KNOW. IT LOOKS LIKE A LOT MORE GROOMING IS REQUIRED,” she joked.

Without even giving me a moment’s rest, she took back the clippers from my hands and quickly replaced it with a Q-tip the size of a sword. At least it was lighter than the clippers, but I didn’t know what she wanted me to do with it. My lungs heaving, I looked at it, and then up at her.

She made a downward thrusting gesture with her finger, and then rotated it. I took it she meant I was to prod the Q-tip between her toes and rub it around for cleaning.

She slid her foot towards me, and her toes splayed. I climbed up onto the smooth surface of her foot, and sitting myself down, began to jab the Q-tip between the spaces of her toes, and work it around vigorously. This was difficult as her toes kept wiggling and shifting, yanking the Q-tip around in my grasp. I felt like I was trying to steer a horse and carriage.

“Can you just keep still?” I said through gritted teeth.

Jennifer answered through small squeals of laughter:

“YOU’RE TICKLING ME SO MUCH – YOU DON’T REALIZE HOW HARD I’M TRYING TO NOT SWAT YOU OFF MY FOOT LIKE AN ANNOYING LITTLE FLY.”

Yikes, things could always be worse, Jerry, I thought to myself staidly. At least you're not as small as a fly.

I imagined her hand slapping down on me with a loud SMACK and shuddered, deciding to just shut up and do my job as fast as possible. Luckily, this time it was a little easier than clipping, and I managed to run through the line of toes in very good time. It helped that each foot only had four toe spaces, compared to five toes. However, where clipping the toes got easier with the smaller toes, this time it was the other way around. The smaller toes had tighter spaces, creating more work for me to drive the Q-tip in and shift it around.

Once I was finished, the muscles in my arms were beginning to feel heavy and leaden, and the cotton end of the Q-tip was coated in some of that grayish paste, plus lint. It also smelled bad, and I was relieved when she finally took it from me and wrapped it in a tissue for disposal.

She then withdrew something else from her handbag of horrors and placed it down on the carpet in front of me.

“JUST ONE LAST THING,” she instructed.

It was a vial of transparent nail polish. She unscrewed the lid and placed the end of the brush in my hands before I could make a sound. The open polish bottle wafted its acrid smell up my nostrils making them sting, and my eyes water. For someone my size, I daresay it could be classed as a biohazard, like mustard gas.

I jumped back, covering my nose and shaking my head, but I couldn’t drop the brush anywhere; if any of the polish got on the carpet she would kill me.

“Nope.”

“OKAY, FINE,” she said lightly. “I’LL DO IT. YOU JUST HAVE TO SQUISH YOUR HEAD IN BETWEEN MY TOES TO KEEP THEM SEPARATED.”

Without another word of complaint, I gripped the brush tightly and began to stir it in the bottle, while Jennifer smiled triumphantly down at me.

With the brush thickly coated in clear polish, I then positioned myself in front of her big toe and began to apply the brush to the surface of her toenail in even careful strokes. I was not much of a painter, but this didn’t require the hand of Rembrandt. I just needed to keep closely within the ‘lines’ of her skin and ensure the gloss was applied evenly, and didn’t leave blobs or bumps.

After a while, Jennifer began to hum quietly over my head. Not, apparently, with impatience, but indolently, distracted by my quiet, methodical working. The vibration of her humming was relaxing, but if I stopped to rest, her finger soon journeyed down and tapped the top of my head lightly to coax me to continue.

I began to lose track of the fact I was painting enormous toenails, and not, for instance, plates or Frisbees. It was just the lingering odor wafting out from between her splayed toes that made the fiction wobble. The Q-tip had eliminated all the detritus from between her toes, but not all the odor. It clung to me like muggy swamp air.

Time passed as I carried on in this trance state. All of a sudden I found myself finishing her final pinky toe.

“NICE JOB,” she said, inspecting my work.

I straightened and cringed; the joints at the small of my back felt like rusted iron. All the muscles in my arms were trembling.

Jennifer took the polish and brush back from me, lifting them up and returning them to her handbag.

Meanwhile, I went to step back but something caught me and held on.

The fabric of my pants had accidentally got hooked on one of the sharp outer edges of Jennifer’s newly cut big toenail.

“Wait—” I said, only just noticing, hurrying to try and free myself.

But she didn’t hear me.

As she went to stand up, her foot shifted, lifting up, and slinging me over the floor violently. It was like I had been picked up and thrown. Getting detached from her toe, I went flying head first into the pile of her toenail trimmings.

 “Aaaargh!”

I cried out like I’d fallen into a pile of syringes. It wasn’t that different; the sharp points of her toenails jabbed my limbs all over, in some places pricking me deep enough to draw blood. At my size they were like little curved knives. Scrambling out of the pile, I jumped to my feet, doing my best to brush the nails off my body. Little spots of blood stood out over my arms and legs.

Then I leaned back on my feet, taking a few deep breaths, grateful I didn’t have a big toe clipping embedded in my chest.

There was a booming giggle from above.

“OOPS. HOW CLUMSY OF ME.”

She hadn’t seen the bloody pricks on my skin.

For some reason, outrageous violence didn’t bother me. I loved horror movies and found them funny. Maybe that was why I endured being small pretty well, relatively speaking. But little things always got to me; bee stings, accidentally ripping off a chunk of fingernail, jamming my finger in a door hinge. I tended to have a cartoonishly over the top reaction to that kind of stuff; a kind of swooning, fainting reaction. And falling into a pile of all those gross prickly nail trimmings – literally stabbing their oily toejam under my flesh and injecting it into my body  – just did it for me.

The thick cloying smell of nail polish didn’t help. And it was everywhere now: inside my nose, inside my head. There was nowhere I could turn.

I coughed, causing an instant headache to break out. Getting to my feet, I turned and began to wander away in no particular direction. But the smell followed me.

“I need a break,” I said. My voice sounded oddly far away.

Then I don’t remember what happened.

But when my eyes opened I found myself curled up on a soft padded surface. It felt amazing; like the most comfortable bed ever.

I ran my hand over the surface, it felt like a suede leather sofa, with creases and folds. I stretched luxuriously and yawned. My body, particularly my arms, gave off small aches and pangs. I went still again, preparing to go back to sleep.

There was a low reverberating giggle from above me. Then a jet of warm air hit me, like I was right in front of a heater.

I blinked.

“…what?”

I was lying on a huge cupped hand, with fingers curled up at one side, and on the other side, Jennifer’s expanded face drawn in close to watch me. Her lips pursed tightly as she sent a long spurt of warm air directly into my bemused face.

In protest, I held my arm up before my face. When the gust subsided, I noticed Stuart standing over her shoulder, watching me with a little concern. He was bare chested with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“IS JEN WORKING YOU TOO HARD?” he joked. “OR WAS IT THE SMELL?”

Jennifer chuckled and shoved him with her free hand. “HEY! MY FEET DON’T SMELL – DO THEY, JERRY?”

“It’s nothing but a garden of roses down there,” I muttered, knowing if I said anything else I would be in deep trouble.

Jennifer got up from the sofa, giving me the feeling of rising in an elevator.

“OKAY YOU,” she said, tousling my hair with a pinky nail. “SHOWER TIME.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO TAKE JERRY INTO THE SHOWER?” Stuart raised his eyebrows.

Jennifer pivoted around to face him, cradling me in one palm. “YOU DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT, STUART, DO YOU? LOOK AT HIM; HE’S TOO WEAK TO WASH HIMSELF.”

Stuart nodded and looked away. “THAT’S FAIR ENOUGH,” Then, gesturing vaguely, said: “I JUST WONDERED IF IT MADE JERRY UNCOMFORTABLE…”

Her smooth laugh interrupted him. “WHY WOULD IT? JERRY AND I ARE JUST REALLY GOOD FRIENDS.”

Stuart didn’t advance a better argument – to my frustration – so, without another look back, Jennifer strode down the hallway, carrying me in one hand.

Entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind her, she placed me down on the sink counter for a moment while she started running the shower. As the sound of the gushing water filled the room, I walked up to the mirrored wall behind the sink, peering at myself.

I had light stubble growing back from my previous shave, and I wasn’t looking forward to getting another any time soon. At my size, shaving tools were too clumsy and dangerous, and at first I had let my hair grow out. But then Jennifer noticed and began to fuss; she didn’t want me looking like some kind of tiny Tarzan, so she devised a strategy to shave me. The first time she doped me up on painkillers (crushing them up in my food, unbeknownst to me) and then carefully placed waxed strips over my beard and ripped them off. Even through the painkillers I was howling enough to cause Stuart to come out and look. After he had been satisfied I wasn’t in danger and left, Jennifer threatened to wax my whole body if I made any more ‘melodramatic’ noises.

Luckily, she permitted the stubble to grow out some before looking to make repeat attempts.

Cutting my hair was a more straightforward matter; she used a pair of clippers, which was far less uncomfortable than being waxed, although the vibration of the clipper guard caused my eyeballs to bounce around inside my head.

Reflected behind me in the mirror, Jennifer was stripping off her clothes. Naturally, she did this without a hint of inhibition, as if she was completely alone in the bathroom. My feet shifted awkwardly over the cold cultured marble I was standing on. She was right there on one side, and duplicated in the mirror on the other side – there was nowhere for me to turn without seeing her somehow.

But I stared for another reason: she looked different somehow, better – if that was possible. Watching her skin tighten and her muscles flex as she pulled off each article of clothing, it struck me that she must have been working out lately. It seemed to me to be a good sign: she was in a good frame of mind, she was taking care of herself, and trying to look good for Stuart (though she didn’t need to try hard, in my opinion). It was like a kind of test I set for myself: if I could look at her naked and endure showering with her, without flinching, I could prove to myself, her and everyone that I was over her.

Once she was nude, she came up to the sink, and the bare surface of her abdomen moved up in front of me like a wall, with her full breasts dangling prominently just over my head. She stared down at my still clothed form with exasperation.

“COME ON! WATER’S RUNNING!”

Pushing down my discomfort, I began to take off my clothes. The instant my underwear was at my ankles, her hand thrust forward and nabbed me. I was jerked through the air as she spun around and entered the shower cubicle.

The hot water pattered down like hailstone sized water droplets. And it was really hot – just the way Jennifer liked her showers. I, on the other hand liked mine cool.

“Aaaagghh!” I screamed, trying to bury my head against her hand.

“CALM DOWN,” she said as she fiddled around to moderate the temperature.

"What are you trying to do? Wash me or cook me?"

“IT’S ONLY WATER. IT’S NOT GOING TO KILL YOU.”

I knew I was over-reacting, but she didn’t understand the hazard of everyday situations was magnified when you were tiny, not to mention, powerlessly trapped in someone’s fist. It was better to over-stress than under-react and die. No wonder small animals were so wired up and respirated so fast.

While Jennifer worked the water, I found myself ensconced in her grip, suspended upside down against her outer thigh while her other hand twisted the valves. She had now positioned herself under the water, blocking me from it, although I still felt the misty spray that bounced off her body against me.

As the blood ran into my head it gave me a little more clarity of mind.

Wow, I thought to myself. What happened to you, Jerry? You used to be cool. Back when we were dating, Jennifer could have beat her fists against my chest and I wouldn’t even blink. Now I was shrieking my head off over a bit of hot water. This horrible affliction of size was turning me into a different person.

With the temperature fixed, Jennifer placed me up on the soap dish while she let the water run through her hair.

Now I was suffering from the opposite problem: while Jennifer luxuriated under the direct warm water, everywhere else it was cold. Getting the burst of hot water initially was worse than nothing at all; it made the dry air seem chill by comparison. I began to shiver, but didn’t say anything. This whole situation was demeaning enough; I needed to salvage the scraps of my manhood by acting and looking like a grown-up.

She had her back turned away from me while she put some shampoo into her hand, before turning and bowing her head out from the spray in order to rub the shampoo into her hair, while the water cascaded down her back.

She lowered her hands a moment and stood with her eyes closed.

“DID I MISS A SPOT?” she said, referring to the shampoo in her hair. I crawled to the edge of the soap dish and stared out at the frothy ropey coil of her hair, trailing down onto one of her breasts, sending rivulets of soapy water down her stomach into her shaved mound. For whatever reason, water running over a naked female body was a particular trigger for me. It was my thang. Or, one of them. And at my current size, this weakness of mine hit fever pitch levels, as the wet female body resembled a monumental fountain art installation.

I was almost about to mutter something like ‘Oh, I wasn’t looking,’ when I stopped.

Dumb, I scolded myself. She knows you’re looking. You know you’re looking. Who are you kidding? You need to look at her and not flinch away, remember?

Still with her eyes closed, she turned a little in my direction, pointing her breasts like at me like the front ends of two blimps.

“JERRY?”

One of her hands snaked out blindly over the soap dish, groping for me, and her finger accidentally poked me roughly in the face.

“Ow!” I gasped, pressing my palms over my nose and eyes. It felt like I’d been head-butted by a horse.

She pulled her hand back.

“SORRY, BUT WHAT GIVES? I ASKED YOU A QUESTION. DON’T MAKE ME WONDER IF YOU’VE DROWNED.”

“Your hair’s fine,” I said, after my nose had stopped throbbing.

She moved back under the showerhead to wash the shampoo out, which began to stream down her body like a foaming waterfall.

Once it had all washed out of her hair, she went to grab the bar of soap, which was with me on the soap dish.

Her hand was suddenly flying towards me. I quickly hopped up and pressed myself against the back of the dish as her fingers swept over the bar of soap and flexed for grip. However, her fingers slicked off the side of the soap in my direction, briefly crushing me against the cubicle wall I was backed against. I let out a small wheeze of air.

Lifting the soap, she eyed me for a second.

“THERE’S NO A LOT OF SPACE FOR YOU UP THERE,” she observed, not realizing the firm impact her fingers had applied to my groaning chest. “MAYBE I SHOULD PUT YOU ON THE GROUND.”

“What? That’s even more dangerous!”

“NO, LISTEN; IF YOU FELL DOWN FROM THERE, YOU COULD GET REALLY HURT.”

That settled the matter in her view, and, even as I began to protest, she passed up against the soap dish to collect me. Then she paused, noticing me shivering and her eyes softened.

“AWWW, BABY,” she said, giving a small whine, “I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE COLD. WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?”

My heart plunged into the pit of my stomach. She hadn’t called me ‘baby’ since we’d been together. She really needed to get a grip on these careless slips of the tongue, otherwise it would get really confusing, really quickly.

Her hand rose up over the edge of the soap dish from below, like some great white shark jumping up onto a boat – and like a shark, keen to ensnare me in its grip. Because her hand was wet and slippery, she curled her fingers around me extra tightly, making it difficult for me to get air in. My insides swooped as I found myself dropping rapidly through the air as Jennifer crouched down and placed me on the polished white base of the shower. She had her feet brought together; leaving a small gap in between, into which she carefully slotted me.

The soles of my feet were planted on the smooth acrylic floor, with most of my body walled in on either side by the inside edges of her arches, which reached up to my mid torso, leaving my head and neck free.

I made the mistake of looking up to find her face and got an immediate view of her darkened labia and the crevice running between them. Her mound was practically hanging directly over my head. I whipped my head down again, but now I could hear the water gushing in a thick stream down the curve of her rump.

As she stood up straight again, her legs stiffened, and her arches tightened considerably around my middle, flexing in against my body like I was toothpaste she was trying to squeeze me out of the tube. For a couple of seconds I couldn’t breathe, my blood vessels were throbbing in my neck and around my temples, my muscles were painfully conforming to the curves of her feet –

Then she regained full height, her foot muscles relaxed around me again. In relief, I shut my eyes and lifted my face up to take in a deep breath of air.  Thick drops of soapy water splattered between my lips and raced down my throat. My pharynx recoiled at the floral alkaline taste, and I began to spit and gag.

Cracking my eyes open and staring up, I was met with a startling view straight up the front of her body, framed by the two swollen bumps of her breasts hanging way above, jiggling faintly as she lathered the soap over herself. She was currently in the process of rubbing the bar of soap back and forth and around her armpit – the runoff of which had just spilled down my throat. As I gazed up at her, more of this suddy spill-off spattered into my eyes.

I yanked my face down and shook my head like a dog as my eyes began to prickle and sting – I couldn’t wipe my eyes because my arms were pressed against my sides by her firm arches.

Jennifer must have felt me moving around between her feet, because she then said, in an offhand way:

“YOU OKAY DOWN THERE?”

“I’d be better if you put me back on the soap dish,” I said, trying to forget the fact that the spout of water now drumming onto the crown of my head was raining directly down from her pussy, while huge drops of water pounded around me like a rainstorm.

“NOT HAPPENING. YOU’RE STAYING RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE, MISTER.”

As if to emphasize this, her feet squished me a little between them, and I felt my chest cave in worryingly for a second.

She continued to soap her body. At one point my impatience got the better of me, and I looked up to see her cradling one giant breast in her palm while she massaged the soap all over it. The steady, indulgent way she stroked it, it was almost like her breast was a pet cat. The surprise shuddered through my chest and lingered in my dick, which began to pulse.

I couldn’t forget the scene even if I tried; as she lifted and positioned her breast under the shower spray, the water collected into a thick spout which streamed off her nipple and hit the top of my head with the force of a sharp poke, like someone rudely trying to get my attention.

For an extended few minutes she leisurely worked over herself with the soap. She normally would not have taken so long in the shower except that we were going out. It didn’t take long before I was able to intuit a pattern of knowing when to breathe and when to close my eyes hold my air in as the soapy water thickly ran over my face. All the while, the muscles of her feet tensed and shifted against me as she subtly adjusted her balance, smoothly transferring her weight from one foot to the other. Her powerful arches rocked against my arms, gently squeezing my ribcage in and out.

Trying to endure these sensations without reaction, I concentrated on the shower glass fogging up, and then the trails of water cutting through the fog.

Above, there was the clap of the soap bar being placed back in the dish. An instant later, the arches hemming me in began to stiffen and dig into me on either side. She was crouching down, the muscles in her feet tensing mercilessly as a result. The pressure began to build up against me like two walls closing in.

As my puny body contracted inward, my muscles bending and aching, my heartbeat seemed to jump up out of my chest and pound inside my head.

Get off get off get off I found myself repeating in a desperate mantra. My face must have been going red, veins twitching against my scalp, and as I gritted my teeth a sound escaped my throat – grrrrnnnngggg – as if I was trying to lay an egg.  

The huge tips of a pointer and middle finger pressed against my collarbone while a thumb braced itself between my shoulderblades. Keeping my chest firmly between them, they lifted, but misjudging how firmly in place I was, accidentally slid off me, causing her pointer finger to strike me upside the jaw, snapping my head back.

Her toes curled as she winced, not realizing this flexion in her feet placed extra stress on my already overburdened frame.

“THAT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN,” she said under her breath. From her point of view, it must have looked like she’d only bumped my head with her finger. She didn’t appear to realize that from my perspective, it was like being smacked by an undercut punch. Stars were wheeling around my eyes. Another one of those suckers and my jaw was going to end up in two separate pieces.

And this was in addition to the incredible discomfort of being squeezed between her feet. Finally the pressure relaxed as she spread her feet apart.

A sharp tingling sensation ran over my whole body before my legs quivered and gave out. The white shower basin wavered and raced at my face, but just as I was going to smack into it, a big soft hand pulled around my body and launched me up into the air.  

My head felt heavy on my neck, and I held it limply as the blood started to circulate my body again. My stomach was twitching like I was going to be sick, and it didn’t help that it was full of soapy water.

Jennifer’s enormous dripping face scrutinized me.

“WOW, YOU WERE PACKED IN THERE LIKE A SARDINE,” she said with an oblivious calmness. “I DIDN’T HURT YOU DID I?”

She got her answer as I grimaced with another wave of sickness that coursed through me like a rollercoaster. A surge of warm air fanned over me, and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself tilted up at her jaw, my face lined up with her lips.

“LET ME KISS YOU BETTER,” she murmured. The firm pressure of a fingertip supported the back of my head as she bowed her face and at the same time lifted me so her lips and my face met in the middle. I recoiled, but with her fingers wrapped around my back, I couldn’t avoid it. There was an almost imperceptible moist smooching sound against my ears as my face disappeared entirely from sight under the puckered mass of her lips.

The top of my head bumped the septum of her nose and my hair must have tickled her because she chuckled and I was whipped down from her face again. This happened so reflexively that the air around my face seemed to blur before something whapped me right in the mouth. It was soft and rubbery, and didn’t hurt, but made me flinch nonetheless.

My pulse was galloping as I stared up at the path my head has just taken, from her mouth to her abdomen, which I was now held against, and was faced with the unavoidable conclusion that my face had just struck her nipple. Since it was positioned out of the water, the cold air had made it harden up into a point. It was that point that my head had unintentionally been flicked against when she whipped me away from her nose. It was unclear whether she felt it or not (and how could she not have?), but she stared at me for an extended moment to the point of making me uncomfortable.

I wondered if she was going to rib me about making the acquaintance of one of her ‘twins.’ But she said nothing, and that somehow made it more awkward. Then the moment passed.

“THERE, ALL BETTER,” she said, after she’d rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “NOW I NEED YOU TO CHECK MY BACK.”

“What?” I said, confused.

Holding me in one hand, she moved me around behind her mid back.

“I CAN’T SEE BACK THERE AND IT’S DIFFICULT TO REACH.”

She relaxed her arm slightly, causing me to be lowered, giving me a scrolling view of her back, and the long shining black rope of her wet hair, until I was level with her lower back, where the black became an ombré blending into her natural pale hair color at the tapered tip. She kept her back mostly out of the shower stream, but a thin trail of water ran down her back and over the smooth globes of her backside. I’d never been this close to her butt before at this size – least of all, when it was bare.

Her voice snapped me back to reality.

“JERRY! TELL ME: DO YOU NOTICE ANYTHING?”

“What am I supposed to be noticing?” I said. My voice came out shaky and hoarse. I quickly cleared my throat.

“WHETHER I MISSED WASHING THE SOAP OFF ANY PARTS OF MY BACK.”

“It looks fine.”

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN LOOKING PROPERLY, ARE YOU?”

Her arm relaxed once more until I was sliding down against the curvaceous mounds of her butt, right down the middle. First I felt my feet sliding against the slippery smooth flesh, and I kept them spread apart so neither accidentally got wedged in her crack. Then my legs and knees were grazing the padded surfaces of her butt cheeks, and then she let me drift down a little more, and my heart thumped ahead double time as I realized what was about to happen a moment before it did.

By this point, my dick had completely decoupled from my mind. At the stimulation, a hair’s breadth away from her butt crack, it was unbearably hard, straining against itself like a dog pulling against a leash. Her arm relaxed a little more, and –

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…!

In one fluid motion, my ramrod stiff dick slipped neatly between the soap lubricated butt cheeks, and into the narrow shadowy valley of her crack. My throat was dry in an instant.

After swallowing my member whole, her rear acted as a powerful seal around my shaft, which was now throbbing out of control.

Possibly sensing the intrusion, she rocked on the balls of her feet, shifting her weight back and forth, which caused her butt cheeks to smoothly grip and work my member like a fist. I let out a sharp breath. A storm of different feelings raced through me: lust, alarm, confusion, frustration. One part of my brain was demanding that I pull myself out as quickly as possible, another part sorely wanted her to keep squeezing me. As both parts struggled for dominance, my brain shut down until all that remained were just unconscious motor actions: weak struggling, thrusting myself into her, groaning.

There was no way she couldn’t feel me pushing into her, but the implication of that was too much for me to bear: that I didn’t know her as well I thought; that she wanted to cheat on Stuart with me; that she thought of me as nothing more than a toy. But her cheeks had my penis cinched so firmly, squeezing and stretching it rhythmically, and the feeling pulsating through me was pure heaven, the rest of the room sailed miles away into a fuzzy silence broken only by the thumping in my ears. As the sensations intensified, I was moving fast towards completion, fulfillment, and the promise of a bliss I hadn’t enjoyed in what seemed like a very long time –

“WHAT’S IT LIKE BACK THERE?” she said calmly. “NOTICING ANYTHING?”

I didn’t reply, except for a long, whining moan.

Her body seemed to tense and then her arm began to move me away from her butt; the firm cheeks gave my overstimulated member a good long stretch as it was pulled out. I gasped as cool air hit the front of my body.  

She maneuvered me in her hands until I was in front of her again. Her fingers curled around my back, and as her thumb went to press against my front, it accidentally brushed past my hardened penis. I let out a small noise before I could help it.

“OH.” She muttered as her eyes fell on my manhood. Then she smiled wryly. “I CAN’T TAKE MY EYES OFF YOU FOR ONE SECOND, CAN I?”

I just shook my head, unable to meet her eyes. My cheeks burned with shame. I’d failed the challenge I set for myself spectacularly. Did she plan on using this against me? What if she told Stuart? Would he be angry at me? Half-baked thoughts whizzed through my head in a panicked flurry.

“WHAT’S THIS, HUH?” She said coolly, playfully wiggling her finger against my thumping, frustrated erection.

“Not funny,” I said tersely.

“I WASN’T TRYING TO BE.”

“I mean it! You’re fucking around with me!” I suddenly exploded. My head throbbed with anger, maybe from being denied release, or maybe from being put in that position in the first place. “Stop it! Just stop it!” As I said this, I was surprised to find my beats beating helplessly against her fingers.

If we couldn’t be together I’d have rathered her to treat me dispassionately than this game-playing, which was like a form of torture. She obviously couldn’t see that I carried these lingering feelings for her, and her joking around was making things unbearably worse. If this kept up, I didn’t see how I could continue to live with her anymore, otherwise I would be driven crazy. But there was no way of escaping, either. It was maddening; I felt like an animal who lived in a tree that was about to be cut down.

She regarded me for a moment, her face blank. Her previously soft grasp around me had started to turn stiff.

“I STILL NEED TO WASH YOU.”

“No!” I shook my head emphatically. “I’m done! You basically pissed soap on me the whole time you were washing yourself.”

Her eyes seemed to recede behind a mask.

“OKAY.”

She promptly turned the water off and lightly stepped out of the shower. Putting me, naked and dripping, on the sink counter, she pulled out the hairdryer and switched it on.

The sound roared through my skull like a freight train. I hunched up, drawing my legs against my chest, and said nothing.

For a little while she stood in front of the mirror naked as she dried her hair, not looking at me. Afterwards, she wrapped a towel around her torso and padded back out into the living room, putting me down in my regular place, next to my sponge bed on the table. Then, without a word, she went back down the hall and I heard her bedroom door shut.

She’d forgotten to give me a towel, so I picked up the hand towel on my sponge bed, and used it to dry myself. Then I started to try on the toy tuxedo, which surprisingly fit, more or less. The suit even came with a little pair of shiny black derby shoes, though these were made of rubber, like Crocs.

Within a moment Stuart came in, now dressed in a blue suit and black tie.

“HEY,” he said as soon as he noticed me, even giving me the air guns. “SNAPPY.”

Jennifer took a little while longer. I heard her move from her bedroom back into the bathroom to put on make-up.

Stuart took a seat on the sofa and flipped on the TV. I watched it disinterestedly. Stuart watched the clock.

Shortly, heels resounded down the hallway and Jennifer emerged at the other end, now dressed in her formal wear, and her face made up.

Stuart stared at her.

I stared at her.

She looked good without effort. And now she had put in effort.

She was wearing a midnight cocktail dress with a skirt resting above the knee. It had a mermaid shape, hugging and accentuating an hourglass figure as she walked, defining her round hips, and ending with a pleated skirt. The bust of her dress squeezed her breasts and made them jump out at the eyes. A pair of black slingbacks were on her feet, exposing her heels and newly polished toes, my recent craftsmanship on full display. Her hair was piled back over her head and though it was normally straight she’d even managed to give it a stylishly windblown look.

At my size, she looked like a model who’d walked off a building sized billboard. Any corporate advertiser should have been racing to stick their product in her manicured hands.

“WOW,” said Stuart, jumping to his feet and striding up to her. “YOU LOOK GREAT, HONEY.”

“OH, COME ON,” she said, impatiently. “YOU’D SAY THAT IF I WAS WEARING SWEATPANTS AND HAD NO BRA ON.”

“I MEAN IT.”

She stood in front of him, fixing his tie.

I couldn’t help but feel Stuart’s appraisal didn’t do her any justice. She wasn’t ‘wow’ she was hotter than Venus – both the planet and the Roman Goddess. I hadn’t felt such heated desire for her since the early days of our dating when I wanted to jump her all hours of the day, and it brought me right back with a jolt, like I really had gone back in Remy’s machine. At least, mentally. Those days had long run away – why hadn’t I held them tighter?

Slipping past Stuart, Jennifer marched up to the table and stood over me, making sure my outfit was in order.

Before I could react she deposited a drop of saliva on the end of her finger and and, to my chagrin, began using it to smooth my hair.

“YOU LOOK JUST LIKE JAMES BOND,” she purred.

“Sure,” I said, thinking of my size. “But I feel sillier than Austin Powers.”

"YOU MUST FEEL PRETTY LUCKY, JEN," Stuart said lightly, "HAVING TWO INCREDIBLY HANDSOME MEN TO TAKE YOU OUT."

Her lips pursed in a veiled smile as she looked away. “I’D FEEL EVEN LUCKIER IF – ” her eyes drifted past the clock, “—OH, NEVER MIND, WE’VE GOT TO GO NOW OR WE’LL BE LATE.”

She took me up in her hand as she swept past the table, and we shortly left the house.

We all sat in the car, Stuart driving and Jennifer sitting shotgun. I sat on Jennifer’s lap, with her hand gripping me in lieu of a seatbelt. She had the elbow of her other arm resting on the top of the door panel her hand cradling her head, and was staring out the window disinterestedly, not appearing to be listening as Stuart engaged in lively banter about some funny story one of his work colleagues had told him. But judging from Jennifer’s silence, it was missing the mark. I knew from personal experience how difficult it was to make Jennifer laugh. It required an almost aggressive sexual wit, and some other mystery ingredient I still hadn’t figured out. Stuart possessed neither. He had a vanilla sense of humor, and seemed to regard sexual humor as beneath him.

And it struck me this wasn’t the time for joking: it was evident he’d lamentably forgotten all about the remark Jennifer had made as we had been leaving. Or the remark she hadn’t made. I couldn’t stop mulling over it during the drive to the restaurant. It had almost sounded like she was about to throw out a hint to Stuart that she wanted him to propose to her.

Damn, son! I thought. Take a hint!

It put me in an awkward position to know this, when Stuart did not. It was their business, but on the other hand, I could use my position as leverage. I held the power of a miniature cupid. If I was to gently help Stuart read Jennifer’s mind, and respond to her hints before they grew cold like last night’s dinner, he might help me arrange my own separate lodging. After all, I had enough money to hire live-in staff to help take care of me; help me bathe and feed myself. Or I could buy modified domestic facilities: a tiny shower, cooking equipment, fridge, lots of ramps and little stairs.

But I still needed someone to help get the ball rolling on moving out of their place, and I didn’t feel comfortable asking Jennifer. She would probably take it as an insult; like I was inferring she didn’t look after me properly.

We pulled up outside the Golden Calf, a big neon lit building. The place was as I remembered it; a cabaret-nightclub style venue where neon lights bathed tables in flamingo pinks and electric blues, and gaudy provincial chandeliers were suspended overhead.

"WOWIE," muttered Stuart, staring around. "WHERE’D YOU HEAR ABOUT THIS PLACE, JERRY?”

“Didn’t just hear about it. I’ve been here. Many times.” After a quick, confused look by Stuart, I added: “Back when I was normal size, I mean.”

“IT LOOKS LIKE A CASINO THREW UP ON ITSELF,” said Jennifer. “WHY WOULD YOU EVER WANT TO COME HERE?”

“You don’t like it?” I said, having to speak up over the restaurant din to get heard.

“OF COURSE I LIKE IT. I SAID, WHY WOULD YOU EVER WANT TO COME HERE?”

“I was in a weird place when I came upon it...I was trying to…” get over you, I thought inwardly. It was the only way I could think of finding another Jennifer: go to a place where someone like her might be found. Ostentatious. Of course I kept that part to myself.

I quickly changed tack. “It’s got a dance floor across the room, with an indoor balcony – fun, right?”

A waiter led us over to the wooden booth we had reserved. Stuart chose one seat and for some reason, Jennifer slid in beside him, instead of, for instance, taking the opposite seat. I was placed down on the part of the table opposite them, at the empty opposite seat. Then again, they probably did this to give me my own space on the table, I decided. But it would mean they’d be both staring down at me, instead of facing each other, which made me uncomfortable. At least the lights and the noise of the venue gave me some distraction. And anyway, the two of them were deliberating over the menu for the time being.

A tall figure swept by our table and stopped; an amply chested blonde who happened to be our waitress. Her hair was done up in a ‘high ponytail’ on top of her head, encircled by a thick band instead of a hairtie, and she was dressed in an armless corset designed to accentuate the bust and hourglass figure, underwear pants and whopping block heels. All she needed was an ostrich plume headdress and she was ready to jump on the stage and start dancing. Just your standard issue Golden Calf waitress attire.

Also the place had this policy about hiring young attractive female waitresses, figuring if the airlines did it, then why not a restaurant? Except the Golden Calf went one step further than commercial airlines and dressed their staff skimpy. It was one of the things that had drawn me in after my split with Jennifer. The need for distraction.

“ARE YOU GUYS READY TO ORDER?” the cute waitress said with a charming smile. Then she spotted me, and her eyes went round. My muscles seized up as if, for a split second I expected her to say ‘eeek, what is that?!’ and start spraying me with pesticide.

But instead her mouth stretched in a broad grin that showed her dazzling teeth.

“YOU’RE THAT GUY FROM THE TV – UHHHMM – JERRY, RIGHT?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said slowly. She was standing on my side of the table, hovering right over me, and I began to unconsciously scoot away from her as a means of escaping the feeling she was going to collapse on top of me.

“CAN I GET A PICTURE WITH YOU?” She went on, already pulling out her phone.

“Uh, sure,” I shrugged. Her smartphone was waving around above my head and I was growing increasingly alarmed by the notion that she could accidentally drop it straight down on top of me, which would probably feel like being hit with a surfboard.

Before I – or anyone – could protest, the girl’s hand swooped down and snatched me up off the table. Grasping me between varnished fingertips, she then held me right up against her soft, faintly rouged cheek as she smiled and snapped a photo.

“THANK YOU!” she gushed, putting her phone away. She turned her head towards me and – because I was already so close to her face – I found myself face to face with her plush pink lips. I could almost see my reflection in the shine of her lipstick.

I flinched, and she giggled at me, fanning me with her breath as her voice rumbled painfully into my ears:

“OHMIGOSH, YOU ARE EVEN CUTER IN REAL LIFE!”

Before I knew it, her lips smacked against my cheek in an eager kiss. I put my hands up to gently push her off, and she just giggled and cooed at me again; seemingly amused by my embarrassment.

“YOU’RE SO TINY YOU COULD FIT IN THE POCKET OF A PAIR OF PANTS. IT MUST BE SO FUN CARRYING YOU AROUND!”

Then, petting my head with her finger, she put me back down on the table. Quickly composing herself again, she took Stuart and Jennifer’s orders. Jennifer sounded a little detached after witnessing the surprise fangirl moment, though neither Stuart nor the waitress seemed to notice.

The spotlight of the waitress’s attention slid back over to me. Her expression was markedly different than when she was looking at Stuart or Jennifer. When she looked at me, her expression changed as if she was viewing a baby animal.

“WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE, HANDSOME?” she said with a big smile.

I had no idea. The food size issue had completely slipped my mind until now. When I did not respond she said:

“IT LOOKS LIKE A GRAPE COULD FILL YOU UP, HONEY.” As she said this, she gave my stomach a soft poke. “WHY DON’T I TALK TO THE KITCHEN AND SEE IF WE CAN SORT SOMETHING OUT FOR YOU. LEAVE IT WITH ME, OKAY?”

I thanked her. She gave me a quick wink as she went away again. Stuart also thanked her as she left. Jennifer did not.

In the silence left in the wake of the waitress’s departure, Stuart cracked his knuckles over the table awkwardly.

“THIS ISN’T ONE OF THOSE, ER…” his cheeks reddened slightly, “…B-BREASTURANT TYPE THINGS? LIKE HOOTERS?”

I stared. Stuart was so straitlaced and vanilla he couldn’t even say the word ‘breasturant’ without a weak smile. Nothing wrong with him; modesty’s no sin. It’s just – how did Jennifer ever end up with him?

“No, not like Hooters,” I said. “This is classier.”

“I’M NOT SEEING IT,” Jennifer said tersely.

“Well, maybe if you look the waitress in the face next time,” I retorted, unable to help myself. Stuart drew in a breath like he could’ve never imagined saying something like that. While Jennifer’s fingers snaked behind my shoulder and closed very delicately around my ear, giving it a small but sharp tug, jerking my head.

“Ow!” I went to open my mouth angrily but then shut it again; unpleasantly aware she was capable of easily ripping my ear off if she wanted.

The venue wasn’t too busy, and it didn’t take long before the waitress returned with the meals.

In addition to Stuart and Jennifer’s normal sized plates, she had a number of what appeared to be tiny bowls for me, which were actually measuring spoons with the handles broken off. She arranged them on the table in front of me: one of them contained soup, another tiny pieces of herbed dipping bread, and another larger one contained finely sliced meat and vegetables. She also gave me a tiny metal salt spoon to eat with.

She seemed very pleased with the arrangement, or maybe she was thrilled to have another excuse to interact with me.

“YOU WOULD LOOK SO ADORABLE SITTING IN A LITTLE DOLLHOUSE!” she said, watching me pick up my tiny spoon. Stuart was trying to keep his eyes on the waitress's face, and nowhere else. Jennifer was avoiding looking at her entirely. Before leaving our table, the waitress reached down with an extended finger and, before I could stop her, gave me a quick tickle under the chin.

The two of them engaged in light conversation as they ate, while I finished my bread. When there was a lull in the conversation, Jennifer’s fork came shooting across the table at me – in its own right a steel instrument of death that could’ve lanced clean through my body. It was one of those gestures she didn’t realize was frightening at my level.

One of the prongs had had some crumbs of food impaled on the end.

“YOU WANT TO TRY SOME?” she said. I had enough food of my own, but didn’t say no.

She held the tip of the fork in front of my face. Trying to ignore the steel prongs staring me in the eyeballs, I went to bite the morsel off. She immediately pulled the fork back, chuckling as my mouth closed on nothing. She pulled this same trick another two times, with me growing increasingly irate, until I finally swiped the food off the fork with my hand.

Stuart just shook his head.

After we finished eating, Jennifer showed interest in the indoor balcony dance floor I’d mentioned earlier, and quickly managed to cajole Stuart into joining her for a dance. After all, ‘cajole’ was her middle name.

“WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A DANCE, JERRY,” Stuart said, smiling and squeezing Jennifer’s hand as they both stood up. “WILL YOU BE ALRIGHT HERE ON YOUR OWN?”

“Absolutely,” I said. I definitely did not want to be ‘on them’ for that. I could see myself humiliatingly kept in Stuart’s pocket or gripped in Jennifer’s hand as they nuzzled and kissed and pressed against each other. I might as well jump in their bed with them as well.

The ‘reserved’ sign on the table gave them some measure of comfort no one would steal our seats in their absence.

After they’d gone, the waitress returned to clear the dishes. Seeing me alone on the table, she froze and I sensed her posture change. Her whole body, and her attention, turned at me, like a sweeping spotlight suddenly stopping right on top of me.

My body was surrounded by warm pressure, and in the blink of an eye I was levitating up towards her face.

“WHERE ARE YOUR CARERS?” she asked with earnest concern. Her huge eyes observed me closely under the long lashes.

“They’re over on the dance floor,” I replied. My mouth felt dry and I swallowed hard. “They’ll probably be back soon.”

Her features broadened in my visual field as I was brought up even closer to her face so she could hear me over the restaurant noise.

“OH, THAT’S GOOD,” she said, sounding relieved. “I WAS WORRIED THEY’D ABANDONED YOU,” she smiled slyly, “THEN YOU WOULD HAVE HAD TO COME HOME WITH ME IN MY HANDBAG, WOULDN’T YOU?”

I had no reply for that. Her sweet perfume was clouding up my thoughts.

She brought me up to her face and nuzzled her nose into my chest. “YOU ARE JUST SO, SO TEENY TINY,” she said in a kind of babying voice, “IF I WAS YOUR CARER, I WOULD PUT YOU IN MY POCKET SO JUST YOUR HEAD WAS POKING OUT, AND PET YOU ALL THE TIME…”

She fussed and puckered her lips at me for a moment. Then her voice grew more serious.

“I WANTED TO DO THIS SINCE I SAW YOU,” she confessed. “DON’T GET MAD, OKAY?”

Before I could say anything, one of her long lacquered fingernails untucked my shirt from my pants, and lifted it up until my bare chest was exposed.

“WOW, YOU REALLY ARE AS CHISELED AS ON TV!” she said, admiring my torso, blushing a little.

Cradling me in one hand, she moved her other hand over my body, and her fingertip ran over my torso, probing different muscles. Without warning, she used that same fingertip to tickle my sides and belly. Being tickled by a giant was like tickling on steroids; the feeling of vulnerability was in overdrive.

Only once I was red in the face and panting did she stop, and then I was brought back up to her face.

“CAN I HAVE A LITTLE PARTING KISS?” she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me.

She moved my head in close as she puckered her lips and closed her eyes expectantly. Resigned, I pushed my head forward and kissed her lips, or at least, one of them. My face had to go in so close that I smelled the candied aroma of her shining lip gloss. Some of it came off on my mouth like syrup.

Once the waitress had left, I hide behind the wine menu – a laminated card which was propped up on a wooden holder – in case any other waitstaff passed by. Gingerly sitting down, I leaned back against the menu, feeling full and sleepy from my meal. But at my shrunken state, I digested meals faster, so this feeling didn’t take too long to subside. The tiredness, however, lingered a little longer. And the sadness.

My thoughts jumped back to that night at the Portugal when I’d seen Jennifer and Stuart dancing and my gut had plunged with resentment and self-pity. It was happening all over again, but now I was in an even worse picture. I was shrunk. I was even further from getting back with Jennifer than I had been then. But I couldn’t totally escape her either.

I was locked into a pathetic limbo spiral of being close to her, yet at the same time, being immeasurably far away. I either had to get her back fully or get over her fully. There was no compromise. The shrinking had practically demolished the former option, but – through ironic tragedy – my indefinite lodging with her prevented the latter. I was being drawn to her with one hand and pushed away with the other. Getting closer and closer and farther and farther at the same time. And the spiral was getting narrower and narrower, tighter and tighter. Like the mystical Oozlum bird I would soon be neck deep in my own butt. I would forever be doomed in some liminal not-quite-human-but-not-quite-house-pet world, grovelling for the leftover table scraps of Jennifer’s affections whilst being constantly reminded that I never had a proper seat at the table.

It was bad. Really bad. Worse than any other previous period of my life. And I decided then and there I would get serious and do something about it. I was going to pull myself out by the bootstraps.

…Not now, obviously, but tomorrow. Starting tomorrow. Somehow.

Sometime later, Jennifer returned to the table. I came out from behind the menu to see she was now alone, carrying one normal-sized lime green cocktail in one hand, and a shot glass full of dark brown foaming liquid in the other. She dropped back into her seat, putting the cocktail in front of her, and placing the full shot glass in front of me.

“I didn’t want a drink,” I said shaking my head.

“WELL YOU GOT IT NOW, BUSTER, SO DON’T WASTE IT.”

Her tone bothered me. Then I noticed her expression. Her eyes were sunken behind her lashes, dusky, smoldering. It was a dangerous look.

She met my eyes.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE, JERRY,” she said tightly.

“Something wrong?”

She shook her head and was silent for a moment. After taking a sip of her drink, she finally said:

“STUART’S FOUND AN OLD FRIEND OF HIS.” Her brows met faintly. “FEMALE. HE SAYS SHE’S JUST A FRIEND. BUT IF YOU ASK ME, IT’S AN EX.”

I cringed. Catching up with another girl in front of Jennifer was riskier than punching a beehive. Stuart’s naivety continued to astound. But I also couldn’t help to feel a secret thrill of amusement at her jealousy of Stuart. It was how I felt seeing her with him at the Portugal.

After downing more of her cocktail, she added:

“HE BUMPED ME OFF TO HAVE A DANCE WITH THAT – ” her eyebrow quirked thoughtfully as she reconsidered her words, “—HARLOT.”

I let out a long breath. “I can get you out of here, but it’ll be very slow going.”

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO CALL UP A HOT AIR BALLOON TO LAND ON THE ROOF.”

“What about if I grab onto a party balloon and you walk beside?”

Sometimes goofy humor worked to defuse her anger, sometimes it didn’t. This time it didn’t. She frowned, sinking back into her seat and folding her arms. This was deeper than Stuart’s ‘friend’, I intuited. Something had started this from before, maybe even before the waitress.

“What’s that?” I said, pointing at her drink, trying to get her mind off whatever the issue was.

“DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON.”

“It looks like it has absinthe in it.”

“APPARENTLY.”

My eyebrows jumped up. With caution. I didn’t want to admit it, but the prospect of Jennifer being drunk was almost as hazardous to my health as the prospect of me being drunk. Whether I liked it or not, my wellbeing depended on her (and Stuart) to be delicate and considerate around me, and not like blundering bulls.

“That’s stiff.”

She stared at me calmly. “AND?”

“You shouldn’t slosh yourself because you’re pissed off at Stuart.”

“WHO SAID I WAS PISSED OFF AT STUART?” came the cool reply.

I made a ‘whatever’ face and looked away.

“IT’S FINE,” she said. “STUART’S DRIVING. AND HE DOESN’T DRINK ANYTHING HEAVIER THAN ORANGE JUICE – HE’S EVEN CAREFUL ABOUT COFFEE.” She flashed me a look. “HE’S ALMOST AS LIGHTWEIGHT AS YOU.”

“No one’s as lightweight as me, I weigh less than one kilogram. Anyway,” I carried on casually, “it might surprise you to learn that I started experimenting a little more in that department after we split – ”

Jennifer made a face. “’SPLIT’ IS AN UGLY WORD, JERRY. VIOLENT. CAN’T YOU SAY ‘TOOK A BREAK?’”

“That has the wrong connotation.”

“IF YOU’VE STARTED DRINKING MORE, WHY HAVE YOU BARELY TOUCHED YOUR DRINK?”

“The accident changed my metabolism. I get drunk easily now. Even adjusting for portion size.”  

“I SEE.”

Jennifer wasn’t looking at me. She was staring intently at her ‘Y’ shaped champagne flute now, running her thumb around the rim.

“It’s the same with coffee. Can’t have too much. I get worked up like the Energizer Bunny.”

She nodded at the shot glass, looking from it to me. “NOT EVEN A TINY BIT?”

“I realize you’re the most perceptive woman in the world, but I don’t think you understand: at my size, I can’t afford to get drunk. My acute reflexes and rational discretion insure me against accidentally becoming part of the bottom of someone’s shoe.”

Her eyelashes fluttered at me slowly. “DON’T YOU TRUST ME TO TAKE CARE OF YOU?”

One of the huge slender hands that were resting on the table slid gently over to me, and gave my hand a small squeeze between two of her fingers. It was such an earnest, gentle gesture that my stomach flip-flopped.

Reluctantly, I slid my hand out of her fingers, looking away.

“Not if you’re drunk, too.”

“I CAN HANDLE MYSELF. I CAN HANDLE YOU PRETTY WELL, TOO.”

She reclasped my hand between her fingertips and began massaging it.

“EVEN IF YOU PASSED OUT – NOT THAT YOU’RE GOING TO – I CAN JUST PUT YOU IN MY HANDBAG. I WOULDN’T LET ANYONE SO MUCH AS TOUCH YOU.”

Her piquant perfume kept making its way over to me across the table, and it was as intoxicating as anything the bar served.

What the hell. I felt on edge; I needed to relax.

I got up and reached around the shot glass and began to dip my head in. It was a clumsy way to take it in – I felt like a horse at the trough – but at least it kept me from swallowing too much too fast.

But it tasted good. Too good. Like, so good I actually wished it was non-alcoholic so I could just chug it like a milkshake.

It must have shown on my face, because all of a sudden her face totally changed. She gave me this radiant smile and said: “YOU LIKE THAT, HUH, CUTIE?”

She leaned forward in her seat and, brushed some foam off my face with the tip of her little finger. Then she turned her finger back and sucked it off. I found myself staring at the display a moment too long and then tried not to think about the growing blush in my cheeks, which surely was the result of the alcohol and nothing else.

She went on:

“WHEN I SAW ONE OF THE COCKTAILS HAD LICORICE LIQUEUR IN IT, I KNEW I HAD TO GET IT FOR YOU – YOU STILL LOVE LICORICE, RIGHT?”

“Always have.”

She gave a low chuckle as she watched me scoop some foam out and try to eat it (actually trying to reach the liquid surface underneath) – and probably, ashamedly, resembling a mouse eating cheese out of its paw. Yeah, I’m pretty sure James Bond looked a lot more debonair when he sipped martinis.

The surface of my drink was rapidly shrinking down the glass. Pretty soon it was too low for my head to reach, so Jennifer lifted the glass and tipped it to allow me to finish the remainder more like a normal person and not a lapping baby animal.

It was still a little degrading to me, as much as I was grateful. But Jennifer seemed to enjoy helping me almost as much as I was enjoying the drink. She leaned right over the table towards me, patiently lifting and tipping the glass against my face, in between periods of putting it down again to let me have a break.

I closed my eyes a second in pure bliss at the ethanol infused licorice fumes headily circling my face, and when I opened them again, found her staring down at me with satisfied smile.

In the back of my mind it struck me that hand feeding – or drinking – had an unavoidably romantic connotation. You did not do it with your friends, family members, or anyone. And that included exes.

But there were exceptions. For instance, infants, or the very ill or infirm. I definitely didn’t feel I fit into the former category, but maybe my size disability applied for the latter. It didn’t really have to be read as a romantic gesture…

I finished the drink, and feeling a little overwhelmed, dropped down onto my butt on the table, with my legs splayed out, my nerves buzzing pleasantly.

Jennifer swept the empty shot glass to the side of the table, along with her now empty cocktail glass. Then she hunched up and leaned over the table like she was trying to get her face as close to me as humanly possible.

I didn’t budge from my position; my stomach ached and I was beginning to regret drinking the entire glass.

“IT LOOKED LIKE YOU ENJOYED THAT.”

She was so close that I could smell the alcohol on her words, and I was tempted to make a joke about her having ‘death breath’ as a reference to her drink but I probably would have earned myself a pinky finger slap.

“OOPS YOU STILL HAVE SOME ON YOUR FACE.”

She began brushing her thumb gently over my face to wipe my mouth. I closed my eyes and wordlessly let her do it, although a small part of me was now wondering what was taking Stuart so long.

A loud rumbling sound came from my stomach.

Suddenly there was a firm pressure around my midsection, which gave me a couple of gentle squeezes until I burped. As her hand slid back over the table, I stared at it in bewilderment. Would she let me do anything on my own? She made it seem like my whole existence was one big cry for help.

“FEEL BETTER?”

“Jennifer,” I said, frowning, “thanks for the drink, but you don’t have to condescend to me.”

“I’M NOT CONDESCENDING TO YOU.”

“You’re treating me like I’m a baby.”

She gave me an uneven smile as she slid back in her seat. “IF YOU WERE A BABY I WOULDN’T HAVE BOUGHT YOU THE NICE STUFF. YOU’D BE DRINKING WHAT BABIES DRINK.”

The neons seemed to glare and the room suddenly felt too warm. I looked away.

Around this time, Stuart sauntered back over to the table and was smiling inconveniently, his face looking a little flushed. Jennifer didn’t turn her head to face him but her eyes flicked up and followed him in that catlike way of hers.

Because she was sitting on the edge of the booth seat, he was forced to slide in on the opposite seat, on my part of the table. He was smart enough not to tell Jennifer to scoot over at least.

Now Stuart was sitting directly at my back, which would have bothered me normally, except I was still in the buzzing afterglow of my drink and didn’t care.

“HAVING FUN?” Jennifer asked Stuart in a veiled way.

“OH, MARGO ALWAYS HAS THESE FUNNY STORIES. SHE TRAVELS A LOT – ”

“WELL, WE’VE GOT TO MAKE TRAVELS TOO, STUART. LIKE, HOME. NOW. JERRY’S TIRED.”

I was noticing ‘Jerry’s tired’ was becoming a reliable dispute terminator; disputes which didn’t even have anything to do with me.

Still, I didn’t complain. I had finished my drink, now. Probably too quickly. The blood running through my ears felt as bubbly as the foam that had formerly covered my drink. Shaken, not stirred? My head felt shaken and stirred.

*

I sat on my sponge bed in the living room, taking off my shoes. The room was empty; the other two had disappeared in opposite directions: one into the bedroom, the other down the corridorr into the bathroom.

I was glad for the quiet; still feeling a little miffed off about being treated like a baby in the restaurant. It was one thing to be fed drink from the glass – I couldn’t, after all, have drunk it all myself. But being burped was going too far; I didn’t need help for that. Not to mention it was degrading, and in a public place filled with people!

Suddenly I was thinking about Stuart and Jennifer having babies: me being confused as a toy by a gurgling toddler, chased down and grabbed and waved around in its uncoordinated hands, having my head thrust in its drooling mouth. There was no way I could afford to hang around the house if that happened. Not to mention it would be painfully depressing, the ultimate death toll signaling Jennifer was lost to me forever.

My insides seemed to quiver, like I was going to cry. The alcohol was making me sensitive, I urgently needed a distraction.

Her phone was lying on the table nearby, with earphones attached. She let me use it to listen to music sometimes. I pulled one of the earphones onto my sponge bed and lay down, listening to some quiet jazz, my eyes closing gently.

Then the trumpets stopped as the cable was ripped from the phone. I rolled over to see Jennifer taking the phone and connecting it to some speakers. Rave music filled the air.  

"GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE, STUART,” she called into the kitchen, where Stuart was standing at the sink. “COME AND DANCE WITH ME!"

“OH, BUT WE DANCED AT THE RESTAURANT.” There was the sound of a glass clinking and water running as Stuart either got himself a drink of water, or carried on washing dishes.

“YOU DANCED…WITH THAT GIRL. I WENT BACK TO MY SEAT.”

"OH, BUT JEN…" he let out a great sigh, and emerged from the kitchen, swinging his arms loosely and not really looking at her as he carried on into the alcove that led to the master bedroom. "I’M BEAT. I’M CHANGING INTO MY PAJAMAS AND WINDING DOWN FOR THE NIGHT.”

Her eyes watched him leave, and her lip turned up into a silent snarl.

Then, flicking around and moving onto the living room floor, she started wiggling her hips and dancing to music with her eyes closed. She was still in her dress but had taken off her heels so her feet were bare and she moved without any self-consciousness.

Having been robbed of my music, and unable to rest with the blaring music, I propped my head up and just watched her for a little while; her curves and sashaying hips, her breasts springing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Even if I wanted to move, walking around on the floor while she was dancing blind was just asking for trouble.

Besides, she was mesmerizing. I hadn’t properly seen her dance in a long time. She’d danced more when she was single and on the prowl for male attention, not so much while we were together.

As one song ended and another began, she turned and opened her eyes to see me watching her.  Next second she was gliding over, her ‘bedroom eyes’ fixed on me, before she began to grind lustily against the table leg.

“DANCE WITH ME!” she insisted breathlessly.

My balance was too precarious and I shook my head. But she was already taking each of my palms between the fingertips of each of her hands and then my arms were pulled up over my head as my feet left the table. Then I was flying over the floor, dangling from my arms, before the living room carpet rose up and planted itself against the soles of my feet.

Facing me, one either side were the big, long masses of her smooth, pale feet, the toenails glittering with the translucent polish I’d only earlier painstakingly applied. The extensor tendons running down her feet flexed against her skin as her toes tapped to the music.

Crouched in front of me, she extended her first two fingertips out at my chest level. Too drunk to care, I held them with my hands and began to dance, pretending her fingertips were the hands of a dance partner, while she moved her fingers gently in time with me.

Then we pretended to ballroom dance, with me placing one hand on her thumb in lieu of one normal sized hand, while my other hand held her middle finger, and her index finger slid over my shoulder. The only problem was her hand was quick to assert the dominant male role, pushing and pulling me, steering me around, lifting my hand above my head and even directing me through a girly little spin. It started as a slow waltz and suddenly I was being jerked around like it was a charged tango. As drunk as I was, I just let her coerce me through these motions.

She then decided to compel me through a tango dip – only, with me in the woman's role. One finger curled under the small of my back as her thumb slid against my belly, up towards my chest, steadily pushing me backwards over her fingers. As it reached my neck, the tip of her thumb gently tilted my head back so that I was baring my throat. My vertebrae began to groan and my back muscles trembled as she held me there a second, before easing me up again.

My shoulders slumped a little as I assumed we were done, but then she took my hand and bodily yanked me against her hand for another round. We seemed to now be imitating a saucy dance with the partners pressed right against each other. While I had my hands full with her pointer finger and thumb, her other fingers got frisky; stroking up one of my legs, poking my butt. At one point I took a wide step to keep up with her hand; my legs came apart and her pinky finger slipped unannounced between my thighs – keeping them apart – and for the briefest instant, I could feel my groin balancing on the end of the fingertip, like she was weighing it. Then she twirled me around and yanked me back against her hand, leaving me fighting to catch my breath. Whenever one of these surprise maneuvers caused me to stumble or flinch, her laughter would chime out over me.

Finally her fingers loosened around me, letting me have a break.

“ALRIGHT, I’M GOING TO CHANGE,” she said. The pad of her extended index finger stretched in front of my face and rubbed a circle against my chest. “DON’T GO ANYWHERE, YOU,” she said with a coquettish lilt. “I’VE GOT A SURPRISE.”

She stood up; her height unfolding grandly over my head, and stepped over the carpet and out of the room.

Now I was alone in the living room. The music had been turned off. My brow was damp with sweat and there was a very faint ringing in my ears. Thinking I needed to follow Stuart’s example, I started my way back up to my sponge bed on the table. I was able to get up there from the ground now. It required scaling the sofa closest to the table, then running along the top of the backrest, and finally making a flying leap onto the table.

Climbing up the sofa wasn’t too difficult because I was so light – as I’d demonstrated to the media team. It was made a little more difficult now because my vision was subtly rotating back and forth. Whenever my balance seemed to swoop, I had to close my eyes and climb by touch alone. The leap was trickier; I struggled to run in a straight line, and the backrest seemed to wobble beneath me. Then, once I’d sprung into the air, the wide airspace seemed to lurch at me on one side as if to seize me, before I tumbled head over feet across the polished wooden tabletop, and came to a rest on my side. The table was cold under my cheek but I barely felt it, my heart was flickering rapidly behind my heaving chest wall.

Slowly my breath returned and I was able to get up and stagger over to my bed, where I stripped out of my tuxedo and started putting on my superman costume.

I dropped back onto the sponge bed and for a little while watched the ceiling light sway back and forth. It wasn’t a hanging light like a chandelier – it was my vision causing the effect. The world shifted with it; steadily one way, then back the other. I folded my arms up over my eyes, dampening out the intense light beaming down on me, and feeling myself rocking around gently behind the darkness of my forearms like I was on a boat.

My arms slowly relaxed and lowered, while my eyelids fluttered closed…

Soft footsteps shuffled over the carpet.

I twitched, coming back into wakefulness.

The footsteps moved on into the kitchen. Then the fridge opened and there was some clinking of glass. The footsteps returned and Jennifer emerged into the living room now wearing her nightwear: a pale pink satin camisole top that left her her stomach exposed, and matching panties. She slunk over to the table, and noticing me lying on my bed, and gave me hopeful smile.

“YOU’LL SHARE A DRINK WITH ME, WON’T YOU?”

She leaned right over the table, her butt sticking into the air at the other end, and there was a solid clink as she put a shot glass down on the tabletop next to me.

It looked like a little chocolate float, but had an inviting alcoholic smell emanating from it. And the smell of licorice.

I looked up at her quizzically.

“SINCE YOU LIKED IT SO MUCH,” she explained, “I GOT THE WHOLE BOTTLE. NOW YOU CAN HAVE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT. JUST TELL ME WHEN TO STOP.”

“I can’t,” I groaned, waving my hand in front of my face. “It’ll hit me like a bus.”

“IT’S ONLY GOT THE TEENIEST AMOUNT OF LIQUEUR IN IT.” Then she gave me an ‘ah, so what?’ look. “IT’S FRIDAY. YOU CAN SLEEP IN AS LONG AS YOU WANT TOMORROW.”

She’d gone to all the trouble of dressing it up with a layer of whipped cream and crushed up flecks of ice, I felt I owed it to her to at least try some. If I had a little off the top, she could down the rest.

As I leaned hesitantly over the rim of the glass, the liquor’s thick sultry perfume stung my nose and throat. Every time I went to take a sip, she tipped the glass up a little too eagerly, causing the drink to spill down my throat. I gagged and burbled for air a few times, and she just suppressed a laugh as her fingertip ran along my face to wipe the cream off, before bringing it up to her lips to taste.

Caught up in her enjoyment, I eventually ended up draining the whole glass. I couldn’t see, because my face and eyes were lathered in whipped cream, but felt as the pressure of her finger slid over my face, slowly wiping the cream off and clearing my vision. Only it was bigger than her fingertip, bigger than even her thumb. Warmer, and wetter, too.

Blinking my eyes open, I found her massive plush lips suspended right in front of me, making a gentle sucking motion. She had leaned down and licked the flat of her tongue over my face.

I gasped and stumbled back, falling onto my butt.

“LOOKS LIKE YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH,” she said, putting the empty glass to one side.

This wasn’t an exaggeration. My blood vessels felt hot and thick, and the edges of objects were wavering in and out of focus. I slumped onto the sponge bed, trying to take deep breaths and ignore the way the ceiling was spinning.

Jennifer’s attention had turned to a coil of string lying on the table nearby. She stared at it a moment in thought. Then, reaching for it, she began biting her lip as she began to unwind it, as if she was trying not to smile. Using a scissors, she cut several similar length pieces of string.

“What are you doing…?” I said, slurring slightly.

She didn’t say anything.

Before I knew it, the end of a piece of string was looped around my wrist and tied. My eyes got big. This was starting to look a lot like Fifty Shades of Gray territory.

“You’re tying me up!” I cried out. Deep down I wondered why she would think it was necessary anyway; due to my small size it was already a simple matter for her to restrain me.

“NOT QUITE,” she said earnestly. “I PROMISE.”

She pushed me onto my back with one finger so that she could loop more string around each of my ankles. With my wrists already bound, I was clumsily trying to crawl over to the sponge bed, trying in vain to escape, but she took a hold of my calf muscle to gently hold me still.

Lastly, she tied a piece of string around my torso, just below my ribcage.

“TURN AROUND,” she instructed, waving her finger around in a circle over my head. I did so, biting my tongue uneasily.

Standing with my back to her, I felt the strings being gently tugged and shifted.

“THERE,” she said finally, with satisfaction.

I couldn’t see what she’d done and was about to turn around when the strings around my arms and torso went taut and began pulling up over my head. As I was lifted up off the table, I gazed up to see her hand positioned directly above me, palm down. She had the arm and leg on one side of my body attached to her thumb and pointer, and my other arm and leg attached to her ring finger and pinky finger. The end of the string around my middle was secured to the base of her middle finger. She had strung me up to her hand like a living puppet.

I gaped and stammered as I continued to rise higher into the air as she stood up from the table, before she rotated her hand and I found myself turning downwards until I was levitating face down in the air, my arms and legs spread eagled.

“Hey, this isn’t funny!” I spluttered, my face turning an angry red. “Get me out of this mess! Put me down right this instant!”

“STUART!” she called out. “SUPERMAN’S LEARNED HOW TO FLY!”

I heard Stuart chuckling from another room. “NOW HE JUST NEEDS LASER SIGHT AND X-RAY VISION, AND HE’S THE REAL DEAL.”

I was still rising up, and up, until I was suspended like a baby’s crib mobile in front of her face. I lifted my head to meet her eyes, and she scrutinized me for a moment thoughtfully, her head cocked slightly to the side.

“I DON’T KNOW,” she murmured, so low Stuart wouldn’t have been able to hear her, “I THINK HE’S ALREADY GOT X-RAY VISION JUDGING FROM THE WAY HE LOOKS AT ME.”

She draped herself over the couch, reclining her back against one arm rest with a pillow behind her head, and drawing one leg up, pressing the sole of her foot against the sofa seat cushion.

I hovered just above her supine form, struggling helplessly as her body shifted directly below, trying to get comfortable. Her tight camisole clung to her curves like paint, distinctly showing up the shape of her upper stomach and the  protuberances of her boobs, round and swollen against the satin, leaving very little to the imagination. Her nipples, hardening with building arousal, pointed out at me with unavoidable suggestion. Face down, my viewline plunged directly into the valley of her cleavage.

“EYES UP HERE,” she said, inclining my head up with the end of a fingertip so that it was parallel with hers.

She entertained herself for a moment trying to manipulate my body. Her fingers flexed rhythmically and a smile of deep satisfaction played over her face as she watched the corresponding body movements this caused in my arms and legs. With the dexterous control of her hand, my little body was orchestrated and bullied through a pantomime of superman in flight, rocking, thrusting and banking, while at the same time, she even provided the zooming noises – at least, when she could stop laughing.

“PREPARE FOR TURBULENCE,” she intoned as she held me level with her jaw, and sucking in a huge breath, began to pummel me with a rapid succession of powerful exhalations. I scrunched up my eyes as my face was blasted by her warm, alcoholic breath;

As my body was forced backwards, my arms were stretched together and my feet forced to splay slightly wider apart. My body jiggled slightly as the wind hit across me in unequal measures, the red cape pulling against my shoulders as it flapped out behind me. Each gust seemed to get bigger than the last; it seemed she was actively trying to blow me back as far as possible.

Finally, the airstream dulled again, and the strings dropped me down again, where I swayed gently back into my normal prone, spread-eagled position. Jennifer tilted her head back, laughing indulgently.

My mouth twisted, I was about to speak up for the sake of my decency when my arms were wrenched forward and pulled together as I was guided through a steep dive.

I let out a little sob of agony.

“Hey, go easy!” I squeaked. “You’re gonna pull my limbs out of their sockets!”

At the bottom of my dive, my face was brought within inches of her toned solar plexus – almost as if she intended me to kiss it – before she maneuvered me through an incredibly tight parabola. A jolt of pain shuddered down my spine as my back was forced to bend sharply in a way to make any yoga practitioner cringe. I let out a tiny squeak. Throughout, my nose went from almost poking her abdomen, to tilting up at the underside of her breasts, which formed a bulging wall that obscured her face.

My eyes bugged out.

Her other hand had crept underneath the bottom of the satin top, where it now lay positioned scandalously close to one of her breasts, and I could make out the fingers actually rubbing the underside…

My groin stiffened as I resurfaced up over her bust, where her face came into view again. Her hand slid out from under the satin and smoothly rose up beneath me, as if she didn’t want me to see it coming, although I could sense it lying in wait, like a poised snake.

She observed me a moment, pausing as if for effect. Then she said:

“IS SUPERMAN TICKLISH?”

“No! No!” I squealed, fighting against the strings.

Then, the larger world disappeared; all I was aware of was the intolerable sensation of her persistent fingertips waggling furiously against my sides, belly, underarms, and the soles of my feet, pausing torturously on whichever area got the biggest reaction. She was an expert tickler, it was her art: she knew how to apply the perfect pressure with her nail tip, when to hone in on an area, and when to spontaneously switch, and caught me out multiple times by pretending to stop, rubbing my face or stomach with her thumb as if by apology, and then, with no warning, redoubling the assault. Strung up taut, I had no ability to defend myself against the onslaught of her wicked fingertips, and when it was finally over, my sides ached in pain, faintly winded, and a headache biting into my temples like a dog had its jaws around my head.

It also felt like I’d lost control of my bladder. This turned out not to be the case. It was something different.

Jennifer’s upturned fingertip was gently probing my stomach, and then it trailed down under my lower belly and gave my dick a firm poke.

My skin tightened all over. I grunted and shifted my hips.

She caught my bulge between her index finger and thumb and began to squeeze and tug it in a steady pulsating rhythm. I began to buck my hips against her fingers. There was a fizzing feeling in my groin, like it was full of bubbling soda. A sobbing sound was coming from my lips.

“SHHHH,” she murmured, bringing me up to her lips and pressing a kiss against my face as she continued to play with my member. With my face buried against her soft lips, I moved into the sweet release of orgasm. For a brief moment after I was limp and twitching in the afterglow, she continued to tickle my nuts and finger my shaft, and because I was still strung up – not to mention exhausted – I couldn’t stop her. It was a thing she did – and had done when we'd been dating. It was her way of asserting control; sending the message 'I will touch you when you want it, and when you don't.’

Overcome with fatigue, I let my mind go blank, and my head droop for a moment, briefly aware that I was being gently lowered, until my front came to a rest upon the soft, taut flesh of her belly. I turned my cheek to the side and lay there, huffing for air. Her ‘puppeteer’ hand came to rest over me, with the pads of her first two fingers pressing gently against my shoulder and back.

There was a soft rustling further along her body. Even though I couldn’t see it, I knew her hand had slipped back into the bust of her top, and I could hear her rubbing herself, small eruptions of breath escaping huskily from her throat. With her other hand, she was also stroking me, almost painfully, at the same time, which was disquieting – as if I was an erotic extension of her body, taking the place of her sex organ.

My overworked body trembled at the excitation, but I refused to look up; thinking that if I made eye contact with her, I would be pulled deeper into a darker sex game.

The rustling sound paused, while Jennifer let out a great luxurious sigh. She hadn't come, she was just taking a break. During this brief interval, I took the opportunity to speak up, as a means to distract her from getting even more hardcore. The risk of Stuart walking in on us was too great.

My tongue passed over my lips, trying to moisten them. My throat was parched.

“Can I have a drink…?” I said croakily.

She didn’t reply, but I rose as she got up off the sofa, and suddenly I was surging through the air beneath her hand, into the kitchen. I had meant water, but she instead retrieved the bottle of liqueur from the counter. Tipping it back, she took a long draught, but did not swallow.

The last thing I remember was her soft warm lips clamped around the lower half of my face, liqueur flowing from her mouth and into mine, surging down my throat and into my belly, and the sting of alcohol numbing my sinuses, and then, finally, numbing my consciousness.

Sometime in the night I woke up smothered and sweltering under my blanket. Except it felt more like I was covered by ten blankets all piled over me. Perspiration caused my skin to stick to the bed, and my heartbeat was so profound it felt like my body was ringing. I began to crawl and grope for air, but the surface I was on wasn’t my sponge bed, and it seemed to go on forever.

Muffled voices came from somewhere outside the blanket: Stuart and Jennifer’s voices, like they were in the room, but out of sight.

Suddenly an enormous weight like a felled log dropped down onto me, plastering me against whatever surface I was on. The air shot out of my lungs like I was a punctured balloon.

It didn’t shift for a good ten seconds, leaving me pinned in place beneath its shattering weight. Then it slid off me, squashing whatever part of me it shifted over, like some huge rolling pin, compelling my body to bend beneath it.

Wheezing in pain, I tried to continue crawling along. But, being surrounded by pure darkness, I had no idea where I was, nor any sense of how to escape the pitch black pocket of oppressive, stale heat I was trapped in.

“I LOST THE DOLL,” came Stuart’s voice.

“NO IT’S HERE SOMEWHERE,” answered Jennifer’s voice. “I KINDA SAT ON IT. HANG ON…”

The surface I was lying on shifted as some big object slid towards me. In the darkness, it was felt more than seen. It bumped my body and I was suddenly being poked and prodded by several blunt objects across my body, all at once. They moved so fast and forcefully that the impact was like a series of punches. One of them jabbed my head painfully, another battered against my ribs, and still another flicked my member around.

They then curled around me, sliding beneath my stomach and wrapping me in an incredibly warm and tight embrace. My squashed chest twanged in pain, but I was in no condition to object, my voice wouldn't leave my raw throat. Then I felt myself being wrenched along before cool air spilled onto my face as I found myself hanging in space, in a dark room. Giant dark bodies shifted around me.

Lifting, there was a flash of a massive pair of bare breasts before, further up, I stopped in front of the dark silhouette of a massive head, framed by long, dark hair. I was brought right up for evaluation, my head tilted up until I made out the gigantic face evaluating me.

Jennifer’s face.

Her heated breath beat against me rapidly, like she had just exercised, causing me to have to blink rapidly to fight off aerosolized saliva. My vision was so blurry I could barely make out her features, but watched silently, filled with confusion, as she pressed one long index finger against her lips in a ‘keep quiet’ gesture, her eyes fixed on me. I didn’t understand, but was so disorientated and weak that I had little choice but to obey.

Then, she gave me a quick wink, before the walls blurred as I was once again moved through the air and placed into a slightly bigger, coarser hand that I guessed belonged to Stuart.

“FOUND IT,” said Jennifer.

His fingers wrapped around my torso as Jennifer’s departed. His big firm hand now had my entire body trapped, my arms pinned to my sides.

My brain was swirling in a dazed drunken miasma. I could barely move my limbs or speak, and had little ability to rationally question what was happening. It had to be a dream, or more specifically, a nightmare. But the sensations were so disturbingly real; the lingering pain from being battered by the heavy log-like weight earlier.

“PUT IT IN,” Jennifer breathed.

“I’M GOING AS FAST AS I CAN,” Stuart reassured her. “BUT I’VE LOST THE LUBE. I THINK IT FELL BEHIND THE BED.”

“EXCUSES, EXCUSES,” she tutted. “USE WHATEVER YOU HAVE. I’M NOT GOING TO BE HORNY FOREVER.”

Stuart made some grunting noises. It seemed like he was scratching himself rapidly in the dark, or yanking at the waistband of his pants. Except I didn’t think he was wearing pants.

Belatedly, I came to the horrifying conclusion that he had the end of his penis lined up with my head. By the time I figured this out, it was too late.

He gave a quick exhalation and the head of his penis exploded in my face, shooting me several times point blank. My stomach lurched in disgust as my eyes were blinded by the thick waves of ejaculation.

With my head smattered in the gooey warm fluid, I felt myself moving through the air again, though I couldn’t see anything anymore. I was even denied the simple necessity of wiping my eyes because my arms were pressed against my sides by the firm grip of his hand.

My head was suddenly rammed against something firm and springy, and with Stuart’s clasp supplying manual pressure, until my head actually started to penetrate into a rubbery kind of tube.

The pressure was incredible as the tube hugged my head from every angle, smearing the ejaculate over my head. The entrance slipped past my hairline, sliding past my eyes, nose and mouth.

My nostrils were hit with an unavoidably fecal odor. By a process of deduction, I realized there were only a small category of places on Jennifer’s body that Stuart might be ramming me into, and the smell assaulting my nostrils had unquestionably eliminated all but one of them.

Her personal grooming was almost a hobby in its own right, but upstanding hygiene or not, short of giving herself saline enemas, there was no way of disguising the fact that the primary purpose of the tight tunnel my head was compacted inside was to convey bio-wastes to the outside of the body. Just having my face up there felt like a violation of universal law, somehow. Heads should not fit inside butts.

It was a staggering way for my demeaning size to be thrust in my face. I was as close to being inside someone as any adult was going to get, and it was panic-inducing; like being swallowed – but round the wrong way. It just topped it off that my distress was designed to bring Jennifer so much erotic pleasure at the same time – evidenced by the sound of her moaning, which was partly muffled by the tight flesh seal flattening my ears against my head.

The sticky moist flesh walls pressed in and slid back and forth against my cheeks as my head was run further in. The cloistering warmth of the narrow space was making me break out with panic. My head swirled as my brain fought for fresh oxygen.

She must have clenched her ass cheeks because there was a vise like grip around my head. It felt like my head was trapped in a giant fist and was being squeezed mercilessly. The elastic ring of her sphincter immediately tightened like a noose around my neck, cutting off my airways, as if my head wasn’t spinning enough. I gasped and squirmed weakly as the air in my chest was locked up with fetid air.

Stuart’s hand was still gripping my body. He gave me a small jiggle, and then satisfied I was firmly in place, his hand released, leaving me dangling pathetically from between the globular ass cheeks, my body pressed in place between her crack.

He must have penetrated Jennifer from behind, because suddenly I was being rocked and jerked around, with my lower body wagging around like some grotesque tail erupting from the base of Jennifer’s tailbone.

Worst of all I could feel Stuart’s penis ramming back and forth on the other side of the anal wall, thrusting against my head and battering against my face. Each thrust caused the anal passage to flex and tighten around my skull. My temples were throbbing painfully. I felt like her butt was endeavoring to make my head crumple in like a tin can.

The world blacked out for a couple of seconds before coming to as my skull was subject to an agonizing series of explosive squeezes. These came so rapidly and powerfully that it left no doubt that Jennifer was climaxing.

Meanwhile, my head was about to burst like a grape. Jennifer’s butt cheeks were on a mission to pound it down to two dimensions. This was how I was destined to die, and it wasn’t pretty. I hoped my obituary writer could fabricate something quiet, dignified and boring.

In the instant she came, she let out a euphoric wail as I was overtaken by an excruciating migraine that clapped around my head and fought to grind my skull to dust. It felt like my face was melting from the stuffy, sweaty heat, my eyeballs were going to pop out of my head and run down my face. I hated and was thrilled with terror that she was doing this to me: giving me a first person perspective of what it would be like to be a stubborn lump of her turd that wouldn’t smoothly pass.

Then, all in an instant, the mind-numbing pressure relaxed. With a disgusting moist sound, my head spurted free and I plopped onto the mattress below. Sweat was pouring off my body and my head felt like I'd gone in the ring with a champion boxer.  Going by how tender it felt, my face must have been very red and bruised. A shade of mauve was palpitating in front of my eyes as my lungs were practically seizuring for air.

There was little time to consider what had just happened.

A huge sigh erupted from Jennifer as she leaned back on her haunches, shifting from her doggy style position into a sitting position on the mattress. The massive moons of her ass filled my dim vision, making it even dimmer as they collapsed down directly onto me.

My body made a tiny, pathetic squeak as the cheeks of her butt stamped down on top of it. It was like I was rubber duck, and all the air in my body was pressed out all-together.

For one chilling moment I was forced to contemplate my doom as I was held in place under the full weight of her upper body – her entire mass except for her legs – wracked by the agony of my muscles stretching and flattening, and my skeletal frame rubbing and groaning, and not an ounce of power in my body to extricate myself from the torture.

Then she leapt off me again.

The pain dulled. Her warm hand reached down and landed on my back, the fingers exploratively wandering up and down my battered, defeated body, probing for some part of me she could pick up, before identifying my waist, which she clasped securely before transferring me to the top of one of her smooth thighs. She was completely naked and the scent of her sex swept out like a fierce tropical typhoon.

As she leaned back, she pulled the blanket up over her legs and stomach. It dropped over me like a curtain, sealing me away in complete darkness and the now insulated warmth of her body.

Paralyzed by fatigue, I lay face down on her thigh as her hand rested heavily on my back. It shifted a little as her thumb insistently dug its way beneath my ribs so that she was gripping me, and began to slid me up along the smooth flesh of the inside of her thigh, towards, I guessed, her mound, which I could not see in the dark, but its cloying scent blocked up my airways.

Still sliding, I narrowly evaded her drooling labia, and was dragged up over her mound until she had my limp body cupped against her soft smooth lower belly. Meanwhile, my feet were getting pricked by the spikes of her trimmed bush. Her fingers were tracing up and down my spine and working into my shoulders, sending constant thrills of pain along my battered body. I groaned into the hot, sweat-sticky flesh pressing against my face, but my voice was muted by the blanket covering me.

As this was going on, Stuart and Jennifer started to talk.

"LET’S NEVER GET BORING, STUART," said Jennifer.

"OF COURSE NOT," Stuart replied quietly, and then paused. "BUT, YOU KNOW, THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR ROUTINE AND STABILITY.”

"NO." I could imagine she was shaking her head. "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO."

Stuart gave a sigh and the mattress groaned and dipped slightly as he must have shifted towards her.  

“I’LL HAPPILY DO THIS WITH YOU,” he said lightly, “BUT I DON’T THINK I’LL EVER UNDERSTAND IT.”

“GOOD,” Jennifer said in a clipped tone. “IT’S SEX, NOT THERAPY.”

“I HAVE TO BE HONEST: ABOUT THE DOLL, IT’S – ”

“NOT JERRY. I THOUGHT WE TALKED ABOUT THIS, ALREADY.”

“IT’S THE SAME SIZE AS HIM, THOUGH.”

“STUART, IF I WANTED TO FUCK JERRY, I WOULD.”

“WELL, OKAY,” he trailed off a little awkwardly for a moment. Then he found his voice again:

“BUT SPEAKING OF WHICH, I THINK YOU SHOULD JUST WATCH YOURSELF WITH HIM.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” she huffed. I winced as her nails bit into my spine. I hoped it was only by accident.

“EARLIER, WHEN YOU MADE HIM DO YOUR FEET, YOU MADE THE LITTLE GUY PASS OUT.”

“THAT WAS PURE THEATRICS. JERRY IS SUCH A CLOWN,” Jennifer snorted.

“JEN,” his voice grew hesitant, “I THINK YOU SHOULD BE…I DON’T KNOW…A LITTLE GENTLER WITH HIM, BEING AS TINY AS HE IS…”

“SOUNDS LIKE YOU DON’T GIVE HIM ENOUGH CREDIT,” she scoffed. “HE’S A LITTLE IRON MAN. YOU’VE SEEN HOW STRONG HE IS.”

“BUT NOT INVINCIBLE. AND IF SOMETHING WERE TO EVER HAPPEN TO HIM…GOSH I’D FEEL AWFUL.”

“BUT JUST SAY IT DID,” Jennifer ventured slowly, diplomatically, “I’D GET HIM STUFFED BY A TAXIDERMIST AND PROP HIM UP ON THE MANTELPIECE. OR HAVE HIM MADE INTO A KEYRING.”

“UH…” Stuart sounded shaky now, “…DON’T YOU THINK THAT’S GOING A LITTLE TOO FAR?”

“I WOULD NEVER DO THAT TO A NORMAL SIZE PERSON. BUT AT HIS SIZE, IT’S PERFECT. HE WOULD BE A REAL LIFE MEMENTO.”

Her fingers continued to massage – almost pummel – my back, as if by examination, and I realized she was trying to investigate my wakefulness. She intended her touch to be a little firm and painful, because my lack of protest mistakenly satisfied her that I wasn’t conscious. Considering my body was limp, she probably thought I was asleep or had passed out, and couldn’t hear the two of them talking.

Sweating and aching and nearly overcome by the sweltering scent of her sex, I was on the verge on passing out, but was definitely still conscious for the next bit:

“CAN I JUST SAY, ‘YIKES’?” Stuart muttered. “THAT’S ALMOST AS FREAKY AS WHAT YOU DID TO JERRY THE NIGHT OF THAT GPR THING.”

Jennifer let out a sharp breath as if he’d slapped her.

“STUART!” she hissed. “NEVER MENTION THAT AGAIN!”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Stuart gave a nervous chuckle.

“NOW, I’M NO EXPERT ON THESE THINGS,” he said, “BUT IT SOUNDS TO ME LIKE YOU’VE GOT UNRESOLVED ISSUES GOING ON SINCE YOUR BREAK-UP.”

“THAT’S CORRECT, STUART: YOU’RE NOT AN EXPERT.”

“OKAY, OKAY. FORGET I SAID ANYTHING.”

“DONE.”

The world tilted abruptly as Jennifer slid down onto the mattress and rolled over, taking me – pressed against her – along for the ride.

She came to rest lying on her side, facing the outer edge of the bed, her back turned to Stuart. I was now sideways, cradled firmly against her front waistline.

It was very uncomfortable, as I had no firm surface underneath me; I was being held against the wall of her lower abdomen by the unrelenting pressure of her palm. For a moment she rubbed me back and forth over her lower belly, practically grinding me against her lightly sweaty flesh. My mouth opened in a silent cry as my flesh and muscles felt like they were being pulled and teased this way and that, warming intensely by the friction of her skin, practically baking under the stuffy blanket.

She shifted a little, seemingly with irritation. My squirming motions must have tickled. One of her fingers extended rapidly, inadvertently delivering a sharp, painful tap into my head to flick it out of the way as it went to scratch her bellybutton.

After a couple of minutes, she finally settled, ceasing her vigorous abuse, but continuing to keep me plastered against moist skin.

Now I dismally realized she wanted to sleep with me pressed her all night. I wasn’t too keen on that, but there was nothing I could do; I was no better than an exhausted ragdoll in her clutches.

Some time passed before Jennifer and Stuart seemed to have both fallen asleep. Jennifer’s muscles were slackening and the deep flow and ebb of her breathing – like the sound of a distant crashing ocean – was slow and steady. My eyes began to close…

Suddenly I dropped onto the mattress, as Jennifer’s hand completely relaxed and fell away. Moving slowly and pausing at intervals, I began to crawl through the bed on my elbows, like an army commando. It was unbelievable how tired I was; my muscles screamed for rest, but I fought on, working single-mindedly towards the goal of getting out of the bedroom. If it was the last thing I did.

My only thought: get as far away from Jennifer as possible.

The mattress suddenly dropped away. The blanket still covered me, so I was unable to see and had to use touch to pull myself over the edge of the bed and start climbing down. As soon as my feet touched down on the woolly carpet fibers, I broke into a sprint towards the door, which was ajar, and slipped through into the gray, moonlit corridor.

At ground level, the air was very cold and still. My feet pattered rapidly over the icy tiles through the kitchen area. When the tiles turned to carpet again, I leapt onto the nearest couch and began to ascend. My shoulders and back pulled and cramped; my muscles felt like paper that had been scrunched up and smoothed out again. I longed to stretch them, but stretching them caused them to erupt with tingles of pain.

A couple of times my head swooped and I nearly dropped down to earth again. At my size, it probably wouldn’t have caused a lot of damage, but with the precious state of my head, it felt like one good blow from hitting the ground would be enough to knock me clean out. Reaching the backrest, I made the final leap of faith to the table. I sorely wanted to drop and sleep, but I still needed to do something first, and knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until I did.

From the table I was able to climb onto the end of the kitchen counter, and for my task, took the end of the coil of string (which Jennifer had earlier on used to fashion me into a living puppet) with me. From there, I dropped the end of the string down into the sink and, using the last reserves of my concentration and strength, I pushed the sink valve to get a thin stream of water running. Then I slipped down the string, into the sink’s basin, and began to run the water over my head, scrubbing vigorously to wash off any residue of Jennifer’s anal passage.

Once I felt suitably refreshed, I climbed back up the string and shut the water off, before returning to the table top, where I sunk onto my sponge bed and went still like I’d been smacked by a huge mallet.

Out the kitchen window, sunlight was only just lifting over the horizon. The house was silent. It was too early for the other two to be up, but it wouldn’t be long. They were both early risers; when one got up, the other soon followed.

I was not a native morning person, and particularly not today; dreadfully hung over and suffering monstrous muscle pains from being accidentally sat on twice. My head was hammering and I longed to get another couple of hours sleep, but the thought of being inevitably fondled awake by Jennifer in the near future nauseated me too much to stay idle.

So I groaned out of bed and made the climb down to the floor. It was slower than usual, and towards the end, I let myself drop the one storey flight down the rest of the sofa onto the carpet, jangling my bones, but not doing any serious damage.

I needed to be alone for the day.

On impulse, I crawled underneath the two seat sofa – the same sofa whose backrest I routinely sprinted along in order to leap onto the table where my bed was.

It was dark and cool under here; my ceiling a broad strip of black fabric that lined the underside of the seat frame. There were the woolly silhouettes of some bunches of dusty fluff lying around the floor, and some other stray dark shapes were scattered around.

I wandered around idly, investigating the forgotten litter. There were some desiccated food crumbs, coins, and a round shape the size of a cake turned out to be a lozenge or piece of candy, and its uneven shape suggested it had already been partially sucked. Nearby, a torpedo about the size of a skateboard revealed itself to be a tampon, still in the packet.

I hadn’t been under there long when noises came from across the room. There was rustling in the kitchen; the fridge opening and closing, the kettle steaming, and diningware clattering around. Stuart normally showered before eating breakfast, while Jennifer was the opposite. So I guessed it was her.

Around this time she normally attended my bedside to blow air against my face, tickle my feet, or see how many times she could prod my morning wood before I woke up and scolded her. I wondered if she’d seen that I wasn’t in my bed this morning.

A pair of bare feet came into view at the edge of the room, tramping across the living room carpet, following the edge of the sofa around. They plonked down side by side at the front edge of the two-seat sofa, against the seat I was standing under. The rows of pale toes faced me for a second: the glassy polished toenails and absence of hair on the toe knuckles told me it was Jennifer’s feet.

The feet then neatly stepped around in a circle, with tendons bulging faintly along the foot and up the ankles, while the sofa frame let out a loud groan directly overhead.

I stood, stunned for a moment, considering the gigantic ass resting above my head, just on the other side of the sofa seat. The sheer weight the sofa frame was working valiantly to keep from flattening my body was unimaginable.

The sofa squeaked again – almost painfully – as she must have shifted to get comfy. The sounds caused my pulse to rise into my mouth. I considered coming out from under the chair, but held myself in check. The noises were probably barely perceptible to her, but like a distressing orchestra to me; every time she shifted, the sofa sounded like the Titanic about to sink.

For several minutes there were the crunching sounds of her mastication, punctuated by metallic ring of a spoon. Occasionally the foot muscles flexed absent-mindedly and the toes squirmed as if attempting to bury themselves into the carpet.

Then the eating sounds stopped, and I heard the sound of a bowl knocking against the wood surface of the coffee table as it was placed down.

The couch creaked again as Jennifer’s behind began to shift around in the seat. Then there was a low, somewhat muffled grumbling, or a sound which to me was like a roaring inferno – burning directly above my head. At first I mistook this for more of the sofa’s groaning protestations. But then there was a feminine grunt, as if with frustration, and then another low bugling sound. The air seemed to thicken with irrepressible stench.

“STUART!” Jennifer’s voice made the air hum dangerously. “DID YOU GET THE LACTOSE FREE MILK?”

There was no reply, only the soft pattering of the shower running from their bedroom en suite.

Then, in a low murmur:

“FUCK.”

I pressed my hand against my mouth, which was beginning to stretch with silent laughter. I had to get away or I was going to make a sound and reveal myself.

I began to move so that I’d be standing under the other seat of the couch, but then a strand of carpet looped around my ankle. I tumbled forward and my cheek hit something hard and stuck there like flypaper. A minty smell stung my nostrils. My mouth opened in disgust but I choked the sound off just in time. My face had struck the half-sucked lozenge and was now glued in place.

By instinct, I went to grab it, but stopped myself in time before my palms became similarly fused to its lightly candied surface. Thinking quickly, I plastered some strands of carpet around the edge of the lozenge, covering it up before placing my hands against it, and then, holding it down, attempted to pull my head away.

I grunted, pushing against the lozenge, and my cheek began to stretch until tears prickled the corner of my eyes. Astonished by the pain, I stopped for a moment, thinking.

It had to be done fast, like ripping off a Band-aid. Closing my eyes and drawing on a well of resolve, I jerked my head away with all of my strength.

Pain ripped through the side of my head. I quickly bit my tongue to avoid screaming out. Then dabbed at my cheek frantically with my hand, worried my mouth had torn open. It was throbbing, but luckily felt still intact.

As I massaged my cheek, my nose began to itch. Some dust must have gotten up my nose while my head was close to the carpet. The next instant I was doubled over in the midst of a sneezing fit; each explosive sneeze causing a burst of pain through my tender cheek.

Above the dark canopy over my head, Jennifer’s voice seemed to roll across the sky.

“JERRY?” She paused, listening for a moment. “WHERE ARE YOU?”

I wiped my nose furiously, not saying anything.

The feminine pair of feet rocked on their balls and the toes came into focus again, and took a step back. The heels lifted as the feet tilted forward, followed by the sight of two bare knees which angled down and came to rest gently against the carpet, at the same time that a hand appeared, palm down. A veil of hair spilled down onto the floor as Jennifer’s face finally came into view. Her head was craned sideways, virtually brushing against the carpet as her searching eyes found me amidst the scattered litter.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING UNDER THERE?”

She gave my dusty hideout a cursory, somewhat distasteful inspection, before her eyes reverted to my face.

Then her hand rammed towards me, darkening to a backlit silhouette while seeming to double in size; the fingertips growing bulbous in my perception before blotting out my vision entirely as they reached me. There was no time to react.

Two of her searching fingertips struck me and would have knocked me flat onto my back except for her amazing reflexes, which instantaneously closed around the piece of my anatomy most conveniently accessible to her – my head – with the speed of a Venus flytrap, and rapidly withdraw, taking me by the head along with them.

Acute pressure drew around my temples. I cried out while my arms flailed and my toes dragged over the carpet, with the cool air moving past my sides.

Then I was out in the open, under the golden rays of the morning sun glowing through the windows, and the enormous masses of furniture swooped below my feet as I hurtled straight up in space before coming to a stop.

Then I found myself suspended before her face by my head, with her other hand cupped just below my dangling feet. The lush pink lips pursed slightly and then opened as if with an unspoken question as she moved me closer to her eyes, which focused intensely on my face. Her balmy exhalations fluttered through my eyelashes, scented with her recent breakfast.

My cheek must have been red or something, because she frowned at me, the hand cradled underneath me turned up and came surging at my face. Suddenly my vision was obscured by the end of her outstretched middle finger, which began battering against my cheek as she tried to figure out what the mark was, stroking and scratching it in a way that was not very gentle, and inflaming the tender flesh all over again.

My eyes immediately began to water.

“That hurts!” I barked, slapping at her finger.

“WHAT?” she said a little defensively, but her finger disappeared again. She seemed genuinely surprised by my reaction, which irritated me – as if I should have no rational objection to having my face poked and prodded and palpated by a giant finger. It was like she expected me to behave like an unfeeling doll, offering my body unconditionally to her tactile explorations.

Gratefully, her other hand slipped around my torso and the biting pressure around my skull relaxed as her pinching fingertips removed themselves from my head.

“WHY WERE YOU UNDER THE COUCH?” she said casually. “WERE YOU SPYING ON ME?”

“No! I was having some alone time. You ruined it.”

I knew I sounded cranky but I didn’t care. I was still tired from yesterday, plus I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep.

“ARE YOU UPSET AT ME OR SOMETHING?”

Normally, I would not have wanted to create a scene if Stuart was hovering nearby, but the susurration of running shower water coming from across the house gave me some confidence we were speaking privately.

“What do you think?” I snapped, digging my nails into her hand. “You used me as a buttplug!”

A smile broke out on her face, though she at least managed to stifle laughter, which would only have added fuel to my bubbling anger.

“HEY, DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. THE BOOZE MADE US ALL A LITTLE CRAZY, OKAY?”

“No excuses, I demand an apology!” I punctuated the words by pounding my fist on her hand.

This went unremarked.

“I DON’T KNOW IF YOU REMEMBER, BUT YOU WERE SOOO ADORABLE CUDDLED UP AGAINST MY TUMMY,” she tittered, rubbing her nose against mine. “I DIDN’T HEAR YOU COMPLAINING THEN.”

Unsatisfied, I searched around for something else to vent.

“I do remember…” I said, trying to keep my voice level, “…that was around the time Stuart said something about you doing something to me the night of the GPR?”

I was vindicated: her smile disappeared in an instant. Her face went blank.

“UHHH…” She was genuinely at a loss for words.

“You know what I’m talking about,” I said pointedly.

Her jaw was clenched, but she didn’t look angry. She looked worried. Afraid. It had me taken aback. And then I felt a thrill of imminent victory. I had her.

She looked at me shyly.

“IF I TELL YOU, YOU HAVE TO PROMISE NOT TO GET MAD AT ME.”

“I don’t promise anything.”

“THEN I CAN’T TELL YOU.”

“If you don’t tell me, then I’m going to think you’re keeping secrets from me, and I won’t trust you anymore.”

She shook her head gently.

“IT’S IN THE PAST, AND IT’S NOT IMPORTANT.”

“If it’s not important, then why won’t you tell me?”

“BECAUSE I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN; I KNEW YOU WOULD ACT LIKE THIS, AND – ”

“If you can’t tell, I’m already mad at you, so what difference does it make?”

Sighing, she gingerly drew herself down onto the sofa, placing me on the edge of the coffee table. She then leaned towards me, sliding her hands over her knees and clasping them together in a businesslike way.

She kept her gaze level with me as she said:

"DO YOU REMEMBER DURING THE FLIP, WE WERE IN SCOTT AND TASHA'S KITCHEN, YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE DRINKING BACARDI..."

"Yeah.” It was coming back to me, but in pieces.

"WELL…I HAD SOME GHB. IT WAS...FOR STUART. I MEAN, FOR US. IT WAS FOR THE FLIP.” She gave me a small rueful smile. “SOMETIMES STUART NEEDS SOME…INSPIRATION. AND I WANTED IT TO BE SPECIAL. BUT THEN STUART CHICKENED OUT, SO…” she began fidgeting with her hands, “…WHILE YOU WERE OUT OF THE ROOM, I PUT IT IN YOUR DRINK."

"What? You're joking, right?"

I stared at her, silently imploring her to say ‘Gotcha!’ Weird, cruel joke but that was her style I guess.

She gave me one quick look and then refused to meet my eyes. She wasn't shitting me.

Jennifer had got me drunk before, and slipped me Viagra. But she had never slipped me hard street substances. Some people wouldn't make fine distinctions – alcohol was a drug, and technically coffee was too – but for me, it was crossing a major line.

"I DONT KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING," she was babbling on to fill the silence.

"Jesus, that's fucked up," I cringed. "But, even so, that doesn't mean..." I faltered for a second, thinking, "...I mean, I still would have used the machine anyway, though, and..." but then I remembered with a jolt of horror.

What had Remy said? I had gone dihedral instead of anhedral. That was because at the last second, I'd tripped. Because I was over the moon. Wildly so. If I had not been, and thus not tripped, the time travel would have worked.

It hit like a punch. Something collapsed inside, like my spine or chest or something had shattered.

I crouched down on the table, running a hand over my head.

Jennifer stirred uneasily.

Suddenly I jumped up again.

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" I screamed. "IT WOULD HAVE WORKED – I DID IT WRONG BECAUSE OF YOU!"

Her hand raised:

"JERRY, JUST CALM DOWN FOR ONE SECOND –! "

"You drugged me! We're not together anymore. I put up with that shit back then. But we're not even in a relationship now! And you still did it – what's wrong with you!?"

"I FUCKED UP, OKAY," now her eyes were glistening with tears, "I DON'T KNOW WHY I DID IT. DON'T YOU THINK I WISH I COULD GO B–?"

"Don't say it!" I screeched, raking my fingers through my hair. "There's nothing you can say to make this better. You've destroyed my life!"

“JERRY, I’M SORRY…” she choked back a sob, “I’M SO, SO SORRY…I – ”

Her hand came for me with timid delicateness.

“Don’t touch me!” I spat, slapping her fingers with all my might. “Leave me alone!”

I stormed over the tabletop to the end, leapt off, rolling onto the carpet, and kept going until I was out of the living room, and heading down the hallway.

To her credit, she knew better than to pursue me.

Which was good because where I was thinking of going, she wasn’t going to follow.

“Natalie, I need to get as far away from here as possible!” I panted into Jennifer’s phone. “Forever!”

It was the afternoon. After some time spent fuming around and recovering from my hangover, I had managed to take the phone, heft it over my shoulder like a door and sneak away under the guest room bed, but my nerves were trigger-sensitive; this was a pretty obvious hiding spot and it was only a matter of time before someone would pass by. Not to mention, pretty soon Jennifer was going to notice her phone was missing.

“You sound serious,” said the girl on the other end. She was the girl who had contacted me on the dating site. We’d had a brief and casual back and forth with online messaging before now, but this was the first time speaking to her in real time.

“I am! It's become a house of horror! I need to pack my things and get out of here before I become a missing person: last known location, my ex-girlfriend's butt! Natalie, if I drop off the radar entirely, promise me you'll go to the authorities!"

"Jerry, calm down," she soothed, "I can't understand what you're saying anymore. All I can hear is a lot of squeaking."

Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I went on:

“I need you to swing by and pick me up.”

“A breakout! Sounds exciting. What’s up? Aren’t your minders taking good care of you?”

She had an easy-going bubbly voice that I liked the moment I heard it. At least a phone gave me the ability to adjust voice volume so that her voice sounded normal. I had to remind myself I wasn’t talking to someone my size.

“Yeah,” I said, “you could say they don’t have my best interests at heart.”

“Aw, sad. And you want me to adopt you or something?”

“I just need a place to stay. I can look after myself.”

“Mmmmm…” she said uncertainly, “maybe you can. Or maybe you need some help. But you can come over. Sure. I hate to think of you all cold and hungry and alone over there.”

“It’s not that bad,” I said quickly. “It’s just a trust issue.”

“Well, sweetie, that sounds bad to me. You have to be able to trust them.”

“That’s very true. Can you make it over?”

“Tonight? I mean, I guess I can do that. You’re not too far away.”

“The thing is,” I said slowly, “you’ll have to get here at a weird time, like three in the morning, so they don’t see.”

Then, from down the hallway outside the bedroom, the deep padding sound of footsteps getting closer.

“JERRY?”

It was Jennifer.

“Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, I have to fucking run!” I hissed.

“What?” Natalie giggled nervously. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Take me at the door. Just don’t get seen. And for God’s sake, if this number rings you again, don’t pick up!”

Before she could reply, I hung up. There was no time to delete her number from the call history – even if I knew how. The sound of thudding footsteps entered the room.

Now, oddly, it felt like I was in a horror movie. Sure, I sensed no mortal danger from Jennifer, but there was still something primitively terrifying about being hunted by a giant, having the floor quake as they approached you, and being unable to see their face.

Pausing by the bed, Jennifer’s upper body came into view as she got down onto her hands and knees and dipped her head low enough to peer at me. I was already sprinting when her eyes found me, making my way to the end of the bed, closest the door. Where would I go if I got out of the room? Who knew; it was futile to run for long, she would catch me eventually. I was fast for my size – the extra muscle development – but she had the infinite advantage with her statuesque legs. But better to demonstrate the effort, the intention to get away from her, than sit timidly and wait to be caught.

Anticipating where I was heading, Jennifer got to her feet and reached the doorway in two quick strides. Whereas, I was pumping my legs to the max. She then bent and reached her hand out right in front of my path. I was running so hard I had no time to stop, and crashed into her palm with such force I winded myself. Her fingers snapped around me, capturing me, and then I was swept up off the ground. With me captured but struggling in one hand, she returned to the bed and dug her phone out from underneath.

“DID I HEAR YOU TALKING?”

“It’s called privacy,” I said. “Ever heard of it?”

“YOU’RE THE EXPERT ON THAT, USING MY PHONE,” she scoffed. “ANYWAY, WHAT WERE YOU DOING?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I was hiding from you,” I burst out, wanting to hurt her.

She looked at me with sadness.

“IF YOU WANT ALONE TIME, FINE. BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO HIDE FROM ME.”

“I think I do. You’re a danger to me.”

She quietly shut the bedroom door, and then went over to the bed and sat down. She held me up before her face. I glared at her, not appreciating the proximity, but didn’t say anything.

“CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT THIS? CAN YOU LET ME EXPLAIN MYSELF?”

“What is there to explain?” I said tiredly.

She had that rare, tender look on her face that I remembered from just before I used the machine. A look of being unguarded, helpless but to let her raw feelings show. I assumed it was just guilt now, because I realized it had been guilt then. But I was only half right.

“JERRY…DO YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?” It seemed to cause her pain simply uttering the words.

I stared at her in disbelief.

“Why would you ask me a thing like that?” I spluttered. “Do you understand how angry I am at you?”

“YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO BE. I CAN’T IMAGINE THE PAIN YOU’RE IN RIGHT NOW. I BETRAYED YOU IN A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS, AND I’M SORRY. BUT I NEVER IMAGINED THIS WOULD HAPPEN BECAUSE OF WHAT I DID. YOU DON’T KNOW HOW SCARED I WAS WHEN YOU WENT TO USE THE MACHINE. I THOUGHT YOU WOULD GET ELECTROCUTED OR SOMETHING AND IT WAS MY FAULT.”

“Well, what did you imagine would happen by drugging my drink?” I grunted. “You think I’d act like an idiot and everyone could have a laugh at my expense.”

“OF COURSE NOT.”

She faltered for a second. I saw her throat convulse as she tried to get it to work. Finally, she answered uncertainly:

“I HAD THIS IDEA THAT YOU WOULD MAKE OUT WITH ME.”

My brow lowered.

“Well, obviously that backfired horribly, so no wonder you feel silly about it.”

She surged on with renewed confidence:

“I DON’T. I FELT SOMETHING AGAIN THAT NIGHT.”

“And you thought some drugs were going to make it even better?”

“FORGET THAT FOR JUST ONE SECOND,” she looked at me pleadingly. “I STILL FEEL SOMETHING. AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT BUT EVER SINCE YOUR CHANGE, THE FEELING HAS GOTTEN STRONGER. YOU’RE MORE LIKE YOU USED TO BE WHEN WE FIRST STARTED DATING – AND EVEN BEFORE THEN, WHEN I FIRST MET YOU. YOU’RE FUNNY AGAIN. YOU’RE PLAYFUL AGAIN. YOU’RE NOT AFRAID TO SASS ME EVEN THOUGH I’M, LIKE, TEN TIMES YOUR SIZE. AND IT SERIOUSLY TURNS ME ON.”

Her cheeks were flushed now and I shifted in her hand uncomfortably. She was bringing me up closer to her face. Her warm breath was warm against my face, and ruffling my hair.

“PLEASE DON’T FREAK OUT AGAIN,” she said soothingly, “I JUST WANT TO KISS YOU.”

“Jennifer, I don’t – ”

“I WANTED YOU EVER SINCE I SAW YOU AT THE PORTUGAL. YOU LOOKED SO COOL AND SUAVE BUT YOU DIDN’T EVEN SAY A WORD TO ME. YOU MADE ME WANT YOUR ATTENTION SO BADLY. BUT EVERYTIME I MANAGED TO GET AWAY FROM STUART, I COULDN’T FIND YOU.”

“This isn’t like that,” I pointed out. “In case you haven’t noticed, things are a little different since we saw each other at the Portugal.”

“YOU’RE RIGHT. I’VE GOT YOUR ATTENTION NOW.”

Her soft lips then enveloped my head, and parted just enough to allow her to suck on, not just my lips, but my cheeks and jaw. There wasn’t really any way she could possibly do it without taking in half of my head. My face was massaged and tugged, and coated in wave after wave of her saliva. My ears popped, and the vacuum of her mouth even pulled gently at my eyeballs, which was a very odd, slightly alarming feeling.

She was so into kissing me that it didn’t occur to her to breathe through her nose, and the force of her breathing, as applied directly to my mouth, was almost too much for my puny lungs, as they were rhythmically squeezed and expanded to the limit, and I struggled to hold onto air for very long, a little like when travelling very fast in a car and sticking your head out the window.

She let out a soft moan, but loud enough to vibrate my skull, and pulled my head in even deeper into her mouth, getting carried away now. The suction was mind-blowing; I could feel my neck vertebrae being stretched with every steady pulse of her impatient tongue, like she was trying to coax me into a length of spaghetti.

She was unconsciously massaging my torso as well, and applying a little more strength than necessary, so even if I did get more than a small breath in, it was shortly compressed out of me again. Her fingers were forcing my shirt to ride up, wanting to make as much contact with my bare torso as possible, reveling in tracing my muscles, while her thumb worked lower, pushing the waistband of my pants down…

“No,” I grunted through heavy breaths. “No, stop!”

With a long sigh, she withdrew my head from between her lips and eased her grip on me so I was able to roll my damp shirt back down, and hitch my pants up.

“You’re in a relationship,” I said firmly. “And I need to get on with my life.”

Breathing hard, she stared at me without blinking.

“YOU STILL HAVE A LIFE HERE, WITH US.”

I massaged my brow, then gazed up at her with a look of incredulity.

“Be serious, here: I can’t stick around while you’re dropping hints to Stuart about engagement.”

Her lashes fluttered with confusion.

“DROPPING HINTS…? WHO SAID – ?”

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me about it. I get it. I think we should have just laid it all out on the table a long time ago.”

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE—”

“You wanted to be nice to me,” I explained patiently, “having me up here. But it’s put your plans with Stuart on hold, and you don’t know how to get me to move on without hurting my feelings.”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE.”

“I’m not offended. I want to have my own life.”

“YOU WANT TO LEAVE?” she frowned. “AND GO WHERE?”

“What if I met someone?”

She smiled without humor, and it struck me as smug.

“WHERE WOULD YOU FIND A WOMAN YOUR SIZE?”

“She doesn’t have to be my size.”

She pondered over this a moment. Then she surveyed me with calm resignation.

“JERRY, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT, I CARE ABOUT YOU DEEPLY. THAT’S NEVER GOING TO CHANGE. IT’S BECAUSE OF YOUR SIZE, I WORRY ABOUT YOU. I’M SORRY. BUT I CAN’T HELP IT. I WORRY THAT SOMEONE IS GOING TO HURT YOU.”

“Why would someone hurt me? I don't pose a threat to anyone.”

Her thumb began distractedly drawing circles on my belly as she stared off at a fixed point somewhere on the ground.

“I NEVER TOLD YOU THIS BUT SOMETIMES I HAVE NIGHTMARES THAT SOME LOWLIFE IS GOING TO…I DON’T KNOW…SNATCH YOU AND DO HORRIBLE THINGS TO YOU. WHEN I WAKE UP THE FIRST THING I DO IS CHECK YOU’RE STILL IN YOUR BED.”

“You wouldn’t care if I died,” I scoffed, “you would just make me into a key ring – remember?”

“THAT WAS A JOKE! I ADMIT; A POOR JOKE. LISTEN,” she went on in a small, but firm voice, “IF I LOST YOU, I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’D DO. I WOULD NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF.”

I was about to say something but stopped as Stuart’s voice called out from down the hall.

“HEY, JEN, I’M GOING TO THE HARDWARE STORE. YOU WANT TO COME?”

She opened her mouth to speak, looking at me uncertainly.

I cut in before she could reply:

“Go,” I gave a curt nod. “I think I’m going to go lie down.”

Without a word she carried me out of the room and put me down by my bed.

They went out shopping together while I stayed behind. I needed to sleep some now so I was fit to wake up very early that night.

Later, we had a quiet dinner in. I sat at the table, eating and not speaking or looking at anyone, lost in my own thoughts. Stuart chatted freely, obliviously. Jennifer sipped a wine, talked infrequently and threw me a sideways glance wherever she thought Stuart wasn’t looking. When I caught her gaze she quickly looked away.

Otherwise she seemed satisfied the rough patch had been smoothed over. Whereas I felt like it had just been swept under the carpet. I was convinced she wanted to have her cake and eat it: she wanted to get serious with Stuart, and at the same time keep me supported. It was unlike her to be cowed by the thought of hurting someone’s feelings, but that’s exactly what it seemed like she was doing: acting to preserve the feelings of both Stuart and I, to serve both our interests.

It was deeply disquieting. Not only was this radically unlike her, but she didn’t seem to appreciate how it was only doomed to fail. She couldn’t have a serious future with me in the background.

My eyes continued to drift to the clock as I patiently counted down the hours…

Eventually it got dark. They watched some TV before bedtime. As the two of them grew increasingly relaxed, I grew increasingly jittery with nerves.

They lay on the couch cuddling and giggling. Chaste, but still, seeing it from my perch on the table, on my sponge bed, and thinking that Jennifer was trying to make out with me only hours earlier gave me an odd sort of whiplash. But why worry about that now, I told myself, when I’d soon be out of here.

*

As he usually did before going to bed, Stuart moved toward the front door to lock it. My heart began to hammer.

“You already locked it,” I burst out. “Earlier.”

He paused and scratched his head.

“OH. OKAY.”

Then he turned and made his way to the master bedroom, where Jennifer had retreated moments before.

Turning around, I let out a huge sigh of relief. That was close. If the door was locked, Natalie and I were screwed; she’d be trapped outside, I’d be trapped inside. Our whole subterfuge would be kaput.

At a quarter to three in the morning, I slid out of my bed and climbed down onto the floor. Then, in the grey darkness, I made my way along the ground towards the front door. I put in no special effort to be slow or careful – at my size I was naturally as quiet as a mouse.

At the door, I waited. A few minutes past three, I heard some soft crunching on gravel outside, and then the door silently inched open. I stepped out over the threshold.

“Hi, Nata—” I began, holding out my arms.

A huge hand scooped me up. I jolted.

“Hey!” I said, shivering. “Cold!”

“SORRY,” Natalie’s voice whispered, very close. Before I could say anything else, she unzipped her jacket and slipped me into the breast pocket on the inside, and then zipped it up again. I found myself pressed in place between the jacket material, and the firm curve of her breast. I couldn’t see anything, but at least it was warm.

There was a rhythmic jolting motion around me, which were her footsteps as she made her way back to her car. Then I heard the car door open and felt myself drop as she got into the driver’s seat. The car door shut again, and the car started up. She reached up, cupped me with the palm of her hand from the outside of the jacket, and massaged me against her breast briefly.

“YOU FEEL VERY SNUG, MISTER,” she said pleasurably, “I THINK I’LL KEEP YOU IN THERE FOR THE DRIVE HOME.”

She hadn’t seemed to have deliberately stuffed me against her breast; it just happened to be where the pocket in the jacket was. Nevertheless, whether she was aware or not, her nipple was beginning to get hard from the stimulation my pressure inadvertently provided it, and it started to poke me in the small of my back.

I heard the low drone of the car engine as we began to move. It took about thirty minutes to get to her place. The road got rough as if with potholes at one point, bumping the car and causing me to be jiggled against her chest, brushing back and forth over nipple repeatedly. She giggled when this happened and told me off for tickling her.

Finally the car engine stopped as we got to her place. I felt myself shifting around again as she got out of the car and went inside.

“HOME SWEET HOME,” she murmured, gently tapping my head through the jacket material.

There was the sound of her front door creaking open and then shutting. I waited patiently in my dark sheltered space, while I was rocked back and forth in time with her footsteps as she walked through the house. 

The zip of her jacket rumbled as she opened it, and the tips of her fingers slipped down into the top of the dark pocket I was kept in, sliding delicately around my body and retrieving me.

I was brought out into the light in the midst of her bedroom, tastefully decorated with rustic and vintage styled furniture.

Turning my head I found myself gazing at her face, and she was gazing back at me with a look of curiosity, shyness, and restrained excitement. Just like her profile picture she was strikingly pretty, with fair hair and soft features.

“I’M GOING BACK TO BED FOR A LITTLE WHILE,” she said. “I DON’T HAVE A BED FOR YOU YET… BUT YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY WELCOME TO SLEEP WITH ME.”

“Okay,” I shrugged. I was too tired to argue – not that I had any better ideas.

Her eyes went wide.

“I DON’T MEAN SLEEP WITH ME!” she laughed, going red, “I MEAN SLEEP IN MY BED WITH ME.”

I inclined my head.

“It’s fine. I know what you mean.”

Her smile became disarmingly bright, as if she had been secretly hoping I’d accept the arrangement and was thrilled that I did.

Putting me on her bed, she stripped out of her jacket, top and pants. She must have been too tired to put on pajamas, and remained in her bra and panties. Her cheeks were warm and she bit her lip a little as she observed my reaction.

“UM…YOU DON’T MIND IF I…?” She rubbed her arm bashfully, nodding down at herself.

“You can wear whatever you want. It’s your house.”

She smiled again in that cute excited way, and picked me up before sliding under the covers of her bed. Lying down on her side with me grasped in one hand, she carefully moved me in and held me against her chest.

I turned to face her and tucked my head in against her breasts. Waiting to go to sleep, she let out a deep sigh as she squeezed me gently and her fingernails felt like heaven as they grazed gently over my scalp.

She dipped her head to look at me just beneath the covers for a moment, and her warm breath puffed against the top of my head as she gave a great big yawn.

Then she gave a low chuckle.

“I WOULD SMUGGLE YOU ANYTIME, BIG GUY,” she said under her breath.

My eyes were beginning to close. We slept for a few hours.

Morning was creeping in through the windows in the Tomlin/Lyotel household.

Jennifer stirred, enjoying the warmth of the bed, and listening to Stuart’s low, rhythmic breathing for a moment. He was spooning her from behind, his breath brushing against her neck. She then surreptitiously slid his arm from over her waist and slipped out of the bed. He remained asleep. She was a master of getting around silently if she wanted to.

She slunk down the hallway and went out into the living room, to the table holding Jerry’s sponge bed. She knew Jerry’s sleep routine from living with him during their relationship, and took delight in waking a little earlier than him, to get a moment to admire his prone form and provide her own creative brand of alarm clock.

Whatever time he woke, she ensured that she woke at least five minutes earlier. If he had planned to wake at 5.00am, then she would have been up at 4:55am. There was something that excited her about seeing her own huge shadow fall across his comparatively small body, but this time she was denied the joy, as the sponge bed was empty, and the hand towel blanket tossed off, like Jerry had jumped out of bed with particular eagerness.  

That was unexpected. He loved sleeping in more than he hated being tickled awake by her.

“Jerry?” she said, furrowing her brow. He was hiding from her again, the little rat!

She padded around the room even though she knew she had little hope of finding him just looking. There were too many potential hiding spots in the house for someone his size.

There was a better idea; she would pretend not to care, and get Stuart to play along, too, making Jerry eventually come out on his own to see what they were doing. As soon as his guard slipped, she would pounce and make him wish he’d just stayed in bed.

But after midday came and went, neither of them had seen a trace of Jerry. Unless he was sneaking food from the cupboard somehow, he hadn’t had breakfast or lunch. And Jerry never missed meals.

They began to search the house, calling his name. She was getting worried and angry, thinking that if Jerry was playing them, then he was going to be sorry when they found him.

But in the back of her mind she had to suppress the dire images flashing up; Jerry had gone sleepwalking and a heavy object had fallen onto him, or he’d tumbled off a ledge, or gotten terrorized by intruding vermin.

They continued to scour the house as the day went on.

She even got down against the floor, trying to imagine how the house looked from Jerry’s point of view, the places he would think to hide in.

In the lobby by the front door, she caught herself in the mirror on the wall, and ran her hand anxiously through her sleek hair, examining herself somewhat girlishly. Yes, she was a very good looking woman. But did the assessment still hold from about 4 inches off the ground?

Could it be that the glances Jerry gave her – the hilarious way his eyes spaced out like his brain had just crashed – were not inspired by lust – as she interpreted it – but terror? Had she so disastrously misread him? The thought sent a shiver of panic through her. All her actions had been intended to keep their relationship on as good terms as possible – as well as having a little harmless 'playtime' on the side. But if she had misread him all this time then she might have possibly disgusted him and driven him away.

But there was another explanation for his absence that frightened her even more. She was beginning to feel like Jerry wasn’t in the house at all. That someone had broken in and taken him. Maybe it was women’s intuition, though that sort of stuff made her eyes roll. But she could not deny she had an almost psychic feeling about knowing where Jerry was without looking.

And it was totally absent right now.

It must have been that stupid media bit they did; it was a big loud advertisement to everyone. Some people probably found out Jerry was worth a lot of money and had kidnapped him for ransom.

She was beginning to feel sick.

Why? She despaired silently.

They could’ve taken the TV, the sofas, the car, cleaned out the safe. His funds aside, Jerry had no personal value to anyone. Except her. Taking him was such a personal, unthinkable insult against her; she felt like he was privately hers in some indescribable way, like a childhood teddy bear, and taking him felt like an intimate crime against her. Without Jerry, she only felt like one half of herself. She didn’t believe in the nonsense that she had a soul mate or a destined lover, but if anyone on the planet fit the description…

Some women might have been seized by helpless anxiety at this point. Some women might have collapsed into a fit of crying.

Stuart had seen Jennifer get annoyed before, but she was good at hiding it, smoothing it over with a disparaging joke.

This was the first time he ever saw Jennifer get properly mad.

*

“SO TELL ME ABOUT THIS GIRL YOU’RE SO AFRAID OF,” said Natalie, resting her head against her palm.

We had just awoken. She had put on a t-shirt and pajama pants and was lying on her stomach on her bed, and I was sitting cross-legged just beneath her face. This was a regretful position now, her face was so close to me that she bathed me in her morning breath, with long repeated warm gusts. But I didn’t say anything; I had only just met her in person and didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Particularly as I had nowhere else to go.

Plus I was quick to forgive her, anyway, normal sized people tended not to realize how sensitive I was to little things like touch and scent, so they tended to underestimate how close they were positioned to me. A giant person's natural urge was to lean right in, in order to make out the tiny features of my face, and hear my voice. By contrast, from my point of view, this made their facial features blow out into an inescapable panorama, and their voices quake my teeny eardrums like the horn of a freightliner.

I fidgeted with my hands in my lap.

“I believe she wanted to kill me,” I said slowly, measuring my words, “Or, not ‘wanted’ exactly, but if it had happened incidentally…I don’t know. She’s a psycho. She drugged me in order to fuck me and it made me go through a time warp wrong.”

I was almost incoherent but didn’t care. It felt good getting a lot of stuff out of my system. Being out of Jennifer and Stuart’s house was liberating. I could say anything about them.

Natalie shifted around, her white teeth flashing as she laughed, having difficulty making sense of what I was saying.

Butterflies jittered in my stomach. She had a gorgeous smile, easy, totally uninhibited. It made me want to grab her head and kiss her. Obviously with my little hands, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Jennifer was hot, but her thing was smirking and raising an eyebrow, biting her lip, little coquettish things. Her face was composed like a sphinx, damming up any rush of spontaneous emotions from getting through. Getting a broad, open smile from her was like trying to make one of the Queen’s guards laugh.

“SO WHY’D THEY PUT YOU UP IF THEY DON’T CARE FOR YOU PROPERLY? WHAT, ARE THEY TRYING TO TURN YOU INTO A LITTLE SLAVE OR SOMETHING?”

“No. Her boyfriend, Stuart, I don’t know how or why he agreed to it. But she’s an attention whore. I think she likes to lord over me – or ‘lady’ over me, in a manner of speaking.”

“THIS IS YOUR EX, RIGHT?” Natalie tilted her head like a confused dog, her brow furrowed in confusion. “HOW’D YOU EVEN FIND HER IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

I sighed.

“We both had problems. It’s like our problems complimented each other. She loves being the pursuer. She loves the chase. Don’t know why but it’s always been that way.”

“WEIRD,” Natalie muttered. She seemed more interested in fondling me rather than paying too much attention to what I was saying. She was now playing a little game of nipping at my toes between her fingers. One of her long nails snaked out and brushed up the sole of my foot, attempting to tickle me.

“Hey!” I said, jerking my foot away, slapping her finger playfully.

“I CAN’T HELP MYSELF!” she whined. “YOU’RE SO TINY AND ADORABLE!”

No matter how many times I shifted my feet, her mischievous probing fingers kept creeping back to distract me.

Scooting a little way across the bed from her, I carried on:

“Problem is she doesn’t get to chase many guys, because most guys are too busy falling flat on their faces at her feet.”

Natalie folded her arms under her chin and looked at me seriously.

“IF YOU ASK ME, SHE SOUNDS LIKE SHE’S A LOT OF TROUBLE. MAYBE SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS.”

“You’re right about that. You don’t try to understand what she wants; you’ll never figure it out. It’s an unsolvable riddle. She likes to order guys around, but hates guys who do everything she says. She needs to feel like the centre of attention but likes guys who act distant, like they’re too cool for her. And she loves feeling desired but likes guys who put up a fight.”

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of Natalie's mouth.

“SOUNDS LIKE YOU KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS.”

“From trial and error, maybe. With her, there is a penalty if you guess wrong.”

Natalie shook her head in bemusement.

“YOU MAKE IT SOUND LIKE IT WAS SOME ABUSE SITUATION.”

“Oh, it was an abuse situation,” I nodded.

“WELL, YOU DON’T LIVE THERE ANYMORE, YOU LIVE WITH ME NOW,” she said playfully. “SO SNAP OUT OF THE STOCKHOLM SYNDROME!”

She suddenly pinched my ankles between her index finger and thumb and lifted me into the air. I was dangled upside before her eyes, and stared back at her, taken aback. This wasn’t a side I’d seen of her before – not that I knew her very well. But it reminded me of something Jennifer might do, and that brought a lump to my throat.

Without any warning, she brought me right up against her face and, hooking a finger down my top to drag it down below my armpits, planted a chaste kiss against my bare stomach, before lowering me back down to the bed. Then she giggled in spite of herself, flushing a little. She seemed to think we’d just done something naughty and I hated to disabuse her of the notion.

Because she was the normal one, not me.

It wasn’t normal to pick up a guy by the ankles, dangle him like a fish and kiss his belly like he was an infant. I couldn’t believe I had to tell myself this. But I had been conditioned otherwise.

Where Jennifer was sex on legs, Natalie was like the ‘oops-I-accidentally-flirted-with-you’ girl next door type who smiled shamelessly, and who seemed to think touching on the arm meant nothing, tickling was just tickling and even kissing my stomach was just messing around. I wanted to cuddle up with her, just cuddle and be wholesome. It seemed profane to want to position myself anywhere in the vicinity of her vagina, or offer to kiss her nipples, or even see her naked.

“It’s not like I worshipped her or something!” I shot back, unsettled by the conflict inside me. “Just because people are so huge to me, doesn’t mean I live in awe of them.”

I added hotly: “And definitely not her. Not after I took the both of them out for dinner, and even after that, she used me like a toy!” My fisted hands trembled with pent up emotion. “She should have just trampled the roses I got her, too!”

Natalie’s smile dropped on one side.

“WAIT, YOU GAVE HER ROSES? UM…WHY?” Her expression was a mixture of hesitation and pity.

“It was her birthday.”

She folded her arms in front of her chest and hunched over them, looking away from me for a moment.

“JERRY, MAYBE BECAUSE YOU’RE A GUY FLOWERS ARE JUST FLOWERS. BUT FROM A MAN TO A WOMAN, ROSES ARE VERY SPECIFIC. IT’S NOT A ‘THANK YOU’ GIFT IT’S AN ‘I WANT YOU’ GIFT. IN YOUR CASE, ‘I WANT YOU BACK’.”

I shook my head, refusing to believe that I might have been sending clueless crossed messages like some socially clumsy ass.

“Jen loves roses. It’s as simple as that. She understood that I didn’t mean anything.”

Natalie went on cautiously, with her eyebrows low over her eyes, scrutinizing me.

“BUT DID HER BOYFRIEND UNDERSTAND?”

I shrugged.

“Didn’t bother him one bit. Stuart is totally understanding about the whole arrangement.”

Pressing her palm against her mouth, Natalie laughed in that pitying way again.

“OH BROTHER. JERRY…I PROMISE YOU, AT MOST HE’S CIVILLY TOLERANT ABOUT IT. IF HE’S UPSET, YOU’RE NOT SEEING IT, BUT IT’S THERE.”

“How do you know that? You've never met him.”

“BECAUSE HE CAN’T LOVE JENNIFER AND LIKE YOU AT THE SAME TIME. YOU’RE HER EX. IT’S NOT HOW THIS WORKS, HONEY.”

As if in consolation, her finger extended and petted my hair.

“You don’t know Stuart. He’s the most laid back guy you’d ever meet. One time Jennifer covered me in lipstick kiss marks as a joke and he just giggled.”

Natalie looked away, frowning for a long time, like she was doing equations in her head.

Finally she looked down at me again, still with that puzzled expression.

“UMMM...THIS GUY, STUART…DOES HE EVER TALK ABOUT, LIKE, LONG TERM PLANS WITH JENNIFER?”

“Honestly? No. But why would they talk about that with me?”

“I MEAN,” she went on, starting to sound a little impatient with me, “HAS EITHER OF THEM EVER SAID TO YOU SOMETHING LIKE: ‘HEY, JERRY, WE’RE THINKING OF TYING THE KNOT ONE DAY, SO WE NEED TO FIGURE OUT A LESS AWKWARD ARRANGEMENT FOR YOU?”

“No."

She didn’t say anything, but just looked at me, almost as if she didn’t believe me, so I began to babble on:

“I guess we’re all short-term minded at the moment. You know, the accident happened too fast to adjust for and –”

“NO,” she interrupted me gently but firmly, “SOMETHING’S NOT ADDING UP HERE.” Then she brightened. “BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER, BECAUSE YOU’RE OUT OF THAT PLACE NOW.”

“Yeah, but they…”

My voice slowly dwindled away.

“Why are you looking at me like tha—erp!”

Her hand slid all around me and yanked me right in against her chest. Meanwhile, her other hand was emerging over my head, curled into a fist. Before I knew it, the knuckle joint of her curled up pointer finger was running back and forth vigorously against my scalp; her version of a good-natured noogie. From her point of view, maybe it was gentle, but the grinding of her finger joint was enough to jerk my head back and forth.

She uttered a sly chuckle as my limbs pushed out against her in helpless self-defence. Sealed inside her hand with only my head sticking out, I had no means of escape or even covering my head. My wriggling only tired me out. She would grind her knuckle back and forth against the crown of my head furiously, then pause a moment, pretending to stop, before the attack resumed without warning.

Her chuckling became open laughter, drowning out my frustrated cries, and as the attack wore on, it began to send sparks of pain flickering over my skull. But I was laughing because she was laughing, and her laughter – like her smile – was infectious.

Only when I stopped wriggling to catch my breath, did her hand quickly place me back onto the bedspread. Her hands, now clasped together, fidgeted as if she was anxious she might have injured me.

“I’M SORRY!” she said, with cheeks flushed from laughing. “ARE YOU OKAY?”

My head felt a little raw, but I nodded.

I had been at Natalie’s house all week and was having a blast. She went to her daytime university lectures or work, leaving me at home. I relished the time alone and explored and climbed around her house, getting to know where everything was. When she returned we would sit together – her at her desk and me sitting on her PC mouse – and I would help her with her studies. She had to give a presentation, and found it convenient to rehearse in front of me, in return for my feedback. 

When not working on something, she liked to ask my advice about personal things going on in her life, and rewarded me for listening and dispensing sage advice with an affectionate peck on the cheek or forehead.

Intimacy hadn’t yet gotten radically serious but I was in no rush. We were just chilling and enjoying getting to know each other at a leisurely pace.

It was nothing like the steamy, breakneck fast, electrically charged courtship I'd had with Jennifer, who, on a first date, had exercised no restraint about letting her pantyhose-covered toes climb up my ankles beneath the restaurant table, and with long toenails, softly rake my legs like they were scratching posts.

And later, on her doorstep, when had I leaned in for the first kiss, she had grabbed my lips between her fingers of one hand, while the other hand made a groping exploration of my groin, like a shopper handling a product to assess whether it had all the desired features. 

No, being with Natalie was nothnig like that, and I was relieved.

It was crazy how relaxed I felt around Natalie: she didn’t grab me unawares; she always asked my permission first. She was also quick to apologize if she startled me or did something that might have seemed frightening to someone my size, like stepping her feet close to me while I was on the floor.

She bathed me in the sink but it was incredibly chaste. She was too nervous to see me naked, and closed her eyes or turned away, but didn’t seem to want to leave the bathroom entirely, worried I would drown on my own. Her fingers were soft and hesitant as she rubbed a wet soapy washcloth over me. I got an accidental erection a couple of times and she blushed and was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

When she heard I had formerly slept on a sponge, she got me another and at bedtime I hunkered down on it on her bedside table. In the morning, if I felt cold, I leapt onto her bed and snuck under the blanket, where she’d smile in spite of herself and wrap her hand around my body, drawing me up against her throat.

Now I was away from Jennifer and Stuart’s house I felt freer than a bird. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had no idea what my life looked like ahead of me, and it was terrifying but exhilarating. I loved the feeling of being alone and obliviously self-absorbed, racing between whatever fancy struck me. I loved to wander from place to place in Natalie’s house, almost whistling like some '60s character, completely planless and delighting in spontaneity, free from the oppressive cast of Jennifer's menacing shadow.

Jennifer didn't seem to understand, like I did, that my behavior wasn't utterly pathological. She resented that being alone seduced me more deeply than she ever could. She saw it as an attempt to escape or avoid her, and was insulted. Her need to keep me on a leash wound around her little finger was outrageous. I wanted to wander away like a carefree toddler and she wanted to grab my arm and wrench me back. That was what I imagined marriage might be like, and I cringed at the thought. It would be like a jail where the bars were her fingers.

Now I was free, thanks to Natalie. Gratefulness swelled in my chest. I was overcome by a whirlwind of emotion. She seemed pretty elated, too. Whenever we accidentally made eye contact she flashed me her gorgeous smile and took it as an unspoken solicitation to wander over to me, snatch me up in her hands and kiss my face or squeeze me against her like I was a teddy bear.

For the past while she had been typing away at something at the computer – something study related – and now stood up and stretched, her leg muscles flexing impressively in her tight pants. Then she bent over, sliding her hands down her knees, her ass lifting as she stretched her arms towards her toes. Her butt went round and so tight I thought I could use it for a trampoline.

Sometimes she spontaneously dropped to the carpet and started doing Pilates. Whenever this happened, I stopped whatever I was doing and just watched, entranced by the sight of her shapely frame curving and tensing, and best of all, butt pushing out and bulging. Her tight pants tended to exhibit a camel toe, which my eyes were drawn to every time she spread her legs, though I tried not to look. When she caught me staring at her, she would shift into a stretch that involved straightening her leg, her toes pointing gracefully for a second before using her big toe to bop my nose as if to gently tell me off for staring.

At least she kept her toenails trimmed very short, so there were no unpleasant residues hiding under there to surprise my olfactory sense...

Jennifer didn’t believe in yoga or Pilates or any of that kind of thing. She didn’t think it was real exercise and called it New Age pseudo-cise. She liked things that got her heart rate up, caused her to sweat, caused the fat to melt. If it didn’t change the way her body looked or felt, she didn’t see the point of it. It was from growing up with the boys; they would’ve laughed at her if she did yoga, so…

—Why was I still thinking of her? Natalie was right, I needed to drop the dependency disorder.

Finishing her stretching, Natalie wandered over to me, lying on her bed, where I was flicking around the internet on her tablet. The bed depressed steadily as she eased herself down next to me. Another thing about her: she would seat herself next to me with the utmost care, so I didn’t bounce around with her weight.

A finger gently rubbed against my shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, looking up.

“ALL FINISHED,” she sighed. “SO, HOW ABOUT A DRINK?” She held up a finger. “NON-ALCOHOLIC, THOUGH. I DON’T DRINK…MUCH.”

“Great! I could stand to de-tox.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and then came back into the room with some smoothies – one in a little plastic shot glass. She loved smoothies; anything and everything was tossed into the blender. I joked about her minding not to toss me into the blender, but she didn’t see the humor in this. In fact, she was mortified; asking whether my ex had ever threatened to do this to me. I quickly said no.

We sat on her bed, me on her lap, while we enjoyed our drinks. She held the little cup up against my head as I sipped from it, and was very careful not to tip the cup too much, to prevent more drink from going down my throat than I could handle. I tapped her finger each time I wanted to tell her to lilt the cup a little more.

“I was thinking,” I started, “for a first date I’d usually go to a lounge bar, but if neither of us will be drinking, we could do something different. Go to the beach, or to a show or something.”

She raised an eyebrow, unable to hide a broad smile.

“YOU IN A LOUNGE? DON’T YOU MEAN, LIKE, ‘LOUNGE ROOM?”

“Not funny! I used to visit lounges a lot when I was single, for live jazz.”

“USED TO…” she pointed out softly.

“It’s not off the cards. It just requires scoping out a place first, to make sure the environment is right. If it’s too dark, people might not see me and that could create a problem.”

“MMMM…” she considered this for a moment in silence.

I gave her finger a squeeze, trying to draw her attention back.

“Anyway, where would you like to go on our first date, beautiful?”

She blinked down at me.

“OUR…? SOMEONE’S EAGER.”

I stared at her.

“Why not? That’s what you do when you’re dating. You go on a date. It’s not a big deal.”

She emptied her glass and put it over on her night stand.

“IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE GETTING A LITTLE AHEAD OF YOURSELF.”

“What do you mean? We’re dating, aren’t we?”

She smiled coolly as she looked across the room, as if I’d been joking.

“I’LL HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT…”

“Huh? We've been hanging out this whole time. Did you think we were just friends?”

“WELL, YEAH," she said sheepishly. "I MEAN, YOU NEVER ACTUALLY ASKED ME OUT.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want to go out?”

“I’LL HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT…”

My mouth twisted.

“We met through a dating site, Natalie. You contacted me. If we’re not dating then there’s been a spectacular blunder somewhere.”

She gave me a small frown.

“NOTHING WAS SET IN STONE. I OFFERED YOU A PLACE TO STAY, THAT’S ALL. I DIDN’T WANT TO GIVE YOU CLEARER SIGNALS BECAUSE I WAS PREPARED FOR THE POSSIBILITY THAT WE MIGHT NOT GET ALONG.”

“But you’ve known me for a week now, and I like to think we get along.”

She blinked as she stared around the room, as if considering her thoughts. Finally, her eyes returned to me, but with a strained kind of warmth.

“YOU’RE A LOVELY LITTLE MAN TO HAVE AROUND, JERRY. BUT I JUST DON’T THINK WE’RE RELATIONSHIP MATERIAL.”

“Why not? Is it because of my size?”

She cringed. Maybe my voice was getting too testy.

Then she seemed to brace herself inwardly, and fixed me with a serious look.

“I’M THINKING OF IT FROM MORE OF A PRACTICAL POINT OF VIEW. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A GIRLFRIEND WHO HAS TO MANAGE YOUR WHOLE LIFE? I THOUGHT GUYS HATED THAT KIND OF THING.”

“You don’t need to manage my whole life. I can do a lot of things for myself. Give me a pair of shoelaces and I can climb almost anything.”

“JERRY, THAT’S THE THING: I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHOSE CROWNING ACHIEVEMENT OF THE DAY IS THAT HE FIGURED OUT HOW TO OPEN THE FRIDGE. I’LL DO THESE THINGS FOR YOU, BUT…” Her voice dwindled away with a small noise of frustration. “I’M NOT TRYING TO BE MEAN, BUT—”

“Well, it doesn’t sound very good.”

“OKAY, I’M SORRY, I KNOW THAT SOUNDS TERRIBLE. LET ME PUT IT ANOTHER WAY: CAN YOU HONESTLY PICTURE US GETTING MARRIED, LIKE, AT THE ALTAR, ME LOOKING DOWN AT YOU AT MY FEET AND YOU – GOD, I DON’T KNOW – LOOKING UP TRYING TO SEE MY FACE?"

My eyebrows met in a sharp V.

“Now who’s the one getting ahead of themselves? I never said anything about getting married.”

“WELL, ONE DAY I DO WANT TO GET MARRIED, AND IF I’M ENTIRELY HONEST WITH MYSELF, I WANT TO BE STANDING SIDE BY SIDE WITH MY GROOM, HOLDING HIS HANDS AS I LOOK INTO HIS EYES AND SAY MY VOWS.”

“I could stand on a ladder,” I shrugged.

She shook her head, faintly irritated.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO HOLD MY BOYFRIEND’S HAND WHILE WE WALK, DANCE WITH HIM AT PARTIES, LEAN AGAINST HIM, FEEL HIM PRESSED AGAINST ME WHILE WE’RE SLEEPING.”

My chest grew heavy.

“In other words, you want all the things I can’t do.”

Her mouth was open a moment before she spoke.

“WELL…YES.”

She looked at me guiltily.

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW YOU’RE ATTRACTED TO ME WHEN I LOOK LIKE A GIANT TO YOU.”

“There’s more of you to go around – can I still use that cliché?”

She bowed her head sadly.

*

At midday, Natalie went to a lecture. I lay back on the bed, thinking. It felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Like I’d been within grasping reach of a dream coming true only to have it snatched away again.

It pained me to think I had to leave, but I couldn’t stand to be around someone who didn’t take me seriously; it gave me flashbacks of the ‘giraffe lady’ making fun of me at the Portugal. Not that Natalie intended to make fun of me – far from it – but she didn’t realize how demeaning her attitude sounded. To me, it sounded like she thought she was too good for me, that she felt she deserved a 6 foot hunk who could sweep her off her feet and carry her around in his arms, and I deserved to live the rest of my life in Barbie’s Playhouse Mansion.

Her words cut deeper than she realized. She didn’t know I desperately wanted to do all the things she wanted, too: to wrap my arms around her, hold her hand, take her head in my hands and kiss her.

The realization was devastating and humiliating: the sexy posing during Pilates, the kisses and cuddles – none of it had been intended as flirtatious. It was in fact the opposite: she felt comfortable around me because she didn’t see me as a serious partner. I posed no threat…and also produced no attraction. If I wasn’t tiny she probably wouldn’t have paid me a second glance. My smallness brought out her affectionate side, but that’s all it was; childlike affection. At most, I was a talking teddy bear. The realization filled me with despair.

To distract myself, I pulled up the dating website on her tablet and began checking out my profile. There were some new messages. Some of these suggested the women were more curious about me – particularly the possibility of seeing me, tiny, in real life – than actually assessing my dating potential.

One of the messages caught my eye. It came from a girl called Samantha, whose profile picture depicted a woman with an eye-catching professionally done photograph. Though the photo only cropped her face, she appeared to be lying on her front, with her head propped up against one hand. She was an utter stunner, the kind that inspired the howling wolf cartoon. It was a cleverly done photo, too; her pose made it look like she’d just woken up, no make-up, lustful half-lidded eyes, and still looking utterly fine. The photographer should’ve been tipped handsomely.

Her message just said:

This one still available? ;)

Over the next couple of days, we had a back-and-forth. To avoid another Natalie situation, I made it clear I was only interested in something special, not friends or anything less. She responded saying she was looking for something more ‘particular’ than friends. I tried to be even less ambiguous, saying she would either be on board with my size or she wouldn’t be. She was even less ambiguous than that, responding:

Size is not the issue. Either you work well in my bed, or you don’t.

A quip. I liked her already. Natalie was nice as all hell – a little too wholesomely nice, sometimes – but our senses of humor didn’t click. I decided I needed a little more of the charged verbal intercourse. Before we moved to other forms of intercourse.

We were driving into town in Natalie’s car. I was sitting in the passenger seat, with the seatbelt in position. Obviously it was too big for me, but Natalie had gone to the trouble of stringing up some shoelaces around the lap belt to fashion a little harness for me to wear while she drove.

My nerves were rattling. I was meeting with Samantha at a café. Natalie had managed to put together a little outfit for me which thankfully looked like real clothes and not like it had been ripped off a doll’s back.

“You’re not…” I gestured vaguely, “…you know, offended?”

Natalie shook her head.

“OF COURSE NOT! I THINK IT’S GREAT THAT YOU’RE PUTTING YOURSELF OUT THERE. IT MUST BE HARD. I’M SO PROUD OF YOU.” She gave me one of her easygoing smiles, before fixating on the road again.

My hands continued to fidget in my lap.

“You know…if this has promise, I might not be living with you anymore…”

“I KNOW.” She laughed. “DON’T WORRY, I’M NOT GOING TO KEEP YOU TRAPPED IN MY HOUSE LIKE YOUR FREAKY EX DID.”

The car stopped and Natalie unfastened me from the harness and lifted me up against the window to confirm it was the correct place. The café had an inside area and an alfresco under green maple trees with some people sitting in the seats, drinking coffee. I scanned the small crowd anxiously.

“I don’t think she’s here yet,” I said.

Getting out of the car, Natalie carried me into the café, letting the waitstaff know where I was going to be sitting, even though it would look like no one was sitting in the chairs. Then she put me down on a table outside – at my request.

“ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO SIT INSIDE?” she asked, looking down at me, and then gazing around. “IT’S VERY OPEN OUT HERE.”

“I can’t open the door, so I wouldn’t be able to get out.”

“GOOD POINT.” She leaned against the table, shifting restlessly. “SHOULD I STICK AROUND HERE UNTIL SHE COMES?”

“You don’t have to. It might be a little off-putting if you’re there with me…” I grinned. “…Because you’re so beautiful.”

She smiled in spite of herself.

“SMOOTH. IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE YOU THEN THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WRONG WITH HER.” She brushed some hair out of her face. “BUT I UNDERSTAND. YOU WANT TO BE ALONE.” She looked down at me, and added soberly: “WHAT IF SHE DOESN’T SHOW?”

“I’ll just ask a member of staff to phone you so you can pick me up.”

“AND WHAT IF THEY DON’T?”

“Don’t worry about that. People have a weird desire to help me when they see who I am. Sometimes they want a photo with me in return.”

She rocked on the balls of her heels and then caught herself, putting her hands behind her back demurely.

“I WAS JUST GOING TO KISS YOU GOODBYE, BUT YOU WOULDN’T WANT HER TO SEE THAT.”

She rubbed her index finger over the top of my hand.

“GOOD LUCK.”

Then she left.

*

Samantha arrived wearing a slim-fitting, short skirted dress and a leather jacket which matched her heels. Her hair was pulled back in a style and she had make-up on. I could’ve made out my reflection in her lipstick, if I’d been close enough. She looked as good as her profile picture, except now with make-up.

My heart began to race as I saw her coming, not just because she was smoking hot like a house on fire, but because it was obvious she was dressed for a date, and for a first date maybe even over-dressed. But I was flattered. Was she was trying to impress me? – Absurd!

She had fashionable sunglasses on but pushed them back over her head when she saw me, as if she wanted the clearest, brightest view of me possible, as she let her eyes explore me – it would not be an exaggeration to say feast on me.

Then her eyes sort of sunk behind the lashes again as she composed herself.

“THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME COME OUT TO MEET YOU,” she said.

I had never spoken to her before and was surprised – not unpleasantly – to hear a half-British, half-Italian accent. Then she flashed me a quick alluring smile. I melted.

After getting a grip on myself, it struck me, from the way she’d phrased herself, that she possibly thought I never got out.

“I wanted to meet you, too,” I said, my voice surging ahead of my breathing. “And it was no trouble. Actually, I love being outside.” I wanted her to see me as independent.

A bird – bigger than I was – chirped and glided past the table. I flinched.

Distracted by the bird, her eyes narrowed with irritation; I had the weird thought that if the bird had gotten any closer to me she would have grabbed it out of air and flung it into space.

“And I love this place,” I hurriedly went on, trying to look unruffled. “Nice scenery. I hope the food is good. I haven’t tried it. I don’t eat very much, ha ha ha.”

My brain was racing ahead of itself. She was so hot that my eyeballs crawled any time I wasn’t looking at her. It was like I was a teenager all over again and I was trying to charm and impress the first beautiful woman I’d ever seen in real life.

She threw a quick glance around, then pointed one manicured nail towards the café’s facade.

“DO YOU MIND IF WE GO INSIDE?”

“Sure. I mean, no. I mean, whatever you want.”

She was that much closer now, up against the side of the table I was on, her particular perfume coursing through my nostrils. She tilted her head down slightly at me.

She was shy about picking me up, I realized. Then again, I was suddenly very shy about being picked up. The thought of those lightly tanned, elegantly angled, French-manicured feminine fingers making their way over my body made me feel lightheaded.

Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and began to explain:

“Normally people bring their hand in like this – ” I showed her with my own hand, “—and then you’ve got to try and – URFFFF!”

Fingers clattered into me like a pouncing animal, wrapping me up and bending me inwards with their unfeeling pressure until I felt like a bookmark pressed between the pages of a book, no ability to shift or move. I couldn’t even speak, as one of her fingerpads was inconveniently resting over one half of my face, like she wasn’t overly perturbed about which part of my body she was in contact with, and how.

My feet left the table, but rather than rising up, there was a jarring drop as I was turned sideways, and then upside down.

She glided past the table, heading around and pushing open the café’s glass front door entrance with one arm while the other swung me through the air in step with her gait.

It felt like one of those swinging ship style amusement park rides, except I was head down and my view was limited to her tall leather heels, and the paved brickwork that lined the alfresco area, turning into the grainy flooring once we were inside the café. Random parts of the café interior wheeled around beneath me: table and chair legs, the swishing apron of a waitress, the skirt and stockings of a passing diner, and several peoples’ shoes – sandals, sneakers, heels –as I whisked along past café patrons, who didn’t even seem to see me (if they were more distracted by my possessor herself, I didn’t blame them).

Whenever we passed someone, I was moved inwards against Samantha’s body, sometimes bumping her outer hip. This seemed presumptuous considering I didn’t even know her last name.

Then, as she made her way towards the back of the café, while maneuvering past a small group of people deliberating at the counter, she automatically swept her arm inwards and back, as if hiding me from view, and for one brief moment I felt the top of my head slide around her outer thigh and poke gently against the underside of one of her butt cheeks, digging softly into the crease where the cheek met the leg. My heart gave a spasm and I was moved away again before I’d even worked out what had just happened.

The boots began to clap up a narrow dimly lit staircase, and I watched every dark step pass in sequence, before rotating around a small landing to ascend another set of stairs. The bird and traffic noises came back as we came outside again, following along stony tiled balcony where I was finally turned right-side up, my feet coming into contact with the solid glass table she had selected for us in one corner of the upstairs balcony.

I’d been hanging upside down so long that my entire body tingled. I swayed on my feet a second as Samantha’s leggy form slid gracefully into frame as she took the seat facing me, resting her forearms on the table, one on top of the other.

As I looked at her, her form overlapped into two blurry images: a result of my dizziness and one half of my face having been clamped under the firm pressure of a finger or thumb for the past few minutes.

The two Samanthas gave me a small probing smile.

“ARE WE FEELING ALRIGHT, THERE?”

This was not a good start; I did not want to appear weak and helpless in front of her. That perception was, after all, the thing that had made Natalie run for the hills.

“It’s all your fault,” I said sleekly, “I was almost bowled over by how stunning you look. I don’t need to order anything; the sight of you fills me up.”

Her dual profile merged back into one as her head turned to the side and she looked out over the rooftop idly, amused, or maybe relieved I was okay.

“FLATTERER.”

I was honestly surprised my blathering remark hit, thinking that she must get a lot of attention everywhere she went and no end to dumb pickup lines. After all, wasn’t that the reason she’d taken me up to this small secluded section of the café – for a measure of privacy? The only other people sitting up here were on the far side of the balcony, obscured behind some rooftop greenery on raised beds, between the tables.

…Unless, the kind of attention she was avoiding was not for her, but for me. Was she self-conscious about being seen with me? The thought jumped through my mind before I could help it.

I needed to be sure, at least to avoid another Natalie situation.

“I hate to be a buzzkill,” I began, trying to sound casual, “but there’s something I need to get out of the way before, well…” I stuffed my hands in my pockets, shifting back and forth on my feet. “…It’s just that I’ve been jumping between some strange relationships, and it makes life a whole lot easier if some things are worked out first.”

She eyed me, unmoved.

“WHOEVER SHE WAS...” she shrugged a shoulder, “…HER LOSS.”

“It was a couple of women, actually,” I mumbled.

This made her break out with a broad smile, for some reason.

“WHAT IS IT? WHAT ARE YOU ABOUT TO THROW AT ME? YOU’RE MARRIED AND YOU WANT TO SHOW ME THE PICTURE OF YOUR KIDS IN YOUR WALLET?”

“Nothing like that,” I said quickly. “It’s not a secret. It’s just the size issue.”

Relaxing a little, she lifted her hands and clasped them under chin, resting her head on them as she observed me.

“MEN AREN’T NORMALLY SO UPFRONT ABOUT MATTERS OF SIZE,” she deadpanned, “AND ON A FIRST DATE.”

I failed to react; too busy thinking: she’d used the phrase ‘first date’. She’d confirmed it. I was now, astonishingly, further with her than I had ever been with Natalie.

Not realizing that she’d basically provided the answer I was looking for, she went on:

“I MAY HAVE HAD TO CONSULT A RULER,” the ghost of a smile passed her lips, “JUST TO CHECK.”

“So, it doesn’t bother you?”

“WHY DO YOU ASK ME THIS?” she said calmly. “I SAW YOUR PROFILE. I LIKED WHAT I SAW. IT REALLY IS THAT SIMPLE.”

This concluded her response, because she then began looking at the drinks menu.

“I WOULD LOVE A DRINK. WHAT TAKES YOUR FANCY? YOU WAIT HERE AND I’LL GO DOWN AND GET IT.”

I shook my head.

“No, no, it’s on me. Whatever you want.” I felt so elated I wanted to throw gifts at her feet.

Her eyes lifted from the menu and lingered on me uncertainly.

“ARE YOU SURE…?”

“It’s no problem at all.”

There was, however, a small problem in accessing my funds. I had no wallet, cash, card or anything.

I’d had a system with Jennifer and Stuart where I transferred them money for my upkeep and board. Jennifer had vehemently refused, so I had been transferring the money to Stuart without her knowing. I had also transferred money to Natalie as a form of board, even though she insisted it was incredibly cheap to take care of me – which was true. Otherwise I didn’t buy things directly, to the point that I had become comfortable not carrying around any money. And today, it had totally slipped my mind that I might need to.

We quickly came to the arrangement where Samantha let me log into my bank account using an app on her phone, and I transferred the money for the drinks we wanted to her account. Not a perfect situation, and one I would have to remedy in future, though I didn’t think they printed cards my size.

It didn’t seem to faze her, however; I was more embarrassed about it than she was. Her normally shadowy eyes flashed with curiosity while learning some of the practical troubles of being my size; like that I couldn’t carry a credit card around because it was the size of a bodyboard. She also derived some amusement at the sight of my tiny hands pawing at her giant phone screen. I had to use my entire palm to swipe and press things; my fingertips were too small and the screen didn’t register them. She tactfully looked away when I input my password.

Not long after, she returned to the table with the drinks; hers in a normal cup, and mine in a little cream cup.

As she swirled the foam of her drink with a spoon, she said:

“YOU SAID EARLIER THAT YOUR SIZE WAS A CONTENTION OF YOURS. I’M OPEN TO HAVING SOMETHING DEEP WITH YOU, BUT FIRST I MUST MAKE A REQUEST OF MY OWN.”

Taken aback by her frankness, I stared vacantly.

“Okay,” I finally said as my insides crackled with electricity. “Shoot.”

She trained her eyes on me, watching my reaction closely as she said:

“YOU WOULD STAY WITH ME.”

My mouth went dry.

“You mean, stay over for the night?”

She shook her head slowly.

“I MEAN, LIVE IN MY HOUSE.”

I was stammering incoherently, and she took it to mean I wasn’t enthusiastic about the condition.

“I’M SORRY,” she said quietly. “BUT IT’S NOT UP FOR NEGOTIATION.”

“You’re really serious.”

“I KNOW WHAT I WANT.”

She moved her cup to the side and hunkered over the table, in order to bring her face down to mine. Her dark eyes held me captive as if in a fist. My attention was momentarily drawn to the eyebrow slit on the outer edge of her left eyebrow, like a cat scratch.

“THERE IS THIS LITTLE POCKET IN MY LIFE RIGHT NOW, JERRY, AND YOU FIT RIGHT INTO IT, PERFECTLY.”

I swallowed hard, feeling simultaneously like this was going exactly how I’d dreamed it, and not at all like I’d imagined.

She looked away, bundling her hair up in her hands.

“THE THING IS,” she went on, “MY WORK SCHEDULE CAN BE UNPREDICTABLE. SO YOU MIGHT BE ON YOUR OWN FOR LONG STRETCHES OF TIME.”

“That wouldn’t bother me.”

“OF COURSE, ONCE I COME HOME, I WOULD BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO REWARD YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.”

My heart began thumping in my ears. I must have drunk my coffee too fast.

Clearing my throat, I dove around for something else to say.

“What is your work?”

“I DO A LITTLE BIT OF PHOTOGRAPHY.”

“Oh, like art?”

“NO, I MEAN, I MODEL.”

“Holy crap, you’re a model?”

“YOU COULD SAY THAT.”

I suddenly realized my unguarded ‘holy crap’ could have sounded like disbelief, and someone with shatteringly low self-esteem could be offended.

“I mean, holy crap, I was right!” I babbled on. “I saw you and thought, you’re in the beauty industry somehow!”

Nice save, old boy.

Letting the comment pass, she slid forward in her seat almost unnoticeably, regarding me with a cool stare.

“I’M SURE THERE WOULD BE A NICHE FOR YOU SOMEWHERE, IF YOU WERE INTERESTED. FROM WHAT I CAN SEE, YOU’VE GOT THE RIGHT BODY.”

I let out a loud laugh.

“I don’t think so.”

“NO? LET ME GET A GOOD LOOK AT YOU,” she murmured, turning the pad of her middle finger up underneath my jaw. I nearly flinched at her touch, which was very warm from holding her cup.

Jesus, man, I thought. Get a grip.

She tipped my head back gently so I was looking up at her face, which had an appraising look as her eyes traced my features. The forwardness of the gesture unnerved me somewhat, but I remained silent as her eyes roamed my features keenly. Her fingertips ran along my head; her touch precise and elegant, like I was a delicate sculpture. Out of the corner of my eyes I again noticed those immaculately manicured nails.

“AMAZING,” she said, finally shifting back again.

Her marveling at me like this was bizarre, outlandish, almost like a cruel joke, except she was dead serious. I was the one who was sitting here in the thrall of her beauty, yet she didn’t seem to be marveling at me the same way; but instead like I was a fascinating little object, a rare hand-crafted figure.

Suddenly I realized our drinks were finished and had been for a little while now. The air was turning cooler. The time seemed to have gone so fast; I didn’t want to leave. I began to wonder – dream, even – that she intended to take me home with her, seeing as though she’d already planned it all out. But it would be unfair to Natalie, who was going to swing by the café soon to pick me up.

Samantha’s rolling hybrid accent broke my reverie.

"I ENJOY TALKING TO YOU," she said earnestly. "IT'S NOT LIKE TALKING TO OTHER MEN. I FEEL...INCREDIBLY RELAXED."

No kidding, I thought, thinking of how forward she'd been thus far.

My legs were pressed against the glass tabletop, one of my thighs jittering up and down. The words began to flow out of me like I’d been drinking beer, not coffee:

"I'm glad you feel like that, and I wish I could say the same, but to be honest, I feel like we still barely know each other. I want to get to know you, and if we're going to be living together I think—"

Her substantially louder voice steamrolled over the top of mine:

"YOU TALK A LOT, MR MOUSSEAU," she said wryly. "HOW ABOUT WE ZIP IT NOW, AND YOU CAN PUT THAT MOUTH OF YOURS TO USE SOME OTHER TIME PERHAPS.”

She reached forward and bumped the tip of my nose with a finger. Astonishing how gently she was able to do it, without the whopping plate of polished acrylic taking a chunk out of my face.

She looked down and began to massage the back of one of her hands, those glazed milky-tipped nails fanning out in my direction. When she spoke again, her voice had turned low and serious:

"IT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU'RE PATIENT. I'M A VERY INTIMATE PERSON. ONCE I FEEL GOOD AROUND SOMEONE, I TEND TO LET THEM RIGHT INSIDE."

"I’m the opposite,” I blurted. “I love to meet new people, it just takes me some time to get deeper with someone, to be honest with you. It's not personal, I just…”

Tend to run away when I get too close, I finished silently. Like with Jennifer? With Natalie?

That’s unfair, the little voice shot back, they don’t count.

Jennifer had dumped me, originally. And Natalie hadn’t wanted me in the first place…but maybe she’d have come around if I had just been patient. That’s the problem, I ran away before first impressions had even worn off…

I quickly pushed the thought out of my head.

"I UNDERSTAND,” her head was tilted down and she was observing me from under her lashes. “AND I DON'T THINK YOU'RE UNWISE FOR IT. BUT I THINK BEING IN PUBLIC LIKE THIS IS INHIBITING US. MAYBE WE’RE BOTH A LITTLE CAMERA SHY.”

She stood up, slinging her bag over one arm before looking down at me.

“YOU WANT TO KNOW ME BETTER: LET US MEET AGAIN IN A MORE UNINHIBITED SETTING. JUST PEOPLE BEING THEMSELVES, HAVING FUN."

"I'm up for it. What are you thinking?"

"I'M GOING TO A LITTLE THING AT A FRIEND’S PLACE. JUST SOME PEOPLE WHO WANT TO KICK BACK AND HAVE A DRINK. NO ONE'S GOING TO EXPECT ANYTHING OF YOU. EVERYONE’S LAID BACK, THEY’LL LOVE YOU."

The sounds of the interior café rose up the stair case, the drone of people talking and laughing. It had been a long time since I’d been outside like this, around people.

"Sounds upbeat. Maybe I'll be there."

"I KNOW YOU WILL," her mouth quirked, "BECAUSE I WILL FIND YOU AND DELIVER YOU THERE MYSELF IF I HAVE TO."

She came around the side of the table, her fingers capturing my head and giving it a firm, playful squeeze, while her particular, heady brand of perfume stole my senses.

"DO YOU NEED A LIFT?"

It felt like my throat had closed up, and for a second I was afraid my voice wasn't going to come out, but gratefully it did, and sounded a lot more self-assured than I felt.

"No. I'm getting picked up. I'll just wait. Shouldn't be long."

“SOOOO…” Natalie began with nervous excitement, as she drove me back to her place, “…HOW DID IT GO?”

“It was crazy. I mean, it was amazing. She was so into me. And she’s even hotter than her picture – she’s actually a model!"

“THAT’S GREAT, I’M REALLY HAPPY FOR YOU.” She said this in a rush, with no pauses, and not looking at me. Then she bit her lip.

“What? What’s the problem?”

“I WISH I DIDN’T HAVE TO TELL YOU, JERRY, BUT…WHILE YOU WERE OUT, SOME POLICE SHOWED UP AT MY DOOR.”

“What? Why?”        

“THEY WERE LOOKING FOR YOU. YOUR PSYCHO EX MUST BE TRYING TO HUNT YOU DOWN OR SOMETHING.”

“What did you tell them?”

“DON’T WORRY,” she said quickly. “I DIDN’T TELL THEM ANYTHING. I JUST PRETENDED I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT.”

“Fuck…” I swore under my breath. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I really didn’t mean to drag you into – ”

“IT’S OKAY. IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. AND THEY’VE GONE NOW.”

I dug my nails into the car seat, pushing my head back against the backrest, groaning.

“But I’m worried they’ll come back. I’ve got to get out of your place, Natalie, before she sticks a private investigator on you.”

It seemed like an obvious step-up for her; she might even plant her butt on his desk and play up her inner femme fatale, I thought, with a shiver of disgust.

“DON’T BE WORRIED ABOUT ME. I’M MORE WORRIED ABOUT YOU. WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO GO?”

“Samantha suggested I would live with her.”

“WOW,” Natalie blurted out, “ALREADY, HUH? THAT’S KEEN.”

“But it’s perfect,” I said, smiling. “It’ll get the heat off you.”

She nodded, but a frown tugged at the side of her lips.

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD WARN THIS GIRL ABOUT YOUR EX.”

I knew she was right, and hated it, terrified of the inference of any little thing that might ruin my chances with Samantha. And my ex wasn’t just any little thing. She was kind of a big thing.

“Yeah, eventually, but I don’t want to dump all my crap on her right away. Things need to stay simple for now. She’s great and I’m not going to mess this up –” catching myself before I added ‘again.’

“BUT YOU HAVE ONLY JUST MET HER, RIGHT? JUST…BE CAREFUL.”

I grinned.

“Are you jealous?”

Not taking her eyes off the road, she reached one arm over and playfully swatted my head.

*

Natalie was almost more excited than me about my party, thinking it would be good for me to get out and meet new people. She was especially eager to help me arrange an outfit, as she had a seamstress friend who, after hearing about who I was, offered to make me an outfit for the occasion. This required the seamstress to come around to the house to get my measurements, though it was not so fun stripping down and having her cold hands adjusting my body posture; tugging at my arms and legs while she pulled her tape measure against and around different parts of my body. She worked diligently and mechanically at this, moving and propping me until I felt like a statue she was trying to assemble, rather than a person.

She also couldn’t help but giggle with affection upon reading off my measurements, being as incredibly diminutive as they were.

When the seamstress returned, she dropped off a turtleneck and a jacket, and some suit pants. It looked great – not like a doll outfit, but like real clothes – though it was slightly stuffier than my typical party wear; it looked like something an ivory tower academic would wear, and I would have never dressed like that around Jennifer; she would have called me a pretentious smart-ass. But this seemed like a good reason to try it: I wanted to feel like a different person living a different life.

After the seamstress left, Natalie revealed she had given input for the turtleneck suit, because she thought it looked ‘sexy’ in a ‘sophisticated way.’

“You gave it a lot more thought than I realized,” I remarked.

“I HAD TO,” she said, adding seriously: “THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IS THAT YOUR CLOTHING DOESN’T DRAW ATTENTION TO YOU IN THE WRONG WAY.” She smoothed the outfit over the table, studying it approvingly. “YOU CAN’T CONTROL YOUR SIZE, BUT YOU CAN CONTROL WHAT YOU WEAR.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that. I’m just grateful to wear anything that fit me. I mean, half the time I’ve been running around in a superman costume.”

Natalie smiled good-naturedly until she realized I was not joking. Then she looked kind of sad.

“DON’T TELL ME THEY DIDN’T GET YOU PROPER CLOTHES...?”

“I had clothes, I just wouldn’t call them ‘proper.’”

She sighed.

“IT WAS A WAY TO CONTROL YOU, JERRY,” she explained. She said this delicately, as if she was trying to deprogram me out of a cult that had stolen years of my life, and news of the real world might shock me into a nervous breakdown. “IF SHE GAVE YOU EVERYTHING, YOU’D HAVE NO REASON TO DEPEND ON HER.”

I shrugged, deep down knowing she was probably right.

*

There was a brisk knock at the door. Then Natalie’s voice rang through the house:

“JERRY, I THINK SHE’S HERE—!”

My heart turned to ice.

Then I realized she was referring to Samantha, and time seemed to flow normally again.

“COME ON, YOU DON’T WANT TO KEEP HER WAITING!”

Natalie appeared and whisked me up, taking me to the door.

“DON’T WORRY, YOU LOOK GREAT,” she muttered, as one of my hands raked compulsively through my hair. “OOPS, I ALMOST FORGOT – ” She slipped a bottle of fragrance out of her pocket and squirted the back of my neck. I sneezed, and she giggled before composing herself as she opened the front door.

Samantha stood there in a tight-fitting dress, perfect hair, red lipstick, dangling crystalline earrings, her long tanned legs showing above her pump stilettos. She just looked better and better each time I saw her. Staring at her with my mouth open, I was now breathlessly grateful that Natalie had given my outfit due consideration.

Amusingly, Samantha was looking down at the threshold, like she had expected me to be standing down there, ready to greet her shoes.

Her eyes ran up Natalie; she stopped and her face sort of glazed over.

“I DON'T BELIEVE JERRY TOLD ME ABOUT YOU...” she began.

“THIS IS ACTUALLY MY HOUSE,” Natalie cut in, keeping her tone polite. “JERRY STAYS HERE. WE’RE NOT DATING.”

The tension melted and Samantha was poised again. Meanwhile, Natalie looked down at me.

“ARE YOU GOING TO BE OKAY, JERRY?” she said with more meaning in her eyes than her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” I drawled. Yes, Samantha was a little stiff, I wanted to reassure her, but she really was nice once you got to know her.

Satisfied, Natalie passed me into Samantha’s awaiting hand, which smelled like expensive perfume.

“SEE YOU LATER,” Natalie said to me, leaning in the doorframe. “HAVE FUN!”

“Bye,” I said, as Samantha turned and began to take me into the night, towards her car. I was about to make some small pleasantry with her, ask her what she’d been up to, as she began pulling at her handbag with her free hand as if she was going to retrieve something from it.

“You look really beautiful,” I said, stammering.

She gave me a faint, almost non-existent smile.

“IN YOU GO,” she said forthrightly. Then I was tumbling off her hand, falling through the air. The world was swallowed up by darkness as I landed on something hard, bounced, and rolled along a fabric floor, surrounded by the scent of leather and sanitizer. 

There was a loud sound like tearing cardboard as the teeth of the zip above came together, until it stopped short of a small gap through which a sliver of light shone through. It was not enough to illuminate the objects crowded in the bag, silhouettes like furniture in a dark room. Worse, as the handbag continued to sway against her hip, the objects bounced and slid around the bag floor. I was forced to leap back and forth blindly, constantly dodging bulky objects that loomed out of the darkness and barreled into me.

Something big and hard knocked me onto my back and pinned me down under its weight for a few moments before the bag’s momentum dislodged it again. Judging by the shape and the smell of leather, it was a purse.

A car door opened and shut, before the bag touched down on a firm surface and stayed there. I stared up intently at the tiny shaft of light coming through the zip opening. The car’s interior light was on, so the fact that the sliver of light shining into the bag was so dim suggested she had put the bag not on the car seat, but on the seat floor.

The car engine started and there was a tapping noise right outside the bag that made me jump. It was the sound of her pump stiletto contacting the accelerator. The sound was so close I realized the bag must be on the floor between her feet. Awkward placing, but I forgave her without a thought. Meetings with me could be clumsy when people didn’t know me well; people didn’t know how to hold me or carry me, and tended to make embarrassing faux pas without even realizing it.

Vibration thrummed through the air as the car began to roll off the curb and head down the street.

The bag trembled as she tapped her shoe against it to get my attention.

“I SHOULD WARN YOU,” she said slickly. “THIS IS NOT YOUR TYPICAL GATHERING. YOU CANNOT HIDE IN THE CORNER. EVERYONE IS GOING TO KNOW WHO YOU ARE.”

That’s a bad thing?” I said, trying to speak up over the car engine and road noise.

“IT DEPENDS. THESE PEOPLE ARE INFATUATED WITH NOVELTY. AND SCUSI, IL MIO GIOCATTOLO, BUT YOU ARE NOVELTY. HOT NOVELTY.”

I paused.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t care who I was.”

“I DON’T BELIEVE I EVER SAID ANYTHING REMOTELY LIKE THAT,” she said nonchalantly. “IN FACT, THE CONTRARY: I SAID THEY WOULD LOVE YOU.”

“Now it sounds like you want to show me off, like an offering to the crowd or something – ”

Wait, I thought to myself; I was going to this party with this gorgeous model and I was the trophy? This was getting way too surreal for me to process. Amazing what my life looked like now; my former, pre-shrunken self would not have recognized me.

“NO ONE IS OFFERING ANYTHING. YOU ARE MY ATTACHMENT, NOW.”

It sounded cold and proprietary but then again, I reminded myself, it wasn’t unusual for partners to be referred to as ‘attached’.

Sensing my bemusement, she explained:

“YOU MUST BELONG TO SOMEONE. THESE PEOPLE ARE NOT SHY. THEY ARE RULED BY APPETITES FOR AMUSEMENT. IF YOU’RE NOT CAREFUL THEY WILL CONSUME YOU WHOLE.”

I assumed she was being metaphorical, but at my size, who knew?

I huddled in the bag, being rolled off my feet every time the car took a turn, and nervously anticipating what I was in for.

The engine stopped and the bag lifted off the floor. Then it was swinging rhythmically again as Samantha’s heels sounded over cement like hammer blows.

Having grown a pair of sea legs, I weathered the swaying motions as I climbed up on top of a small pile of cosmetic accessories and pushed my head out of the zip opening, expanding my lungs with a gulp of fresh air.

Gazing up from her hip, my eyes were hit by a mass of tanned side-boob. I searched around in vain for her face, but it was obscured by this arresting distraction.

"Hey, gorgeous, can I come out now?" I piped up.

A thumb came thrusting down upon the top of my head, pushing me back down into the stuffy depths of the bag.

"YOU ARE TERRIBLY EAGER, AREN’T YOU?" she murmured. "TAKE CARE OR YOU’LL FALL OUT.”

Sounds of chatter grew closer until it filled the air with a steady hum, backgrounded by the pulsing of music beating through speakers. It was very dim, no sliver of light falling into the bag anymore. With the darkness and thrumming sounds it was like being underwater.

Samantha began talking to someone, then the zip widened, her hand dipped inside and began patting and probing around, searching for me, bumping me to the ground before seizing me powerfully and whisking me up into the air.

The surrounding room was dim and smoky with red walls and a black floor, filled with a loose crowd of people milling around, talking and drinking. The women were wearing short skirts and strappy heels, the guys a combination of formal causal dress. I was glad I wasn’t wearing the full suit and tie: none of the other guys were.

As people shifted around, I caught a glimpse of the far end of the room, where there was a gold tassel string curtain dividing another room, and a taxidermied hare on a mantel.

“I HAVE JERRY MOUSSEAU WITH ME TONIGHT,” said Samantha, and I was rotated to face a couple of people staring down at me: a tall shapely woman in a long sleeved and incredibly close-fitting dress, and a bearded guy with a happy drunk smile.

“Oh, hi!” I said.

It was difficult to get any more words out; Samantha was holding me the way a gangster held a cigar: pinching my middle, and it was putting incredible pressure on my diaphragm.

“JERRY FROM TV, RIGHT!” the man said as he leaned forward. His bulky hand was flying at my face before, right at the last second, stopping and taking my hand between a bulbous finger and thumb, and giving it a shake that nearly loosened me from Samantha’s grip.

Then it was the woman’s turn to lean in, giving me a look like I was a bouquet of flowers being presented to her.

“AWWW,” she swooned, “HE’S EVEN TINIER IN REAL LIFE.”

“THE TV ALWAYS ADDS A FEW POUNDS,” the man joked.

The woman’s frosted white fingernails began to reach towards me as she shot Samantha a tentative look.

“MAY I TOUCH HIM?”

“DON’T JUST TOUCH HIM,” Samantha commanded smoothly, as she not only moved me towards the woman, but pushed me bodily into her grasp, “REALLY FEEL HIM. FEEL HOW HIS BODY RESPONDS TO PRESSURE, LIKE CLAY.”

At Samantha’s insistence, the woman’s fingers were everywhere: fondling and caressing every last inch of me. My hair bristled at the intolerably cold touch, like she’d been holding a chilled drink. I opened my mouth to say something when a thumb hooked itself under my jaw, probing my throat with enough pressure to cut my voice off.

Samantha and the man continued to chat, with the woman interjecting occasionally as she manipulated me in her hands: first taking each of my wrists and pulling my arms up straight over my head, then bending me forward as if trying to fold me in two, with my face being pushed into my legs. She then kept me like that for some time as she responded at length to a question Samantha asked her, with her thumb pressing down against my spine, and her fingers pushing up against the underside of my thighs, while I spluttered weakly for release, my tendons cramping. Distracted by the conversation, her fingers idly rotated me completely around, giving her a good view of my undercarriage.

I’m way too sober for this, I thought wearily.

Put rightside up again, the woman handed me back to Samantha.

“WHAT A LITTLE PUSSYCAT,” she said, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled. “HE JUST SOAKS UP ALL THE ATTENTION.”

The man grinned toothily at the three of us.

“POOL, ANYONE?”

Past the string curtain there was another room with a huge billiards table lit by some pendant lights hanging down from the ceiling, while the corners of the room were kept in shadow. It wasn’t just a huge table from my perspective; it must have been about 12 feet. A few people stood around while the balls were set out, while Samantha put me down on the polished wooden surface of a bar counter to the side of the room, while other people sat in the stools to watch.

“REFEREE FOR US, SMALL FRY,” one of the guys called out to me.

“Damn,” I muttered, more to myself, “I love pool.” What a kick in the guts. I would never be able to play again. Not at my size.

However, the others heard me; the music wasn’t as clear in this room.

“WELL, HEY NOW,” said Samantha’s male friend, “WE CAN’T HAVE THE LITTLE FELLA SIT OUT IF HE DOESN’T WANT TO…AND,” he pulled something out and held it in the air for everyone to see, “LOOKIE HERE—”

It appeared to be a transparent cue ball, but a little bigger than a standard cue ball. With us all watching, he gave it a twist, unscrewing it into two halves.

Before I was able to register what was happening, he snapped me up off the bar. Next second my butt plopped down inside the shell of one of the halves of the cue, before the other half whipped over my head and was screwed on tight. Now I could see there were a couple of tiny holes in one half of the ball, letting air through.

“This is not what I meant!” I cried, slapping my palms against the inside of the ball. “Get me out of here!”

The group just tittered and exchanged glances.

Then the green table rose up under the bottom of the ball as it was placed in its starting position, facing the triangle rack.

Samantha voiced no objections to this set-up; she even took up a cue stick herself, as did several other ladies, some of them looking a little tipsier than others.

“IT’S YOUR MAN PLAYING BALL, SAM,” her bearded male friend said, “SO HOW ABOUT YOU BREAK?”

Without saying a word, Samantha leaned over the table to take the first shot, curving her posterior over the rail – surely a glorious vision that everyone except myself could behold – and her boobs pressing against the emerald baize, while she lined the nub of the stick up with the cue ball – or not the ball itself but, it seemed, my face; and the way her eyes were unblinkingly trained on mine made me swear she was mentally placing a crosshair right on my forehead…

“IT’S A SLIGHTLY BIGGER BALL,” someone suggested, “SO YOU NEED TO HIT IT HARDER THAN USUAL.”

Swallowing hard, my back suddenly clapped against the inside of the ball furthest away from her, accidentally getting the ball to roll a little.

“HEY, NO CHEATING, SAM,” one of the guys hollered, “TELL THE BALL NOT TO WALK ACROSS THE TABLE.”

Her aim relaxed long enough for her to tut me.

“JERRY, PLEASE! THIS IS NOT GOING TO HURT YOU ONE BIT...”

She slid forward into her aim again, starting to draw the cue back…

Watching that focused cue nub was like trying to engage in a blinking competition with someone aiming a rifle at your face. The waiting was the worst part; knowing at any moment it was about to slam into me. But I didn’t dare shut my eyes and risk looking like a complete baby in front of everyone, not when they’d only just met me.

“CHECK OUT THAT RACK!” one of the guys jeered. He was holding the wooden triangle rack. Some people laughed.

Samantha didn’t break her focus, but her eyes narrowed.

Check out that rack? I marvelled at the pun. Pure gold. Why hadn’t I thought of –

BANG

The stick punched the ball, my feet upended, and there was madness.

The lights were whizzing around and around and around as I spun so fast I couldn’t distinguish up from down. My face slammed into a wall, then I was flipped around and dropped onto my back, then my face slammed into a wall again, and over and over…

The ball jolted into the starting balls, causing them to explode away. Meanwhile, the cue ball lost half of its speed, jarring me into the inner wall one last time, before I slid and tumbled around on the bottom of the ball as it meandered off to one side.

I had a scant few seconds to collect myself before someone else stepped up for their shot, then I was sent into another clattering tornado of bright lights, bright balls, green felt and approving laughter.

“YOU’RE ON A ROLL, JERRY!” one of the girls joked.

“HE’S GOT MORE TORQUE THAN MY SUBURU WRX!” a guy said.

The game moved on, shot after shot. They weren’t playing a standard two person game; everyone in the little group was having a go.

Whenever it was a girl’s turn, she leaned over the table, inadvertently presenting her cleavage to me. Unfortunately, this always preceded a violent encounter with the cue, and I began to dread the sight of boobs. Maybe they noticed my alarm, as some of the girls wiggled their eyebrows at me or puckered their lips, trying to get a reaction from me as they aimed, until the guys started telling them to hurry up and take their shot.

To her credit, Samantha never did anything like that. When it was her turn, she just stared me down like I was an animal she was about to pounce on. With a face that cool, she should have been playing poker.

As the game wore on, the laughter at my expense dwindled, the jokes about me shifted into casual conversation, as my presence in the ball became normal. This was even worse than the jokes because it was like I had turned invisible. Even Samantha didn’t look at me anymore. When she wasn’t taking her turn, she sat on a bar stool to the side, drinking from a tumbler and talking quietly with another girl.

Eventually I lost track of her and everyone else as my world shrank to the inside of the hot, cramped cue ball. My breath was fogging up the inside of the ball, and sweat rolled down my brow. My mouth was watering copiously as I fought wave after wave of nausea. It was lucky I was not playing referee anymore as I had forgotten the score long ago.

Because most people were drunk, it took a lot of false hits for balls to get potted, dragging the game on unreasonably. In fact, the game never did technically end; someone accidentally hit a pendant light with the tip of a cue, causing it to fall and smash on the table.

“OH, NICE!” someone said sarcastically.

This signalled the end of the game.

An enormous hand overshadowed me, the fingers pressing around the outside of the cue ball, lifting it off the table. A male face – one of the guys who’d been playing – peered in at me casually and then I found myself zooming up towards the ceiling as he spun the ball up into the air and caught it again a couple of times with one hand.

I tapped on the inside ball and made some noises of frustration. Without reaction, he unscrewed the ball and gently tipped me out onto the bar counter.

There was an empty tumbler where Samantha had been sitting. She seemed to have disappeared. People kept shuffling in and out of the room, constantly changing the sea of looming faces, and many of these didn’t even look down to see me.

There was a girl sitting on one of the stools, leaning back with her arm draped over the counter and watching another group of people start setting up another game of pool. I strode over the table towards her.

“Excuse me,” I began. “There was a girl in here,” I began, “her name’s Samantha; black dress and—”

“SAMANTHA FREDDI,” the woman said mechanically.

I just stared, embarrassed. I knew Samantha had been conceived in the Apennines while her parents had been travelling and yet I didn’t know her surname. And she was supposed to be my girlfriend. Oh well, there were bigger things to worry about.

The girl gave me a look.

“OH BABE, YOU DON’T KNOW…” Her words slurred a little and her breath was alcoholic.

“What?”

“SOME GUY, LIKE, TRIED TO GROPE HER OR SOMETHING AND SHE’S HAVING A LITTLE COOLING OFF SESH UPSTAIRS. I WOULDN’T BOTHER HER JUST FOR NOW. HAVE A DRINK.” She smiled and tilted her cup towards my face. The opposite side had a big lipstick mark on the rim.

Too tired to care what the drink was, I leaned over and swallowed what tasted like mixed vodka. The I said:

“She should have told me where she was.”

The woman shrugged, disinterested.

“SAM IS A LONE WOLF, OR…” her brow furrowed, “…WHAT IS A FEMALE WOLF CALLED?” Her eye brow raised hesitantly, “…A BITCH?”

“Hey!” I said sharply. “I believe the correct term is ‘she-wolf.’”

“OH JERRY, YOU ARE SUCH A CARD,” she tittered as if I’d told a funny joke. “YOU’VE GOT TO COME AND MEET MY FRIENDS—”

— And she swept me up in her hands and took me out of the room. The other rooms of the house flashed past me as she bounded around looking for her friends. Meanwhile, I cast glances around in case Samantha had come downstairs, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. Then again, the dim yellow light from the glowing lampshades didn’t help identify people’s faces.

We passed a living room with exposed brick walls that had been cleared out and had laser lights shooting out overhead. By the looks of it, these were not for dancing, but to give the people who’d taken acid something to do.

Jennifer would hate it here, I thought randomly: no color; no dancing for fun; no traditional party games. The snack offerings were a little thin, too. Everyone had a bottle in their hands but no one was eating.

She would hate that. She thought about food every seven seconds.

For the next couple of hours, I was passed from one pair of hands to the next, sometimes almost immediately, and sometimes I was kept with people for fifteen or twenty minutes, or at least until they wandered off absent-mindedly, or I was snatched from them by someone else impatient to have their ‘turn’ with me.

At one point I was grabbed up by a young woman and excitedly taken to show her boyfriend. The two of them found an irresistible photo opportunity in holding me up in front of the woman’s phone camera, whilst the pair leaned in on either side of me and each simultaneously planting a kiss on my cheeks, one of them on my left and the other on my right. As they jostled and struggled to get the angle and lighting right, I found my head almost entirely buried between their big puckered lips, and their combined alcoholic breath was almost enough to knock me out.

But it was difficult to be irritated at people when they grinned and admired me, and acted like I was a small scale celebrity. I rode on shoulders and heads like a venerated sultan gliding around on a wooden litter chair carried on the backs of slaves.

Natalie was right: this was the first time I was properly, freely interacting with people, with no supervising full size person right there to protect me, and it was exhilarating and affirming. I’d never been treated like this at any party I’d been to at full size. At normal size, I’d been next to a nobody at parties, noticed only for the wrong reasons. Was this so bad? No; it wasn’t so bad at all. In fact, it was a salve to my injured self-esteem. This was the most belonging I’d felt since being this size.

Every so often guys came up to me and launched into asking me about me my workout regime, trying to score tips and strategies, as if my advice would be just as relevant to them, regardless of size. They must have seen the TV program; seen me buck naked and flexing my muscles and climbing all over everything. I tried to explain that my shrunken physique was different: a freak of nature, but it didn’t seem to matter what I said; half the time they were more interested in bragging about their programs. They wrenched their sleeves back and pumped their biceps at me like they were trying to compete with me; like I was a worthy competitor.

— A little drunker, I looked down to find my jacket and turtleneck were suddenly missing, so I started posturing, sprinting laps up and down a table while roaring like an animal, punching my fists into some guy’s bicep like it was a punching bag, and then trying to do acrobatics and flips along a table while some random people clapped in time.

— Suddenly I was swimming around inside a punch bowl with no memory of how I got inside, as a flock of young women played a game of trying to push my head under with the underside of the ladle.

Because, for all the men who came up to me, many, many more women were keen to be seen talking to me, and for very different reasons than the men. When I got their attention and spoke to them – particularly if I started with a ‘Hey beautiful’ or ‘Hey gorgeous’ – they tended to curl their hair around their fingers and blush.

Boyfriends playfully slipped me into their girlfriends’ cleavage, and their girlfriends – by intoxication or their sheer refusal to offend me – giggled bashfully as if this was an honor. A couple of these girls bounced up and down on the balls of their feet as my feet accidentally tickled the space between their boobs, which only jostled me further down into their chests.

Some of the girls –exceedingly attractive girls– found any and every trivial excuse to lean in and swiftly kiss me on the cheek. It would always begin with me, all of a sudden, finding one of these girls locking eyes with me in an almost predatory way, and I knew – just knew – she was waiting patiently and intently for a lull in the conversation, whereon she would smack me with a wet one.

If I complimented a woman, I was rewarded with a kiss.

If I said something funny, I was rewarded with a kiss.

If I did a stupid little dance, I was rewarded with a kiss.

Sometimes I found myself at the end of a big pair of glossy, puckered lips for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Many of these were directed at my cheeks, but a few bold ones ‘accidentally’ got my lips.

After flexing my torso at the request of a woman who wanted to see my figure, I suddenly found my pecs and abs getting lavished by the wet suction of a different girl’s unbridled appetite for my bare muscled flesh. Always friends clamored to snap photos of these unsolicited acts of affection on their phones – usually the kissers themselves requested the photos, as if as bragging rights.

Girls also delighted in feeding me little things from the snack tables (few as there were), sometimes impaled on toothpicks for me to bite off in pieces, but more often than not, this feeding was a ruse for physical contact, and the girls dispensed with the toothpicks and just fed me straight from their hands – or even from between their teeth. Some of the women goaded me to crawl into their hands to get a food object. Others liked to dangle the food above my head and ask me for a kiss, first, whereon I would be rewarded with the snack. Playing along, I would pretend to argue, and then give in, and they would delightedly expose their cheek for me. I would step forward to press a quick kiss to their cheek, when they would flick their heads around, catch my face against their lips before I could react. My drink-impaired reflexes made me fall for this ploy a lot.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say the women couldn’t keep their hands off me. Long, shining feminine fingernails encircled me, grazed my chest, swept over my stomach, squeezed my biceps, and ruffled my hair. I was being passed through more hands than a dollar bill.

Amazing and a little scary how quickly I got used to the feeling of having a butt cheek pinched, just by it happening so often. It was clear when a woman was considering getting ‘handsy’ because she would bite her lip in this particular way as she looked at me; that one signal opened up a gateway to all kinds of tactile hijinks. Another ‘tell’ was when a woman knelt down in front of me, as I stood on a table, bringing her face level with me. It was not only a silent request to get closer, but a strategy to block out my view of other girls and focus purely on her.

I found this slightly patronizing at first, though I told myself they didn’t mean to belittle me. However, some women went further; leaning over me in an almost possessive way, maybe sweeping an arm in front of my path sometimes accompanied with a ‘Not so fast’ or ‘Where do you think you’re going...?’. These too were ‘tells’ for a desire for physical affection.

And it got even bolder as the night wore on.

I was lowered onto the protruding butts of drunk women who had bent over, or leaned over tables, and dared to rodeo as the women sashayed their hips and shook their butts to the pounding music. Most of the women were wearing dresses, but one woman who agreed to play the ‘bull’ had put on some yoga pants, and I made the misjudgment of digging into her waistband to hang on as she twerked to the music like her life was at stake. During a relentless bass beat, the whiplash from the crazy torque of her hips somersaulted me into a head-plant straight down her crack. And because her crack was slicked with sweat from her exertions, I slid in deep. Everyone found this hilarious, including the girl, although I couldn’t laugh because my cheeks were so tightly packed between her cheeks.

Later, surrounded by a crowd of young – very drunk – women, all friends, I loosely remarked on the physical beauty of one when she caught my eye and brazenly thumbed my bulge before I had even registered what she was doing. To my dazed confusion, I realized I wasn’t wearing any pants anymore, and had no memory of what had happened to them. My briefs felt very hot and tight.

The girl’s friends all tittered and gasped with mock scandal. But many were also eyeing the girl with something like admiration, as if only they could enjoy the same courage.

“NOT BAD,” the girl grinned smugly, looking around at her friends. “I MEAN, ALL THINGS TAKEN INTO CONSIDERATION…”

“CHLOE!” one of the other girls , “YOU ARE SO BAD!”

“OH, DON’T BE A PRUDE. HE LOVED IT.”

“ONLY PROBLEM IS, SEX IS IMPOSSIBLE,” one of the girls pointed out, with absolutely no pretense.

“WALKING THROUGH WALLS IS IMPOSSIBLE,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “VAGINAL PENETRATION IS OUT. BUT CLITORAL STIMULATION IS STILL IN. AND IT COULD BE EVEN BETTER, BECAUSE HE’S SMALLER AND MORE DELICATE, MORE PRECISE. YOU COULD HOLD HIM IN ONE HAND AND DIRECT HIM THE WHOLE WAY—” she was even making explicit hand gestures now, to demonstrate, “—LIKE A LITTLE INSTRUMENT THAT WAS MADE TO TALK DIRECTLY TO YOUR CLIT.”

“WHO SAYS VAGINAL PENETRATION IS OUT…?” one of the other girls piped up with a nymphish smirk.

This frank discussion disinhibited the rest of them enough that, before they had wandered off again, I found my genitalia on the receiving end of a lot more inquisitive examination by various members of their group, including some manual estimation of the size and weight of my balls.

By this point I was hopelessly drunk and offered no resistance. People picked me up and groped me and they were so visually blurry I couldn’t even tell if they were men or women. And I was so numbed I didn’t care. I had been repeatedly plied with alcohol throughout the night, and shamelessly accepted most of it. How could I refuse when the hosts were more than adequately stocked in whiskies and rums and liqueurs. If I didn’t sample it, it was only going to be wasted as ammo in the super soakers they were playing with outside around the poolside in the backyard.

In the back of my mind I knew I had to stop: at my size, passing out in some random place could be dangerous or even lethal, especially with so many other full size people drunk. A drunken person dancing or merely staggering around was basically a stampeding elephant.

I couldn’t hide from the reality: I was liked by the people, even loved by the people, but they did not actually care about me. When the blinders of alcohol had lifted, no one here would actually care where I’d ended up for the night, if I’d managed to get home at all, or had accidentally drowned at the bottom of the punch bowl.

Or maybe that was unfair. Almost no one.

—And the next second I heard a guy pipe up over the mumbling crowd:

“HE’S OVER THERE, I THINK,” and somehow instinctively knew the guy was talking about me, like when you think of someone and the next second they’re calling you on the phone.

“JERRY,” I heard Samantha’s crisp accent through the crowd. “ODDIO, I THOUGHT I’D NEARLY LOST YOU FOR A –”

She emerged from between some people, saw me, and froze.

I was buck naked and bathing inside a novelty oversized champagne glass held by a young, blonde, big busted woman, and up to my waist in a homemade chocolate martini as she swirled the end of her straw suggestively close to my package, sucking indulgently on the other end.

I lifted my head blearily and, wiping some condensation away from the inside of the glass, blinking out at Samantha for a moment as if I didn’t recognize her.

“Yo, yo, Freddi,” I nodded, for some reason thinking it would impress her if I showed I knew her last name by now. “I’m a bit busy at the moment. But I’ll talk to you in about ten, maybe twenty.” I took the straw between both my hands to keep it from wandering.

“WHO IS ‘BUSY’?” Samantha said slowly, as if not registering what she was seeing – or refusing to let it register.  “THIS IS A PARTY, NOT A CORPORATE BOARD MEETING.”

“If you just wait a moment, I’ve lost my clothes.”

“I CAN SEE THAT,” she said plainly. “HOWEVER, ‘LOST’ MAY NOT BE THE TERM YOU ARE LOOKING FOR.”

Composing herself, she strode up to the blonde woman holding the glass.

“SCUSI,” she said, deftly taking the big champagne glass from the woman’s hand. “I MUST HAVE A WORD WITH MY GUEST.”

The blonde pouted sulkily but all the same relinquished the glass and then wandered off to find some other entertainment.

Samantha slid the straw out, gave it a cursory, suspicious glance, and threw it away. Then her dark eyes dropped into the glass, and settled on me accusingly.

“Hey,” I slurred, slapping my hands over my erection, which was mercifully half hidden under the chocolate. “Kind of in the middle of something.”

“OH. IT LOOKED MORE LIKE YOU WERE REACHING THE END OF SOMETHING.”

“What did you want me for, anyway?” I drawled. I had been reaching the ‘end’ of something, and it had been denied me, and now I felt annoyed at her. Irrationally annoyed, but annoyed nonetheless.

“YOU THINK I MUST WANT SOMETHING? AREN’T I ALLOWED TO SIMPLY SPEAK WITH YOU?”

“You’re speaking with me right now.”

“BUT NOT UNDER THE MOST FAVORABLE CONDITIONS.”

She casually began to twirl the glass like a wine sampler, and I pressed my palms against the inside curvature of the glass, attempting to keep myself steady as I began to swirl around inside.

Then her hand dropped through the wide opening of the oversized glass and pinched me painfully as it fished me out.  She placed the glass down on a table off to the side and got a napkin to delicately wipe the chocolate off her hand. My dick was pointing out hard in the air, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. She was barely looking at me.

“I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN CAPABLE OF ATTENDING WITHOUT REQUIRING CONSTANT SUPERVISION,” she said quietly. “I ASSUMED YOUR SIZE DIDN’T LIMIT YOU IN THAT CAPACITY. WAS IT WRONG OF ME TO ASSUME THAT?”

“Ah, well…my size,” I shrugged. “The alcohol hits me like a tidal wave.” It wasn’t just the alcohol though, and I knew it. It was also the rush from being around so many normal sized people, and feeling like one of them, for the first time in a long time.

“I WOULD IMAGINE,” she said dispassionately. “YOU BECOME A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON.”

Maybe, but if I was different, I was happier. All of my previous encounters with alcohol had been tainted by ‘episodes’ involving – more specifically, incriminating – Jennifer. Now, I had drunk because I had wanted to, and I had enjoyed myself. And that was all. I wanted to explain this to Samantha but my tongue felt too heavy in my mouth.

Instead I said:

“Hey, you disappeared on me, remember? I had no idea where you went.”

“I SEE,” she murmured. “SO, BECAUSE I LEAVE THE ROOM, YOU GO AND MAKE A GIRLFRIEND OUT OF THE VERY NEXT WOMAN IN SIGHT?”

“It’s not like that! I don’t even know who that girl was!”

Judging by Samantha’s expression, that was not the right thing to say.

Before I could get another word out, I found myself rolled up tight inside a napkin and stuffed into her handbag.

The bag rocked back and forth for a little while, and nausea clawed up my sides; being so drunk by now I felt like I was adrift in a stormy sea. I must have passed out at some point and came to as the zip broke apart above me. Firm pressure tightened all around me and I was lifted. Still crumpled up inside the napkin, I couldn’t help but feel like a wad of snot scrunched up inside a tissue. I even felt wet and sticky. The movement caused me to black out again.

Then I found myself lying on a table, looking straight up at a ceiling inside some unfamiliar room. Coughing, I gingerly sat up and noticed there was not only chocolate but vomit on my chest; I must have thrown up while I was in the bag. I was also stark naked – had been for some time, but it only struck me as an issue now, sitting out in the cold.

Samantha was sitting over me, her head cradled against one hand. She stared at me blankly as if she’d been sitting there a few minutes waiting for me to come to. Now that I was awake, she took a wet hand towel in one hand and, seeming to not want to touch my torso, closed the fingers of her other hand around my skull and held it in place as she dabbed my chest until all the vomit was cleaned off.

I was flattered by her relative gentleness until she muttered in a dark voice:

“YOU’VE BEEN A VERY BAD LITTLE MAN. WHEN YOU ARE IN MY CARE, YOU MUST REFLECT WELL UPON ME AND ONLY DO WHAT I TELL YOU.”

As soon as her fingers released my head, I stared around the room, but there wasn’t much to see. There was a sphere of yellow light around us, and everywhere else dark, making me feel like any moment a couple of police were going to stride in and do the ‘good cop bad cop’ routine.

“Where are we?”

“WE ARE IN MY HOUSE.”

I frowned.

“I thought you were going to take me back to Natalie’s.”

“NO,” she uttered this like it was a swear word. “NO MORE DALLIANCES WITH OTHER WOMEN. MY CONDITION COMES INTO OPERATION TONIGHT. YOU STAY WITH ME NOW. UNDERSTAND?”

“But I’ve gotta let Natalie know—”

“NO,” she pressed her fingers against her temples. “NO ‘NATALIE’ – I DO NOT EVEN WANT TO HEAR THE NAME ANYMORE.”

“Look, I think I left some of my clothes—”

But she was saying ‘SHHH’ repeatedly and crushing my lips under her thumb until I got the point and went quiet, at least momentarily. Once her thumb lifted, I went on:

“I understand we had an arrangement, but Natalie is my best friend right now and she’s done a lot for me and it’s only fair—”

My voice died as a steely look flashed across Samantha’s face. It was only there for a second.

At the same time, her hand positioned itself directly in front of me but not, apparently, to reach for me. I stared at it, nonplussed, as the middle finger began to bend inward towards the palm, and hook itself at the base of the thumb. My eyes widened in recognition and my feet began sliding away against the tabletop.

But it was too late—

THWACK

The tip of her middle finger punched into my gut. My back slammed into the tabletop. As pain barreled through my winded chest, I let out a fit of squeaking coughs.

“W-what…!” I rasped. “W-why did you do that?”

She considered me from above, unmoved.

“YOU ARE BEING BAD AND YOU MUST BE PUNISHED.”

Holy shit, I thought. The dating website had set me up with a total cuckoo bird. I’d heard stories about this happening, but it was one of those things that only happened to other people. Then the cold dread lowered like a curtain. I was in her house and no one knew I was here! Natalie didn’t know Samantha’s address. The four walls and a roof scheme suddenly seemed incredibly cramped than at any other time since I’d been shrunk.

While the ceiling swum around overhead, Samantha poured a big blob of ethanol hand sanitizer on her fingers before applying it liberally to my body. Rolling me around between her palms, my muscles were plied and teased like I was caught in the spokes of some moving machine parts, while the merciless pressure of her fingertips bulldozed over every bump my body offered. Worst of all, my cramping stomach felt like it was being shredded. My entire body was subject to this torture, she even spread my butt cheeks and poked my anus with a fingernail, but I screamed my lungs out before my balls were almost demolished by the careless kneading of a thumb.

This was overkill for a tiny bit of vomit which had already been cleaned off with the water.

“Hey, what about soap?” I grunted. “Soap is fine!”

“SOAP HURTS.”

“This hurts!”

“SOAP HURTS ME. THIS EVAPORATES.”

“What?”

She didn’t reply. Now she was tipping some other transparent substance on her hands. Then they sprung on me and I was put through the same agonizing manipulations all over again. This other substance didn’t evaporate, but covered my skin in a shiny clear lather.

It was lube.

Turning her back on me she began cutting something with a scissors. Glad to get a break from the vigorous rubbing, I didn’t say anything. Then she approached me and, to my shock, pasted a length of black tape over my mouth, sealing it shut. Before I could rip it off, she took each of my wrists and taped them together behind my back, before doing the same to my ankles.

For the first time in ages, she smiled at me.

“THERE, SEE? YOU’VE STOPPED TALKING. NICE AND QUIET.”

I started to struggle. An ache ripped across my belly. I went still again. My nostrils stung with sanitizer as I sucked air in through my nose.

Her hand tightened as the table dropped away; a dark hallway flashed past, ending in a bedroom with a lot of dark wood furniture that made the unlit room much darker. The light was kept off as she went in, so only the blue night shone in through the muslin curtains, illuminating a square of carpet. Dropping through the air, I bounced over a bed sheet before coming to a rest on my front, wrenching my head sideways to breathe.

There were rustling noises and the sounds of clothes dropping onto the floor.

Rocking my shoulders, I managed to roll onto my back. Towering by the bedside was Samantha’s lithe dark outline; with the jutting silhouette of her bare breasts and ass. Her breasts rose and fell steadily as she breathed.

“I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU,” she said, “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU. I JUST WANT TO FEEL YOU.”

I was whisked up into the air as she dropped onto the bed, bumping me around as she impatiently got herself into a comfortable position: sitting with her feet planted on the sheets, spread a little apart.

She then lowered me to one of her feet, and starting at her Achilles tendon, I was slid along the back of her calf muscle, face inward, with my feet down towards the bed and head pointing up towards her knee. Coming to her half-lifted knee, my body was compelled up under the joint, bending painfully, before continuing along the underside of her smooth, muscled thigh. The entire journey my face was pressed into her flesh, my lungs bursting for air like I was underwater.

Her spread legs revealed a shadowy cleft straight ahead; next second, the fleshy lips were brushing against my cheeks as my head was being coerced into the slit by restless hands. The depths of the cavity were starting to give off a musky perfume and radiant heat.

Without a pause, I was fed through the tight cavern, torpedoed through the tunnel until she had me only by my ankles. The hot flesh clamped around my body as if testing my sturdiness. Then it relaxed as I was yanked backwards until I could feel a chill of cool air brush past my body, climbing up the back of my neck. Next instant I was battering back down the tunnel. Then I was wrenched back again.

Each time I was yanked back down the tunnel by my feet, my vertebrae groaned as my spine was jolted, then, as I was thrust back up the tunnel, my body was forced to fold up a little lengthways.

This agonizing procedure repeated multiple times, with the vaginal walls growing progressively tighter and starting to shudder. A series of shattering convulsions signaled an imminent orgasm, which finally locked my tiny body in its jaws and crunched me up like an angry fist.

But she wasn’t satisfied with one orgasm and – without a pause to breathe – began going at it all over again, pursuing what ultimately ended up being several orgasms, each successive one buckling my body a little more, and a little more, until, by the last heaving orgasm, some of my body parts were numb, some were crooked and in the wrong places and I felt like I had been virtually scrunched inside out.

I dribbled out of the now slackened pussy lips, riding a creek of female fluids onto the bed sheet. Everywhere hurt, into my bones. There was a perverse rush of glee: I was still alive. Then the adrenaline wore off and the pain settled in.

I made a long, loud groan. It sounded like there was ground up glass in my throat.

Eyeing me boredly, Samantha lifted one foot and shifted it towards me. The span of her toes (like her hands, elegantly angled) rippled before my face as she dropped her big toe down upon my face, pinning my head to the bed and completely covering my facial features so I couldn’t see or breathe. The soft underside of the toe squished wetly as it made contact with the musky goo drenching my face. Now that I was wet with her ejaculation, she didn’t seem keen to touch me with her hands, and decided to use her toe to send the clear message: shut up if you want to breathe.

Air was trapped in my lungs with nowhere to go. I bucked my spine and kicked like a dolphin, as my brain went into a flurry, screaming for oxygen. Still the toe rested on my head. Grunts issued from my throat, without me even realizing.

Working against every instinct, I went quiet and stopped struggling. Within a moment, the toe lifted again. My eyeballs had been pressed down in the sockets so firmly they now felt loose and floaty.

Samantha gave a huge sigh, like she was stifling a yawn, and then said:

“A SATISFACTORY PERFORMANCE. IT APPEARS YOU HAVE SOME TRAINING AHEAD OF YOU.”

Then she pinched up my ankles with exaggerated delicacy, like I was vermin and she wanted to touch me as little as possible, and I found myself looking straight down at the patch of moonlight on the floor as she slid off the bed and walked across the room. Giving me a couple of little shakes, she yanked open a drawer and – freeing my ankles – I fell down into its dark interior, tumbling against some soft fabric objects.

There was a shuddering jolt backwards, and all the light and sound disappeared.

*

I came to.

I had no idea how much time had passed.

It was still dark. The faint smell of fabric conditioner, and the feeling of satin against my body made me think I was inside an underwear drawer.

My body was hot and achy like I had a fever. I could barely speak; my throat felt like it had swollen. It felt like my face was slightly bruised from where the toe had pressed down against it.

The breathless excitement had long gone. The giddiness I now felt was dread.

The darkness went on forever.

*

The drawer opened; dim light spilled onto my face. My head was snagged between two firm weights and I dangled through the air before being thrown the rest of the way onto the bed. Because I was thrown from my head, I went spinning through the air like a firecracker tied to a chain.

The bed depressed heavily as Samantha leapt onto it. Nails dragged at me, warm jiggling flesh pressed against me whichever way I turned. Most of the time I couldn't move an inch, but began to slip around more easily as the huge expanse of flesh began to perspire. I flowed over mountains and hills of bare skin, which were unknowable to me in the dark.

“NO,” Samantha’s voice murmured from somewhere, as fingers pinched my erection, hard, as to extinguish it like a candle. “IN MY BEDROOM, YOU TAKE CARE OF ME.”

Then I was descended into her black tunnel, into a world of pain.

*

Awakening, I stared into the dark for a long time. I didn’t know where I was for a moment. Then it came to me with dizzying clarity. I was in the drawer.

My eyeballs settled deeply into my skull. My brain was numb. My stomach growled; it must have been at least a couple of days since I’d eaten or drunk anything.

There was a blissful period of unconsciousness.

Then I was awake again. Or, I couldn’t tell if I was truly awake, but I was aware. This went on for an uncountable length of time.

I kept fixating on something: we had never kissed. Of all the injustices I’d been subject to by her, the denial of a kiss seemed to be the most outrageous, as stupid as it was.

Except it wasn’t stupid. We were supposed to be in a relationship: boyfriend and girlfriend. We had reached third base by shortcut, completely circumventing first base. Now I’d lost track of what base we were at. I’d lost track of a lot of things. The house party seemed like a long time ago. My first date with Samantha seemed like a half-remembered dream. Natalie seemed like a million miles away. She probably guessed I had gone off to live with Samantha and assumed I had moved on.

*

The drawer opened. I could see the ceiling above and the shadowed outline of Samantha's upper half, standing over me in a lacy bra, and – it turned out – no underwear. She must have had a good day: she was smiling warmly. Whether that smile was actually for me or just incidental wasn’t clear.

She was holding a thin transparent tube in one hand. Her other hand lurched down into the drawer. She pressed her index finger against my forehead, keeping it down while her thumbnail brusquely scratched off the tape over my mouth – raking painfully over the skin of my jaw as it did so.

Ignoring the pain, I began yelling.

“I won’t stand for this! Get me out of here this instant!”

“SHHH,” she said, tapping at my forehead with the hard tip of a fingernail.

“This is not okay!” I carried on, “This is—aarrghhhhhh!”

The end of the clear tube streamed into my open mouth and the taste of plastic was zooming over my tongue even as I tossed my head to dislodge it. Battering into one of my tonsils, it then plunged down my gagging throat.

Samantha was no medical worker and had little ability to discern how far down the tube was. She just kept feeding it in until randomly deciding that it must be in far enough. There was now a burning sensation somewhere around my solar plexus, but I was just relieved the tube hadn’t punched a hole through the bottom of my stomach.

Turning away from me, she began tinkering with the other end of the tube. With a flash of dread, I realized what a vulnerable position I was now in. She could feed anything in through that tube – anything! – and I’d be helpless but to gulp it down. Perspiration began to break out afresh on my brow.

Luckily, she didn’t have any sordid ideas for the time being. Her intention was purely to feed me.

Something warm and mushy was now passing through the tube, and slowly filling up my stomach. My stomach didn’t completely flip out, so I was assured it wasn’t poisonous or repulsive, at least.

My gratefulness to be eating something dissolved as I realized I was filling up too fast. Possibly because I was so small, she had no ability to tell that I was full until I was really, really, really full, and with the tube preventing me from speaking, I had no way to indicate to her otherwise. She kept a stream of baby food (or whatever it was) running down the tube until my stomach began to tighten like there was a band around it, and bloat distressingly. It was actually turning visibly round. In fact, only when my belly was grossly distended did the mush stop coming, and she then pulled the tube out again – a faster process, but just as unpleasant as when it went down. Not to mention, she did this so fast some residue mush splattered over my face as the tube came out of my mouth.

A tissue landed on my face and was rubbed around to wipe the substance off. With the tube gone, I could now make out the savoury smell, like it contained ground up meat and other things. Apparently this substance contained a lot of water as well, because I was never given a drink, yet I never got very thirsty.

I said nothing else for the time being, just feeling relieved to have been fed. In the back of my mind, a small part of me wondered how long it would be until I was fed again.

Another strip of tape came down and was stamped across my mouth.

Then it was dark again.

*

The drawer opened. Bright blinding yellow light spilled onto my face, and my eyes scrunched up again. Two giant faces were staring down at me. One was Samantha, wearing a sleeveless halter with strings that wrapped around the neck. The other was a guy with a shaved head I’d never seen before.

“OH, DAMN!” the guy exclaimed, his eyes popping. Exactly my reaction seeing him.

“THAT’S MY LITTLE FRIEND,” Samantha said, smiling faintly at the man’s surprise.

My brows drew together. Friend?

I like to think we’re a little more than that…I thought with a flash of anger.

She went on idly:

“HE KEEPS ME COMPANY.”

The man’s mouth worked around a reply that never came out.

Meanwhile, Samantha’s hand reached down into my face and, with two fingers, swatted my head to the side, so fast that my neck muscles pulled. Before I could recover, she did it again, this time on the opposite side, flicking my head the other way. It was like she was slapping me with her fingertips.

“CHARMING LITTLE FELLOW, ISN’T HE?” She looked up at the man. “INTERESTED IN GETTING ACQUAINTED?”

The man shuffled back a step, eyeing the tape on my mouth.

“KEEP ME OUT OF IT AND I WON’T TELL ANYONE.”

Undeterred, she leaned against the drawers, turning at him and fixing him with a seductive look that looked to me more like a leer.

“IF YOU LET ME WATCH, I’LL TALK HIM INTO FINISHING YOU.”

Spluttering loudly, my arms and legs worked at my binds like I was on fire.

The man placed a hand on top of the chest of drawers, massaging his temples with his other hand. He couldn’t seem to meet my eyes anymore.

“WOW, THIS JUST GOT WEIRD. LET’S GO BACK INTO THE LIVING ROOM.”

The drawer shut again.

For the next few hours I agonized over why there was another guy in Samantha’s house, until I realized that, in the grand scheme of things, it probably didn’t matter anymore.

*

The drawer opened not long after. Samantha stood over me, hair in a severe ponytail.

“HE WASN’T MUCH FUN, WAS HE?” she said, twirling the end of her hair around her finger in a jarringly out of character way. “WELL, IT’S JUST YOU AND ME NOW. YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO.”

Her hand dropped over me, gripped tightly, and pulled back again. I flew onto the bed and, a second later, her enormous form crashed onto the bed after me. She snatched me up again as she knelt on the mattress on all fours. I was drawn in towards her body, into a shroud of her heady body odor – unconvincingly stifled by faint perfume that had been applied too long ago.

My head touched up against her throat and she trailed me down between her breasts, snapping me violently against each breast so my head flicked her nipples, and even the breasts themselves, causing them to bounce. The full weight of each breast bouncing on my head was almost too much for my puny neck to handle; I could feel it bending and threatening to snap like a pencil.

With ears ringing, my head was slid further, following the subtle bumps and dips of her abdominals, before reaching the ‘hot zone’ where she’d intended to take me all along.

My face traced up and down her labia rimming her vagina opening, getting nicely soaked as her fluid was already leaking out. I’d noticed she was getting wetter to begin with now, and she barely required lube anymore, if any. It’s like her sex organ had been conditioned to begin salivating as soon as she clapped her eyes on me.  My dick also stood at attention during these sessions, but it was seldom pleasurable or even noticed by me – and noticed even less by her. It was a mechanical response to the scents, the soft grunts, the giant sexual anatomy pressing against me. She seemed to view my organ like a persistent insect, and would flick or swat it in irritation because of its pesky habit of getting in the way of activity.

Different parts of my body ached and twanged in her commanding grip as she worked me tirelessly; and it always seemed like a different set of muscle groups were hurting, rotating each day, after every carnal session.

Getting one good gulp of air, I was suddenly churning up and down the length of her pussy, the moist bubbling and smacking playing over and over in my ears as I was yanked back and forth, as if I was being swallowed and digested by some huge beast. I had done this so many times now I had developed the ability to count down with the convulsions of her body to orgasm, and intuit whether she was gearing up for multiple orgasms, or ready to settle with one.

Finally I would be pulled out in a trail of viscous fluid and slapped down on the bed. My vision would darken as the huge fleshy bulb of a big toe the dropped down onto my head and settled there for a long moment, just long enough to cause my throat to start going into paroxysms as it fought for breath.

She now planted her toe on my face at the end of every session, even when I showed no signs of rebellious struggle. It had become an unconscious habit, or maybe a ritual, a way to punctuate the session’s end and emphasize her dominance over me.

I couldn’t read her intentions anymore. Her face was a mask that expressions shifted over like shadows, not revealing the content of her mind. And as the days wore on, she spoke to me less and less.

The drawer would open, I would sigh weakly, she would have me, and then I would be put back inside. Or it would open, the tube would be snaked down my throat, my belly filled, and then the drawer would close again. My joints were almost constantly bound by tape and began to feel like they were rusting any time I tried to move them. I stopped struggling.

In the darkness of the drawer, my body wracked by tremors, I began to feverishly hallucinate myself into an elaborate narrative that I’d never shrunk...

— I was back at Scott and Tasha’s house for the Flip party, and this time I didn’t drink anything so I was lucid when I used the time machine.

I jumped back eight minutes, appearing in the room to find myself standing directly behind the chair my past self was reclining on, watching TV. I crept out of the room and hid in a closet in the house, only springing out the moment my past self jolted back. To the crowd it looked like one version of me had disappeared into thin air and, at the same time, another version walked into the room, to the awe and applause of all my friends.

Beaming, Remy scampered up to me, asking me to be a partner in his operation: he would manage the scientific side of things, and I manage the business side.

Scott was slapping his hand on my shoulder, trying to ask me how I’d just pulled the trick off.

Tasha was tugging Scott's other arm, quietly insisting that it wasn’t a trick.

Stuart was struck dumb, now amusingly looking around the corner of the room, where I’d just emerged from, as if expecting to find some trick door.

Jennifer was standing at my other side, silent for a long time, with a faraway look in her eye that told me she was running reams of information through her brain very quickly. Finally, her eyes found mine.

“Oh, baby,” she said breathlessly, tears starting to run down her face, “How could you just disappear into thin air like that? Where did you go? Where did you go, Jerry? Where did you go?!”

It was pitch black.

The blackness became an all-encompassing dreamless state merging sleep into wakefulness. Sometimes voices mumbled from somewhere, but it was unclear if these were real people in another part of the house, or just audio hallucinations.

It no longer seemed important where I was, what was happening or why anything happened. My body’s dwindling reserves of energy were used purely to keep my heart beating and make some weak attempts at repairing the pain in my muscles.

At some indistinct point in time, I became aware of the sound of male voices vibrating through the walls, the words low and indecipherable. Suddenly Samantha’s voice broke through, yelling with anger as I’d never heard it, and the sound shifted, like she was moving around, though I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Her anger shocked me to the point I doubted if it was really her normally composed voice, as opposed to some other visiting female.

Then all the sounds stopped.

The black dreamless state consumed me again, and for a long while.

The drawer opened and the bright bedroom light poured down on my face.

When my stinging eyes had adjusted, I looked to see a huge foreign object racing down at me; like a blue balloon with pointy parts. It flexed around my body with surprising gentleness and lifted me up out of the drawer, hitting me with the undeniable smell of surgical gloves.

I was rotated until a huge man’s face materialized in front of me. He was an older man, with greying hair and a moustache, wearing a white shirt and tie with the sleeves rolled up, and blue surgical gloves on his hands.

“JERRY MOUSSEAU?” he said, with a slight frown. The air shook with his baritone voice. His breath smelled like cigarettes.

I nodded my head, wondering for a moment why my lips felt glued together before remembering they were taped over.

“FOUND OUR GUY,” the man called out down the hallway. Then he looked back down at me as he began to carry me out of the room, and added:

“YOU’RE A DIFFICULT MAN TO CHASE DOWN. BUT I LIKE TO THINK NO ONE CAN HIDE FOREVER.”

He put me on the dining table a moment as he took a pair of tweezers and carefully removed the tape from my mouth, as well as my arm and leg binds.

With the tape off, jolts of pain ran through my limbs as I tried moving them into a more comfortable position.

“NOT LOOKING SO GOOD THERE,” the man observed, “BUT JUST SIT TIGHT AND WE’LL HAVE YOU ALL CLEANED UP.”

The house was quiet. There was only one other person in the room, another man in similar attire, and also wearing rubber gloves, who had come over to inspect me.

“W-where’s Samantha?” I said. My voice didn’t come out properly the first time so I tried again.

“DON’T YOU WORRY ABOUT MISS FREDDI,” he replied. “WE HAVE SOME PEOPLE TAKING CARE OF HER.”

He carefully picked me up off the table again, causing my limp body to start trembling in pain. Everything went dark as my brain seemed to be doing somersaults inside my skull.

—Suddenly I was lying on a blanket on the back seat of a vehicle as it hummed down the road. The two men sat in the front seats, muttering to each other about various things to do with an investigation into my whereabouts.

I coughed and one of the men looked back at me briefly.

“HOW ARE YOU DOING BACK THERE, KID? OUR CLIENT WILL BE VERY PLEASED TO KNOW YOU’RE STILL KICKING.”

Then the car took some sharp, vertigo-inducing turns, and I passed out again.

*

Bright light was pressing in against my eyelids. There was a steady beeping sound somewhere to my right.

Large footsteps shuffled across a linoleum floor and abruptly stopped.

“OH MY GOD,” a female voice whispered somewhere nearby, “I DIDN’T KNOW WE HAD THE TINY GUY ON OUR WARD.”

“SOME P.I. MEN BROUGHT HIM IN LAST NIGHT,” a different female voice answered in a hushed tone. “ISN’T HE JUST THE MOST ADORABLE THING YOU’VE EVER SEEN?”

The other woman let out a small sound of surprise.

“OH DEAR…” There was some stifled giggling. “HIS LITTLE PECKER IS POKING UP. HE MUST BE HAVING A NICE DREAM.”

“LITTLE?” the first girl’s voice said. “LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT THING! IT’S NEARLY AS BIG AS HE IS!”

“I BETTER FIX IT BEFORE THE DOCTORS COME BACK.”

Footsteps shuffled over and the brightness over my eyelids dimmed as a shadow stretched over me. Then the bed linen at my feet slid up over my body until my lower half was tucked in, although my dick was still pushing up against the sheet.

Once I heard the women leave, I rolled onto my side to hide my boner and went to sleep for another little while.

Hearing more footsteps, I sat up against a pillow, groaning. My boner had now gone. It seemed some time had passed.

The surrounding room appeared between slow, steady blinks.

I was sitting at the head of a normal sized bed in a hospital room, my tiny body dwarfed by, and propped up against, a normal sized pillow.

The towering figure of a nurse smiled down at me.

"HELLO THERE, DARLING. WELCOME BACK."

She slipped a cuff around my bicep. Noticing my look of surprise at the tiny blood pressure instrument, she explained it was the smallest one they could find in the hospital, and it was normally used for premature babies. Good thing my monstrous erection had subsided; I didn’t need a cuff put on it to tell me the state of my blood pressure in that department.

Once it finished, she read it out.

“IT’S A LITTLE HIGH, BUT I’M NOT SURPRISED WITH WHAT YOU’VE BEEN THROUGH.”

“How long have I been here?”

"YOU WERE ADMITTED YESTERDAY. WE'VE HAD YOU OVERNIGHT." She busied herself with the suspended bag of my IV line – a much tinier bag than usual; a ‘fun size’ bag.

Seeing the thin clear tube running into my arm gave me a panicked flashback to Samantha feeding me, but I quickly calmed myself. The room was white and bright and open, nothing like her bedroom, and Samantha herself was nowhere in sight.

A wave of calm made me close my eyes for a second.

"THE DOCTORS WANTED TO MONITOR YOUR CONDITION,” the nurse carried on. "YOU WERE IN A BAD STATE THERE FOR A LITTLE WHILE."

She switched on the TV for me before she left. I couldn’t get my eyes to focus enough to watch whatever was playing, but I was able to make out the date in the corner of the screen.

It was June.

But that couldn’t be right. Last time I was aware, it was May. I had been with Natalie for close to a month, between April and May. Which meant I must have been stuck in Samantha’s house for another whole month!

It wouldn’t process. It felt like time had been at a standstill in the drawer, and now suddenly I had jumped forward into the future.

I turned away from the TV screen and looked out the window, where the late afternoon sun was producing a mellow glow.

Not long after, a doctor in scrubs strode into the room and stood at the end of my bed to observe me.

“HI, JERRY,” he said. “I SEE YOU’RE AWAKE. HOW DO YOU FEEL?”

I wanted to say ‘like a piano fell on me’ but instead just muttered:

“Sore. And dizzy.”

He nodded.

“WE’LL GET YOU SOMETHING FOR THE NAUSEA, BUT I DON’T WANT TO GO TOPPING UP YOUR PAIN MANAGEMENT RIGHT NOW. WE DOSE BY BODY WEIGHT, AND YOU…” he gestured with a hand self-evidently, “…DON’T WEIGHT VERY MUCH.”

Striding over to the bedside, he crouched as he put the ear buds of his stethoscope into his ears and ran the opposite end over my chest. Unlike the other medical implements, it was normal size; the flat silver end of the stethoscope covered my entire torso.

“WHEN YOU CAME IN,” he explained, “YOU WERE RAMBLING AND YOUR EYES WERE UNFOCUSED. YOU WERE DEHYDRATED, SUFFERING FROM EXHAUSTION, DELIRIUM, AND MUSCLE INFLAMMATION. YOUR BODY WAS WORKING OVERTIME.”

Draping the stethoscope back around his neck, he added:

“YOU ALSO VOMITED SOME GROUND UP FOODSTUFF, LIKE PASTE – WHATEVER IT WAS YOUR CAPTRESS HAD BEEN FEEDING YOU. LET'S JUST SAY WHATEVER THAT CONCOCTION WAS, IT DIDN'T RATE WELL ON THE FOOD PYRAMID. IT WAS ENOUGH TO KEEP YOU ALIVE, BUT NOT MUCH ELSE."

She had wanted to keep me weak, I thought bitterly.

The doctor got to his feet again.

“BUT GREAT TO SEE HOW FAST YOU’VE BOUNCED BACK IN THE SHORT TIME YOU'VE BEEN HERE. YOUR VITALS ARE STRONGER. ASTONISHING, ACTUALLY. I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT. AT THIS RATE, YOU’LL BE BACK HOME BEFORE YOU KNOW IT.”

A look must have crossed my face, because the doctor hesitated.

“YOU HAVE LIVING ARRANGEMENTS, JERRY…?”

Well, that was complicated.

Except it wasn’t really.

“No,” I said.

I had no interest in getting Natalie on the phone and asking to move back in with her. The whole drama with Samantha was too humiliating to repeat to anyone; it needed to be expunged from memory as soon as possible.

“WHAT ABOUT THOSE PEOPLE WHO CAME BY EARLIER?” the doctor went on.

“People…?”

“NO ONE TOLD YOU? A COUPLE CAME THIS MORNING, JUST BEFORE I SWUNG BY TO CHECK IN ON YOU ON MY MORNING ROUNDS. A MAN AND A WOMAN. INTERESTING HAIR. THEY WANTED TO SEE YOU BUT YOU WERE STILL UNCONSCIOUS, AND WE THOUGHT YOU COULD USE SOME MORE REST, SO WE ADVISED THEM TO COME BACK LATER. THE WOMAN LEFT YOU A GIFT.”

“What?” I said, looking around.

He nodded at the bedside counter where there was a single rose standing in an empty bottle of licorice liqueur.

As I stared at it, the doctor turned to leave. I spoke up:

"You wouldn't happen to have any medicine to make a person grow in size, would you?"

He swung back around to face me with an uneven smile.

“WE HAVE ONE. BUT IT ONLY MAKES A PART OF YOU GROW, AND YOU NEED A PRESCRIPTION.”

There was beat, and then he added dryly:

“AND IN MY PROFESSIONAL OPINION – AT LEAST WHEN I CHECKED ON YOU THIS MORNING – YOU DON’T APPEAR TO NEED IT.”

Shortly, I was brought some crushed up tablets and a tiny plastic cup of water to drink the grainy powder down. This took care of my dizziness, allowing me to fall back into a more comfortable sleep for an hour or so.

Just after the sun had gone down, someone came and knocked on the door. I opened my eyes to see one of the nurses sticking her head in the doorway.

“YOU HAVE SOME VISITORS, DARLING,” she said quietly before disappearing again.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sharp clapping of heels down the corridor outside the room.

An instant later, Jennifer was standing in the doorway.

She had her hair in a ponytail, even longer than I’d last seen it, and was wearing a black spaghetti strap top and white handkerchief skirt, and – although I couldn’t see them from my elevated position on the bed – what sounded like a killer pair of heels, catapulting her leg muscles up into heaven.

Beginning to feel dizzy again, I glanced around for some more anti-nausea meds, but I’d already swallowed them all.

Her green eyes alighted on me and in an instant she had swooped to the bedside, and the upper half of her great visage was leaning over me, peering into my face anxiously, taking in my doped up eyes, gaunt face, spiky uncut hair and Jesus-length beard.

“EVERYTHING’S GOING TO BE OKAY,” she said. “I’M HERE NOW.”

Unable to help herself, her hands started forward and then were all over me; pawing at my chest, kneading my shoulders, cradling my jaw with her fingertips as she examined my beard growth. It was like she needed to know I was actually physically there, and not an illusion. Then, pulling my sheet down a little further, her fingertips slowed down to trace my exposed rib bones and gently probe around my sunken stomach. Her brow drew tight with concern. Only now I realized my captivity had caused my form to waste somewhat.

Because I was still so tender from the treatment I’d received in Samantha’s possession, my muscles trembled and recoiled at all of this fondling. I shrank from her, trying to scoot deeper under the white linen.

Stuart’s voice sounded gently from behind her.

“I THINK YOU’RE ALARMING HIM A LITTLE, HONEY.”

Ignoring him, she lowered her head, trying to get it into alignment with my line of vision, and get my eyes to return to hers.

“YOU’RE GLAD TO SEE ME, AREN’T YOU?”

I gave a big nod without even thinking.

Unable to hide her relief, she tickled my belly with her long nails, which caused my insides to cramp. There was a lot less padding on my stomach now, making it feel like her nails were swirling around in my intestines. I pushed back at her fingers, shaking my head but unable to speak because I was coughing so hard.

Withdrawing her hand from me, she got a wounded look; not as if I’d spurned her, but as if she was afraid she’d hurt me. Then, with utmost gentleness, she took my hand between her fingertips and held it, completely enveloping my hand in her soft skin.

A chair across the room creaked as Stuart eased down into it. Only now I could see him, and he looked very tired and pale, and when he gave me a look over, his expression looked a little pained, like the sight of me was even worse.

The weight of my recklessness crashed down on me. For the first time, guilt gnawed at my gut for what I must have put them through all this time. They had looked after me all this time and I had run away and not told them where I’d gone. And why? Because they got sexually rowdy one night after too many drinks? Compared to how Samantha had treated me, it now seemed comparatively mild. And I could have paid dearly for it: I could have gone a long time in the drawer without being found, maybe even died in there.

With my hand still between Jennifer’s fingertips, I moved my other hand and placed it on top of her thumbnail. She had applied a new coat of polish since I’d been gone and it felt like a smooth glazed window, and was so shiny I probably could have caught my reflection in there – though, judging how I felt, that probably wasn’t a good idea.

“I could have done a better job of this,” I joked, slapping her nail.

“GOOD,” she said coolly, “BECAUSE ONCE YOU’RE BETTER, IT’S BACK TO POLISHING DUTY FOR YOU.”

They made some easy-going conversation with me, telling me some things that had gone on while I’d been away. Mostly they talked and I listened. They didn’t ask me where I’d been or what had happened to me. At first, this was a relief, but then the conspicuous absence of questions made my insides churn with shame: if the P.I. had told them I’d been found in a lingerie drawer of some socialite model, my wrists, ankles and mouth taped up, my naked body, bruised, red, and smelling like musky pussy, they were in a good position to figure out the finer details.

While I listened to them talk; just enjoying the comforting sound of their voices, my torso was being rubbed soothingly with the pads of two of Jennifer’s fingers, as if it was molding clay and by applying the right pressure, she could get the normal shape to return. Unfortunately for me, because her nails were so long and I was so comparatively diminutive, every so often I would feel a sudden pricking sensation as one of the sharp nail tips accidently dug into my flesh, without her even realizing.

Wincing, I would give her fingers a firm squeeze whenever it was getting too much, whereon she would get the message and slide her hand away for a little while. Then her fingernails would drum anxiously on the mattress for a few minutes, before inevitably snaking back over to me again.

It could have been the familiar association of the powerful fragrance she was wearing, or the silky touch of her warm, moisturized hands, or the dark glittering of her mascara-defined lashes fluttering as she cocked her head down at me in concern, or just the shocking pleasure of seeing her again at all. Whatever it was, it was causing the sheet covering my lower body to steadily rise up.

The rest of my body might have been wasted down, but judging by the tent pole emerging between my thighs, my dick was as healthy and thick as ever.

For a couple of moments it seemed the manifest arousal would go away on its own. When that did not happen, it seemed possible I could disguise it under the sheet if I shifted my body right. That did not work either.

And then her fingers hovered over my chest. She was very still for a moment.

Then my chest was being rubbed again. I sunk against the pillow in a silent sigh.

But as this was going on, and without any other perceptible reaction, her thumb nimbly swept behind and beneath my member, compelling it back until it was pressed against my stomach. As her first two fingertips continued to rub my chest, she held her thumb against my lower stomach, keeping my dick firmly trapped, and shifting back and forth agonizingly with the slight movements of her hand.

Stuart hadn’t reacted. From his position in the chair at the side of the hospital bed, Jennifer’s huge hand must have been obscuring most of my tiny form.

I flicked my eyes up at her in the desperate, futile hope she didn’t realize what she was doing, but her eyes were fixed on me calmly and when I looked at her, she winked at me, out of Stuart’s line of sight.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Stuart’s voice just droned on merrily, relaying an anecdote he intended as funny. Jennifer was nodding and making noises of interest, insisting he continue talking.

Meanwhile, my penis was beating like a drum. A drum being played by the subtle manipulations of her touch.

Oh God, I thought, I’m going to—!

My doctor, in his infinite wisdom, chose that very moment to enter the room.

The rubbing carried on over my stomach, and lower. I pushed my head back against the pillow, hard, as if trying to sink into it. Pulsations of hot blood were working through my system, a beautiful lightness spreading all over, taking me away from the pain.

“GOOD AFTERNOON, FOLKS,” said the doctor. “I HEARD YOU HAD A QUESTION FOR ME.”

Without stopping what she was doing, Jennifer smoothly turned her head and looked at him.

“YES, I—”

Then my dick exploded into the sheet and I made a sound like a sharp eruption of breath and a loud groan.

Everyone looked at me.

The doctor looked concerned.

“YOU ALRIGHT THERE, JERRY?”

I mopped the perspiration from my brow, not saying anything or looking at anyone.

“HE JUST SNEEZED,” Jennifer giggled . “BLESS YOU.”

“OH,” said the doctor, nodding. “SORRY – YOU WERE SAYING?”

Finally her hand moved from me, and I surreptitiously rolled onto my side to give my spent dick some time to return to a flaccid state. Jennifer stood up from the bedside to face the doctor and meet him in the eyes.

“CAN WE TAKE HIM HOME?”

The doctor looked between her and Stuart.

“ARE YOU GUYS FAMILY OR –?“

“I’M HIS LEGAL GUARDIAN,” she asserted.

“SHE IS,” Stuart clarified quickly, “NOT ME.”

That was news to me. I didn’t even know she’d applied, and I was aware the process could take months, so if she’d been appointed, she must have applied before I’d run away. Then again, I was in no state to take care of myself right now. Maybe it was the morphine talking, but if it meant staying out of Samantha’s hands, I would have happily signed my full possession over to Jennifer right there and then.

The doctor slipped a pen out and began noting something up on the chart near my bed as he spoke:

“WE WANT TO KEEP HIM ONE MORE NIGHT, JUST TO MONITOR HOW THE DRUGS ARE INTERACTING WITH HIS SYSTEM. WE’VE NEVER HAD A PATIENT LIKE HIM BEFORE SO WE WANT TO BE DILIGENT.”

Jennifer bowed her head. Her face was blank, but her hands, at her sides, were flexing restlessly.

Stuart got to his feet again.

“SOUNDS FAIR ENOUGH TO ME. THANK YOU, DOC.”

The doctor nodded and left.

Stuart then turned to me, putting his hands in his pockets.

“WE’LL BE SEEING YOU TOMORROW THEN, I GUESS, JERRY.”

He placed his hand against the small of Jennifer’s back as he moved past her, to coax her into following him out the room. As soon as he’d moved through the doorway, she swished around and dropped back down by my side.

“DON’T GO ANYWHERE,” she murmured, too low for anyone else to have heard. As she leaned in closer, her lips brushed against my cheek. “I LOVE YOU.”

Drawing back, a devilish smirk only now broke free of the sustained expression of concern she'd worn throughout the entire visit.

“AND I CAN TELL YOU’RE VERY HAPPY TO SEE ME TOO.”

Then, just as quickly, she was gone again.

The room was dark. Yellow light came in from the outside hallway. Footsteps shuffled past the open doorway.

A shadow was stretched over the bed. There was someone standing over me.

My back jolted up off the pillow.

A nurse looked down at me with contrition.

“SORRY, DARLING,” she whispered as she replaced my IV bag. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO WAKE YOU.”

Wow, feel those reflexes, my heart hammering, like my nervous system was waking up from a long slumber. Hadn't felt like that in a long time. At least it was a sign I was improving. I lowered myself back down and shut my eyes.

*

During the rounds next morning, my doctor thought it would be a great idea to sweep a parade of young medical students through my room. They had, after all, never had a patient like me before, and he was jumping at the opportunity to show me off as a learning tool.

Before I’d even properly awoken, multiple pairs of gloved hands were probing, palpating and examining me in turn, trying politely not to notice my engorged morning wood pushing up against the sheet, and my deep red blush.

After they had left, and my frustrated erection had subsided, a member of the hospital staff came by to bring me some breakfast in little plastic cups.

“THE DOCTORS SAY YOU’RE GETTING STRONGER,” she noted, “SO YOU’RE ALLOWED SOLIDS NOW.”

After so long being tube-fed mashed whatever, I was ravenously hungry and relished the simple act of biting and chewing almost as much as the taste of the food itself. It was only hospital food, but anything was better than whatever Samantha had been feeding me.

Within minutes the tiny plastic cups were empty and my stomach cramped from the shock of digesting normal food. I turned onto my side and began kneading my forearms into my gut.

Sometime after, the nurse came back to take out my IV line.

“YOUR CARER’S OUT THERE TALKING WITH THE DOCTOR,” she said, “HE’S DISCHARGING YOU, SO YOU CAN GO HOME.”

I nodded, trying to look eager, but the stomach cramps from earlier had now turned into an urgent need to empty my bladder. Actually, it was a surprise to remember this was something that was needed to be done. Memory of how I’d handled that issue Samantha’s was flimsy; I must have peed myself in the drawer while semi-conscious, and being fed a basically full liquid diet had eliminated the need to crap solids.

As my insides gurgled, Jennifer strode into the room and up to the bedside. She seemed to be about to drop onto the mattress, but at the last moment, caught herself and eased down lightly, until I was hemmed in on one side by the bump of her derriere.

“GOOD MORNING,” she said, her husky voice almost a purr. “HOW’S MY FAVORITE LITTLE HAND WARMER DOING TODAY?”

She sounded much more cheerful than yesterday. In fact, she not only sounded better, she looked better, like she’d had a good night’s sleep. Her skin was practically glowing.

“No cute stuff, please,” I groaned. “You’re freaking me out.”

Chuckling quietly, she  mussed my hair with a finger.

I looked over at the door.

“Where’s Stuart?”

“HE’S AT WORK. ANYWAY, READY TO GO? – ‘CAUSE I HATE THIS PLACE. YOU LOOK SO TINY AND SHRUNKEN IN THAT BED…”

“I am tiny and shrunken,” I retorted.

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. SKINNY. UNLOVED.”

I didn’t say anything. The word ‘unloved’ hit me in a sensitive area. My previous attempts at co-mingling had been dismal failures. She didn’t have to rub it in.

She stood up and began to reach for me.

“No, wait!” I gasped, afraid the pressure of her fingertips against my belly was going to make me spurt a fountain of pee.

“I’LL BE GENTLE,” she said with a trace of impatience.

“No, I…I need to use the bathroom first.”

Her hand drew back a moment. She looked vaguely puzzled; she probably didn’t think a lot about how I managed that stuff anymore. At their place I usually had just gone into a big pot plant in the front door lobby which I just assumed had benefitted from the free fertilizer.

Her eyes travelled from the room’s open doorway to the bathroom door, and then back to me.

“GUESS IT’S A GOOD THING I’M HERE, THEN,” she concluded.

Her hand was then reaching for me once more, but this time it came to a rest on the mattress right in front of me, palm up, the fingers curled slightly. Her hand was so much like the seat of a pink leather couch, I marveled, my very own seat with its creases and soft bumps.  It was such a supplicating gesture, and she held her fingers so delicately while she watched me, that for some odd reason it took my breath away.

When I did not move, she waggled her fingers slightly, inviting me to get on. In Jennifer’s usual playbook, this would be a trick, but I sensed no pretense now.

Cupping my groin I staggered onto her palm before dropping my butt onto the soft plush surface of her skin.

Her hand swept into the air, while her other hand cupped over my head as she carried me into the bathroom. It was the way she’d held me the first time after I’d been shrunk, like I was a baby animal and she was trying to shelter me between her cupped hands.

Something in my chest pulled tight.

Oh God…I despaired inwardly, Not good, not good!

I was in love with her.

I wasn’t just attracted to her. If my dick got hard sometimes in her presence, that could be forgiven. It was a mindless nostalgic response caused by the surprise of her touch, or being caught in a cloud of her perfume. If she worked to get me hard, I blamed her.

But now I only had myself to blame.

I was still deeply in love with her.

Before I had time to ruminate on this, the giant hand tilted and my feet came down on the cold ceramic ring of the toilet seat. My insides recoiled a little; I hated to think I was standing where countless huge butts had been pressed before, even as I rationally told myself they sterilized the seat between patients.

She stood to the side, close enough to shade me under the bright bathroom light.

“Do you have to watch?” I grunted.

“WHO’S GOING TO FISH YOU OUT IF YOU FALL IN?” she shot back.

Glowering, I bit my tongue before I said something I’d regret, then closed my eyes, trying hard to ignore her presence and concentrate on relieving the sharp pressure in my bladder.

My toes curled just over the inside edge of the toilet lid as I aimed down into the gaping white basin. It was weird using a toilet; I hadn’t since before I was shrunk, and the glassy pool of water at the bottom was disturbingly big enough for me to swim around in.

I could feel Jennifer’s eyes on me the whole time, even as I had my own eyes shut. I always could tell when she was looking at me. It was like an urgent tugging sensation at my attention that kept me from concentrating on anything too long.

Rather than concentrate, I tried to relax all my muscles, and let the pee leave my body rather than trying to push it out.

When my stream finally tapered off, I opened my eyes to find her offering me a square of toilet paper, and felt touched even by this simple gesture.

She took me out of the bathroom again. My body hair was now standing up on end from the cold bathroom air, but before I could utter a word, the hospital walls were flashing past as I was being carried out of the room and through the building. Her hands were cupping around me again, half concealing me from the glare of the bright interior and the curious eyes of other visitors.

The brisk momentum made the cool air feel like it was whipping past me. In desperation, I tried to press and even rub myself against her warm skin.

We came outside into the car park, where it was even cooler. To my bare flesh it felt like stepping into a cold shower. I was pressing and rubbing myself against her skin even more vigorously, nearly clawing at her flesh for its warmth.

Only once inside the insulated environment of her car did she un-cup her upper hand from me, revealing me rolling around languorously on her lower upturned palm.

Bringing me up close, her face walled me from above like a movie screen as she watched me with a strange expression, almost as if she had never seen me before. I just lay back, basking in the warmth of her breath.

Finally she broke the silence:

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?" she said, sounding taken aback. "IT FELT LIKE YOU WERE SHOWERING MY HAND WITH LITTLE KISSES."

I sat up suddenly.

"I was doing no such thing! Your hand just happens to be warm, and I'm freezing!"

Her eyes roamed my exposed, goosebump-dimpled body.

"MMM," she said, cocking her head a little to get a better look at me, "NO KIDDING. YOUR BALLS ARE TURNING BLUE AND THAT GORGEOUS LITTLE PRICK LOOKS LIKE IT'S GOING INTO HIBERNATION."

"Oh Jesus," I cringed, hunching up, "don't...don't refer to my—"

"BESIDES," her low rolling timbre cut in over me, "THERE ARE MUCH WARMER PLACES ON MY BODY THAN MY HANDS."

“Your hands are fine.”

She slipped me between her thighs and gave my body a firm squeeze on either side to keep me in place. The warmth radiating from her seeped into my muscles, and they began to relax.

"LIKE HERE — WHERE DID YOU THINK I WAS REFERRING TO?"

*

It was evening, after dinner, we were in the living room, watching TV.

Or at least Stuart was. Having not long come home from work, he was reclined in an armchair, with his arms folded, trying to watch TV but every so often his head would start to nod.

It had been three days since I had come home from the hospital, and I had been napping regularly, needing to sleep off the lingering pain and swelling in my limbs as the pain relief steadily wore off. Jennifer and Stuart had mostly left me alone during this period, for which I was grateful.

In the meantime, my body had worked quickly to recover, and now was I beginning to show interest in my surroundings again.

Jennifer was up in the master bedroom getting changed. While Stuart fought to remain conscious, I slipped out of my bed – wearing only the red underwear pulled off my superman costume – and started down the table to the floor.

The house looked different. Micro size presented a special perspective for picking up on all kinds of tiny details, and looking around, I noticed them in abundance. Surfaces shone as if polished, counters and tables were cleared of clutter, and floors were spotless.

The carpet must have been steam-cleaned because it used to have the faint musty odor of shoes and feet. It was only apparent when I walked around on the floor, because my nose was so low to the floor, and I had been too embarrassed to report it to either Jennifer or Stuart, since they might take it as a backhand jab at their personal hygiene, which I knew was not deficient. Constant exposure to odor was just an unavoidable reality of my size: body odors, shoe odors, bad breath, and gas were all part of the natural climate of living around giants, and I could no more complain about it than complain when the rain came down.

Now the carpet’s familiar trace odor was gone, replaced with vanilla scented freshener.

On the floor at one wall of the room, just behind the TV, something glittered like a pile of diamonds. On closer inspection, it turned out to be bits of broken glass, like from a dropped vase.

“OH…”

Stuart had gotten up off the recliner and was standing behind me, seeing what I was looking at.

“GUESS I FORGOT TO SWEEP OVER THERE,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. He hastily brought a dust pan over.

“You really got stuck into the house. It looks like new.”

He didn’t look up as he brushed the glass shards into the dust pan.

“GOTTA BE HONEST WITH YOU, JERRY. I’M REALLY GLAD YOU’RE BACK.”

For a moment I was too touched to say anything. He sounded sincere.

“Thanks, Stuart.”

He stood up, and still not looking at me, shuffled the glass around in the dust pan. He went on quietly:

“THINGS WERE TOUGH HERE FOR A LITTLE WHILE. REAL TOUGH. IT WAS ALL I HAD IN ME JUST TO KEEP HER…JUST TO KEEP THINGS COOL.”

The carpet fibers rubbed into the bottom of my foot as I ran it back and forth over the ground.

“I can only imagine,” I muttered.

The worst thing about Jennifer getting angry was that her prodigious sex drive didn’t disappear, it just became stranger. You would be bullied into the bedroom and assumed her punching bag for so long, slapped intermittently, scratched up and down, kneed in the ribs, shoved in the face by a foot, and crawled over bodily, while she held your head by the hair, and all while she was giving your dick the best work of its life. Once she’d built you up into climax, she would bite you in the throat at the critical moment…and then just hold you in that position.

And this would go on for as many nights as she remained angry.

I knew, because I had been there. And if you lived long enough with Jennifer, you couldn’t avoid making her angry. It was like she needed to release like hydraulic pressure every so often.

It was crazy to think Stuart might have been subjected to these same nightly tempests. His gentle nature just wasn’t compatible in the scene in my mind; I couldn’t even begin to picture it. Yet, he sure sounded tired; an understated glimpse into what he must have endured at the behest of her moods.

“I’m sorry that I put you guys through the stress.”

He shook his head.

“IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. IT’S THAT WOMAN’S FAULT. THE DOCTOR SAID SHE ALMOST KILLED YOU.”

There was a pause as that sunk in for a moment. Then he gave a strained smile.

“LUCKY SHE’S IN CUSTODY BECAUSE OTHERWISE JEN MIGHT HAVE GONE OVER THERE AND BEATEN HER UP.”

He looked up from the dust pan, now staring at the living room window, even though it was black outside.

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY, BUT I THINK I’M GONNA NEED TO TAKE A BREAK FOR A LITTLE WHILE…CLEAR MY HEAD OVER ALL THIS.”

He went over to the kitchen to dispose of the glass. I climbed up onto the coffee table. When he reappeared, I waved him down.

“What do you mean? A vacation?”

“NO…” He stopped and folded his arms. “MORE OF A…LEAVE OF ABSENCE…OR SOMETHING.”

“I should warn you,” I started, “if you go on a vacation without Jennifer, she’s going to freak.”

“NOT A VACATION,” he emphasized. “BUT…” his mouth twisted a little, “…I FEEL KINDA BAD, BUDDY, LIKE I’M DROPPING YOU HERE AFTER YOU JUST GOT BACK.”

“Stuart,” I said, now talking in my best ‘dating coach’ voice, “what are you saying? You’re going on a camp or whatever and you’re worried about hurting my feelings? Get your priorities straight; you should be worried about hurting Jennifer’s feelings. She loves weekend-away trips.”

He was staring out the window again like this didn’t register. Then:

“YOU KNOW, SHE’S INCREDIBLY POSSESSIVE OF YOU.”

“You noticed?” I joked.

“SHE WENT TO THE POLICE, BUT THEY THOUGHT YOU MUST HAVE RUN AWAY AND SHE WAS LIKE SOME VINDICTIVE, MEDDLING EX-GIRLFRIEND TRYING TO GET REVENGE ON YOU.” He chuckled tiredly, in spite of himself. “YOU CAN GUESS HOW MAD THAT MADE HER. SO SHE WENT TO THIS EX-DETECTIVE, BUT HE HAD NEVER EVEN HEARD OF YOU AND THOUGHT SHE WAS PULLING A PRANK ON HIM. FINALLY, SHE FOUND THIS P.I. AGENCY WHO TRACKED YOU DOWN.”

I meditated on this in silence.

“IN THE BEGINNING, I AGREED WITH THE COPS; I THOUGHT YOU’D MOVED AWAY, WANTED YOUR OWN LIFE. BUT JEN WAS HYSTERICAL; EVERY DAY SHE FEARED YOU WERE DEAD.”

His gaze drifted down from the window and he looked me in the eye.

“NOW YOU’RE BACK. BUT IF I LEAVE…YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN, RIGHT…?” He bowed his head in contemplation.

I sprang onto the sofa and dropped bodily on my back like I’d passed out, threading my hands through my hair and sighing loudly.

“SHE TOLD ME THE TIME YOU’VE BEEN LIVING WITH US HAS BEEN INSANELY HARD FOR HER— SHE WAS CRYING AS SHE SAID IT, AND – ”

“Hearing you loud and clear,” I interrupted. I had been waiting for a conversation like this for a long time. “You guys want me out.”

“JERRY, YOU'RE NOT LISTENING, JUST LET ME FINISH—”

“There’s nothing to say,” I said, not unkindly. “I’m not totally ignorant. You guys have your plans and I’m getting in the way. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He didn’t seem to be listening to me anymore. His lips were pursed like he was rehearsing words in his head.

“…SHE’S GOING TO LOSE ALL CONTROL ON YOU.”

I blinked, not understanding for a moment. Surely that was being dramatic.

“If you go on your trip? She’ll be pissed off, sure. But it sounds to me like she’s over the nuclear phase. It’s cooling down time now. Perfect time for taking her on your trip as a romantic getaway –” I looked across at him, “—catch my drift?”

I was thinking how much I wanted this whole thing with my kidnap to be behind us. My first escape attempt had, admittedly, been a total failure. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t seriously considering a second attempt. And if Stuart and Jennifer went away, it would free me up to meet more girls online without feeling like I had to creep around the house in the shadows.

And I was determined not to screw it up again; I’d just have to be more cautious. I was already entertaining visions of outfitting myself with a tiny cattle prod to zap wandering fingers if they came too close. It should have been a funny thought, but with what happened with Samantha, I was serious. For someone my size, online dating felt a bit like stringing myself onto a hook and jumping into the sea to see what would emerge from the gloom, praying it was a gentle whale, and not a vicious shark.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND DO YOU?” Stuart’s pleading eyes were searching my face now. “WE HAD OUR ‘ROMANTIC GETAWAY’. WE WERE TOGETHER THE WHOLE TIME YOU WERE AWAY. WE HAD TWO WHOLE MONTHS BREAK FROM YOU, JUST US, AND…” his face scrunched up, “…AND IT WAS…”

“It can be up and down with her,” I shrugged, trying to commiserate.

“WELL, I GET VERTIGO,” he said under his breath.

I was still lying on my back on the sofa seat, but feeling too agitated to get comfy.

Suddenly I jumped to my feet, turning to face Stuart.

“Listen, just think about this for a second! You narrowly avoided nuclear meltdown – good job – now don’t screw it all up by going away!”

Stuart looked at me for a moment, then his shoulders slumped a little.

“YEAH…MAYBE YOU’RE RIGHT.”

He rolled his shoulders and then put his hands in his pockets.

“So you’ll invite her on your trip?”

“NO TRIP,” he said quietly. “NOT THE TWO OF US.”

I let out a frustrated grunt.

“Dude…! It would be perfect! How do you not see that?!”

“I DON’T KNOW IF YOU SEE WHAT I SEE, JERRY,” he said simply, and strolled off towards the master bedroom.

The passage past the kitchen echoed with the gentle thud of a door closing. Stuart had retreated to the master bedroom.

It was just me in the living room with the TV rambling in the background, but I was now feeling too strung up to concentrate on it.

Still glowering, I jumped down off the coffee table onto the floor and stormed out of the room.

Past the living room, the other rooms of the house beckoned; my bare feet started to patter over the cool tiles as I broke into a run across the expansive tiled floor passageways at the other end of the house, which branched out towards the laundry, guest bedroom, and back door. This was a section of the house at the opposite end of the master bedroom, and where I liked to escape to when I wanted to be alone for a bit.

The dark hallway walls ran up beyond my line of sight. The cool air whipped past in the dim hallway, tickling my lungs. I wanted to holler at the top of my lungs and see if the echo of my voice would fill the hallway – being trapped in a drawer for a month will do that to you – but, not wanting to alarm anyone, kept running in silence.

The cold air prickled my skin – I was only wearing a pair of red briefs – but the chill hallway was better than the stagnant void of a drawer, where I’d been insensible to any temperature shifts whatsoever. Still, I didn’t want to make myself sick again. I slowed down.

A door on my right was open a crack leading into the shadowy guest bedroom, but I didn’t go in. Now I could remember how the bed mattresses were like jumping castles when I sprinted over them, making them great surfaces for practicing flips, handstands and cartwheels. I also longed to loop my trusty shoelace lassoes and harnesses around objects and get back into climbing. Last time I was in the house, I had been working up to the challenge of getting up onto the blades of the ceiling fan in the guest bedroom, and now it was beckoning me again. The house was like one big parkour playground. I’d never felt so grateful to be here.

My skin was breaking out in bumps in the cold air. I dropped to the tiles, did rapid push-ups, urging warmth into my limbs –

There was a surge of cool air across my body and a rush of fragrance, as a door along the wall swept open.

“HI THERE, YOU.”

I jumped up, spun around and craned my neck up.

Jennifer was leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. The warm light inside was on, glowing out, backlighting her frame.

Oh damn. I hadn’t realized she was up this end of the house. Don’t know how she did it, but sometimes she managed to be even stealthier than me.

Her voice got lower, and a touch sly:

“WERE YOU LOOKING FOR ME…?”

As my eyes adjusted to the intruding light I realized she was only wearing black lingerie: bra and panties. She sometimes wore lingerie to bed instead of proper pajamas, but she usually didn’t wander around the house in this state; she changed in the master bedroom’s bathroom and went straight to bed.

She must have changed in the main bathroom tonight.

“Just taking a walk,” I muttered. A supercharged walk, but still.

One of her heels lifted, the ball balanced on the tiles for a second, before it calmly shuffled forward, the weight of her body swapping from one foot to the next.

The springy muscles had barely settled onto the floor before the other foot swung forward after it, rearing the shadowed sole up over my head, then bringing it down. The toes clenched subtly as the opposite foot followed in kind.

It crossed my mind to bolt. But I didn’t. From the guarded way she was approaching me it was clear she didn’t want me to run.

In one fluid motion she crouched down in front of me.

“HEY,” she gave my stomach a small poke, “WHAT’S UP?” Her tone indicated that she really meant ‘what’s wrong?’

I wondered why she was asking. Then realized I had been clenching my jaw for a little while now.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, turning away from her. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, and suddenly wished I had pockets so I could stuff my hands into them. “I mean…me and Stuart were just talking,” I shrugged. “Guy stuff.”

She huffed. It was a particular pet peeve of hers when the ‘men’s business’ excuse was slapped around as a veneer to shut her out.

“I have to talk to you,” I said hastily.

“WELL, YOU’VE GOT MY FULL ATTENTION.” As she said this, her pinky nail hooked into the waistband of my red briefs, and let them snap back.

My brow furrowed.

“It’s serious, Jennifer.”

“AND IS THIS ‘SERIOUS’ THING GOOD NEWS, OR BAD NEWS?”

My mouth was open for a moment.

“I don’t know the answer to that. It’s complicated.”

Without a beat, her hands swept around me, pulling me up into the air with her as she rose to her feet again.

“IN THAT CASE, WHY DON’T WE HEAD BACK OUT UNDER THE LIGHT SO I CAN SEE YOU BETTER, AND I CAN MAKE MYSELF A LITTLE MORE COMFORTABLE.”

The fuzzy gray walls scrolled past on either side, warming to white as we emerged into the lit up living room. Stuart had returned from out of the master bedroom and was now sitting with leg crossed on a chair to the side, scrolling through his phone. For some reason he jumped when Jennifer appeared. His legs uncrossed as his eyes dropped back to the phone, his cheeks going faintly pink.

She strode past him and took a seat on one side of the two-seat sofa, pulling her legs up onto the seat cushion, tucking them in to one side, and draping her upper body over the armrest, where she placed me down. Her arms folded over the armrest and her head lay down on her forearms.

“WHAT IS IT YOU WANTED TO TELL ME?”

Her eyes were on me keenly now, not leaving my face for a second, just waiting for me to speak. She was a world champion of staring competitions, and deserved a trophy. Wanting to slip out of the spotlight of her gaze, my eyes found Stuart’s.

He gave his head a tiny shake.

When I looked back at Jennifer, her eyes were also on Stuart for a fraction of a second, before they flicked back to me. She’d caught the exchange but she didn’t say anything. She just continued patiently waiting for me to speak.

She wasn’t usually into having deep and meaningful conversations, and so having her staring deeply into my eyes stole all the words from my brain and eroded my willpower like a sandcastle before a wave. I felt incredibly stupid all of a sudden, regretted even bringing up the issue. What was I doing trying to play referee in their domestic games?

“Jennifer, I…" my words came out haltingly, “…I have to tell you…”

Even Stuart was watching me over his phone screen, and he wasn’t shaking his head anymore. He looked as keenly interested in what I had to say as she did. Which made no sense, because – as established by our earlier conversation – he knew exactly what I had to say. Didn’t he?

For one moment I was seriously considering instead revealing my feelings for her, in front of both of them. The confession wanted to leap out of me, with the fey promise that everything would be made all better if I was only honest. Luckily, my rational side won over.

And God dammit – it was the wrong place and the wrong time: the lights were too bright, and why had the TV been turned off, so my voice was the only sound in the room? It was like a big spotlight was on me; I couldn’t find my voice.

A giant hand clicked its fingers in my face. I flinched.

“EARTH TO JERRY,” Jennifer said, “STOP BLUSHING AND STAMMERING. YOU’RE EMBARRASSING ME.”

Rubbing my hands together to brace myself, I went on:

“I have to tell you that you saved my life. If you hadn’t hired someone to find me, I’d probably be dead, so I want to thank you. That’s all.”

The corner of her eyebrow flicked up the tiniest fraction. Unless it was just a twitch in her brow.

“THAT’S ALL?” she repeated slowly.

I scuffed my foot.

“Yes.”

“HOW ABOUT A KISS AND WE CALL IT EVEN.” She was so cool she didn’t even smile.

“You play some hardball,” I muttered, and inwardly: please don’t turn it into this... 

I really didn't need a boner right now so soon after the serious discussion with Stuart. She had kissed me a number of times while I’d been living in the house, but I had made it a point of pride not to have kissed her. I liked to maintain that record, if possible.

Her eyes were fixed on me, waiting for the correct answer.

Rocking on the balls of my feet, I slipped my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear to yank it up, an unconscious gesture.

“Okay! Fine! But then we don’t mention it again.”

She just tilted her head forward in the slightest way to suggest a nod.

“CLOSE YOUR EYES.”

She ran a finger over her lips and smacked them lightly, as if checking to see if she needed to re-apply lip gloss. I couldn’t tell whether she was doing it to annoy me or not.

“No, not like that!” I spluttered. “Just turn your head and I’ll kiss your cheek. Or – heck – I’ll kiss the back of your hand—”

“IF YOU WANT TO THANK ME,” she said smoothly, “DO IT LIKE A MAN. NOT SOME TINY CHICKEN PECK THAT I CAN’T EVEN FEEL. OKAY?”

“I’m trying to, but—”

“SO, CLOSE YOUR EYES AND LET YOUR LIPS DO THE TALKING.”

Giving a forceful sigh, I obeyed.

“How am I supposed to give you a kiss with my eyes closed?”

“MY HEAD’S RIGHT HERE. JUST KEEP TAKING STEPS UNTIL YOU WALK INTO IT.”

I detected a smile in her voice now, but I didn’t open my eyes to see it.

My right foot probed the fabric of the armrest ahead. One step.

Then my left foot shuffled after. Two steps.

I braced myself for the fan of warm breath, but it didn’t come, and that was somehow even more disturbing. She must have been holding her breath.

Another step.

Then another.

My arms began to tentatively rise, my hands outstretched, but feeling nothing, I began:

“Are you still there? I can’t – HRRKKK!

Hands grabbed me and suddenly I was tossed up into the air. The living room whirled around my head as I performed somersault after somersault, flying up and then falling back down. My front slapped against the warm, cushy palms of a pair of hands, which were cupped together to catch me.

Pushing down against the hands, I began to lift my body up and was about to chide the enormous face that I could sense looming over me. Then the hands made a repetitive flicking motion, giving me a quick few bounces up and down on her palm, causing my balance to completely fail me again, and turning my body into a clumsy, uncoordinated sack of potatoes.

Then I was given another good toss up into the air again. The ceiling rotated below my feet as I soared up, and rolled back over my head, only to complete another revolution before I touched down.

This time I landed on my back against her hands. Lifting my head, I went to speak when a rush of air filled my lungs as I was thrown into the air again.

And again.

And again.

The ceiling light just went around and around and around…

She began to bat at me with the inside of her fingers; a kind of gentle slapping motion of her hand, but coming from below, not sideways. This caused me to flip around even faster, giving me more air and gut-wrenching spin.

Sometimes her fingers struck my head on my way back down to the floor, and sometimes they struck my legs, but in all cases, they swatted and smacked my negligible weight back and forth like a hacky sack. Except, unlike a hacky sack, I was long, not round, which caused me to whirl around with each bounce, a little like a helicopter rotor that had detached from the body of the helicopter.

My recent dinner was urgently asking permission to climb up out of my stomach and fly out of my mouth. Every time I was launched into the air, I clenched my stomach muscles as hard as I could. And my bladder, and anal passage, for good measure.

This is what a tennis ball must feel like, I mused, whilst wondering whether I would pass out before I threw up, or vice versa.

A couple of times I rotated through the air to find the ceiling suddenly right there at my face, almost a whisker away. Jennifer appeared to have set herself a challenge to launch me up as close to the ceiling as possible, without me hitting it, and she was doing a pretty good job. I would have been impressed – if my vision wasn’t so blurry and I was more cognizant about what was going on.

Even Stuart was chuckling in spite of himself. Maybe they’d both been in on the whole thing, I thought, but then he said gently:

“JEN, THE POOR GUY JUST CAN’T CATCH A BREAK WITH YOU.”

Now she was trying to aim me so that I arced over one of the blades of the ceiling fan. This pissed me off: if her aim was faulty I was at risk of smacking face first into the blade. Then again, at least the fan wasn’t on.

On one of these wild jaunts towards the ceiling, I managed to grab the edge of the blade and pull myself up onto it. There, I stood looking down at her triumphantly.

Her hands were still lifted as if to catch me, but lowered slowly as she realized I wasn't going anywhere.

“OKAY, ENOUGH PLAYING AROUND,” she frowned, making a sudden transformation into a teacher trying to discipline rowdy kids, “COME DOWN NOW.”

She hated it when I perched on, wedged in, or otherwise penetrated within a place where she couldn’t reach me, and refused to rest until she got me out. It vexed her like nothing else did. She would hover around my improvised cubby, reaching for me with outstretched fingers, poking things at me to prod me out, such as a pencil or a broom handle, smoking me out with blasts of aerosolized perfume, or a spray bottle of water with lemon juice in it, trying to lift or pull apart or strip back whatever my hideout was made of, and making little grunts of annoyance any time a particular method didn’t work.

I used to love to scrabble up the curtains to sit on the rod along the top, delighting in my newfound ability to see the top of Stuart and Jennifer’s heads down below. Jennifer had asked me twice – with increasing urgency – to get down, and when I refused each time, she pulled out the broom and perfunctorily began to herd me down the curtain with the prodding insistence of the wooden handle tip. If necessary, she would have overturned chairs and tables, peeled back the drywall and pulled up the floorboards if it meant ‘liberating’ me from a hidey hole.

Now, atop the fan blade and cleanly out of her reach, I laughed down at her with a feeling of giddiness. No surprise there, considering I’d just outspun the entire performing troupe of the Cirque du Soleil.

“You threw me up here,” I pointed out, relishing the irony and her frowning face as she paced around beneath the fan.

“COME DOWN OR I’M GOING TO TURN IT ON.”

“JEN…” Stuart muttered warningly.

I flopped down on the blade, stretched out on my side, and propped my head up on one hand.

Without another word, she went over to the wall and flicked the fan switch.

The blades began to revolve, at first slowly.

I rolled forward, gripping the edge of the fan blade as it began to swing around in a circle, like a merry-go-round with no seats. The walls of the room flashed past and within seconds it was beginning to judder as it picked up speed.

As the fan wobbled, the blade edge slipped out of my grasp; my palms went sliding down the blade, nails scrabbling and raking uselessly over the flat smooth length.

For one breathtaking second my last ditch effort to hold on had me gripping one edge of the blade while my body was flying around through the air – here, my superman costume would have actually been appropriate, but alas no cape – before the ever increasing speed wrested my fingers free—

—Next second I was zooming off in some unknown direction, praying I didn’t hit a window.

An instant later I impacted flat, smooth wood, and went skating along over its polished exterior before I could even see where I was. The surface ended and I was dropping again, this time crumpling onto a furry surface that smelled faintly of vanilla.

It was the living room rug, beneath the coffee table I had just hit and gone sliding over.

I stretched my arms out, trying to roll over and feeling a painful tug around my solar plexus. Hitting the coffee table had winded me.

Before I could sit up, a warm mass covered me and scooped me up into the air. Something was putting pressure on my wounded diaphragm. I began to wince and squirm. Doing this caused the pressure to increase momentarily. I let out a cry.

“I THINK YOU SHOULD HAVE GOT DOWN FROM THE FAN, JERRY,” Stuart’s voice came from somewhere behind me, with a tone of gentle disapproval, as if it was my fault.

God damn it, Stuart, I thought. Can’t you stand up for me, just one time?

The world rocked slightly as the sofa made a sound. Then I was dropping gently through the air, and rotating until finding myself held up a little above Jennifer’s face, as she lay on her back on the two-seat sofa, with her legs stretched up against the opposite armrest.

Her eyes ran over my face calmly, with no hint of anger or irritation, and probably even savoring the displeasure that showed on my face from having lost my unique vantage point. She was only ever angry at me for as long as I hid or avoided her. As soon as she was able to collect me, by force or otherwise, her frustration evaporated, leaving behind a serene kind of smugness. Pulling me out of hiding spots was a game she loved to win.

I wasn’t just irritated at falling off the fan. Her thumb was still digging into my solar plexus, causing a cramp beneath my ribs. But it shamed me to point out that she was accidentally hurting me as well, so I endured in silence.

“I THINK I’D LIKE MY KISS NOW,” she murmured.

I decided this was the optimal time to vomit, but unfortunately, the bile had now resettled in my stomach. It was never ready to go when you needed it.

When I didn’t reply, she brought me down towards her face, to nuzzle and probe my neck with her nose, as if trying to take in and memorize my scent.

“MAYBE YOU SHOULD LET HIM HAVE A REST,” Stuart said, shifting in his chair and stifling a yawn. “IT LOOKED LIKE HE HIT THE TABLE PRETTY HARD.”

“HE’S HAD THREE DAYS TO REST,” she said, lifting me up above her face again. “I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM IN TWO MONTHS.”

She re-positioned me between her fingers, which shifted from holding my front and back, to my sides, beneath my armpits. Then her face began to expand in size again, filling my vision as my chest was brought against her lips in an extravagant kiss that seemed designed more to annoy and embarrass me than anything. This process repeated as she pressed a series of kisses against my bare chest:

“I AM NEVER—” she kissed me “—EVER – ” she kissed me again, “—EVER GOING TO LET YOU OUT OF MY SIGHT AGAIN.”

Then I was moving backwards over her body, and lowered, placed down on a flat surface, where the warm pressure finally, mercifully, released from my middle.

I was kneeling on the taut, supple surface her abdomen, at least until her fingers effortlessly wrestled me over onto my back, so that I was staring up at the ceiling. My view was interrupted by her palm rising over me, covering my body like a blanket, while her thumb curled around my head, with the thumb pad pressing firmly down on the crown of my head.

With her hand holding me firmly in place, she began to sweep me back and forth over her belly, at intervals pressing me firmly into her flesh, sometimes powerfully firm, enough even to make her belly depress a little.

She kneaded me around in this way in an experimental fashion, seeming content to use me to explore her insides as much as massage them. Sometimes I was rubbed around and around in circles as if she was using me to clean a window.

At some point I heard her belly gurgle on the other side of the abdominal wall, vibrating against my face. Digestion noises, not hunger noises. Still, a spark of alarm rippled up my spine. It was a palpable reminder that I could have comfortably fit inside her stomach.

Eventually the repetitive rubbing motions began to hypnotize me, putting me to sleep.

As my thought patterns meandered into slumber, the rubbing grew gentler and gentler, until it stopped altogether.

I opened my eyes to find myself secured in place between her breasts, slotted into the gap created by her bra fabric where her cleavage was. It was disarmingly warm, and her heartbeat thumped against my front, sort of like a massage. The steady pulsing was even jangling my dick, beginning to build it up into a thick rod against her flesh.

Sensing that I’d lifted my head, her face dipped down to inspect me, and the tip of her pointer finger drifting over to stroke my forehead a couple of times. I shut my eyes again and pressed my cheek against her soft skin and was soon asleep again.

It was just Stuart and I home. Jennifer was at work. I was sitting on the couch, reading a newspaper. This was possible for me as long as I was in the mood to walk up and down the paper, and physically pull the page over like a bed sheet. Getting regular dispatches from the outside world was a vital pastime when you couldn’t leave the house on your own.

The doorbell rang. A moment later, I heard Stuart stride down the hallway to see who it was. It sounded like he was at the door for a little while. I went on reading.

Finally, Stuart strode back into the living room, with a huge grin on his face.

“JERRY,” he said. “BIG NEWS.”

Coming just behind Stuart, another man entered the living room. It was a short man with grizzled black hair tapering into a prominent widow’s peak over his forehead. He looked just as excited as Stuart did.

My mouth gaped.

It was none other than Remy, the backyard inventor I’d met at the GPR party, whose backfiring time machine had shrunk me.

My eyes jumped now to the familiar object he was gripping in his arms. With a flicker of alarm, I realized it was the time machine – familiar, but not identical. It now looked a little different, like it had been altered.

“—NOT ‘BIG’ NEWS,” Remy corrected. “NEWS ABOUT BIGNESS.”

He stopped on the carpet and surveyed me for a second.

“HOW ARE YOU DOING, FRIEND?”

I jerked up from my seat on the couch. My hopes were rocketing despite my rational attempts to quiet them – Remy’s visit could only mean one thing.

“Remy!” I said. I was so hyped up my voice came out a breathless squeak, but I didn’t care. “What are you doing here?”

I knew why he was here, and he knew I knew, and evidently Stuart knew as well but Remy humored me anyway.

“WE GOT HER GOING AGAIN, BABY!” he said. “GET READY TO GROW!”

“Are you serious?!”

He nodded, giving the machine an excited little shake.

“But don’t we need another Flip to happen?”

“NOPE. THE FLIP JUICED UP MY MACHINE MANY TIMES OVER.”

“What took you so long?”

“FORGIVE ME FOR THE DELAY, BUT I HAD TO BE PRECISE WITH THE MATHEMATICS. WE DON’T WANT YOU TO SHRINK AGAIN – DOWN TO NOTHING THIS TIME!”

At that, I shuddered.

He continued:

“WE'VE GOT TO GET YOU RIGHT ON YOUR PREVIOUS HEIGHT, OR CLOSE ENOUGH. SO I WAS DOING THE CALCULATIONS OVER AND OVER.”

“Remy,” I said, calming myself. “I’ll take any growth. Three feet tall is better than what I am right now.”

“OF COURSE,” he nodded, “BUT DON’T BE HASTY NOW. WE DON’T WANT THE OPPOSITE PROBLEM, EITHER; YOU SHOOT UP PAST THE SKYSCRAPERS.”

He was right; that didn’t sound marginally better than the current situation, either. Sure, it would give me greater physical capacity, but I didn't want the military to run in and shoot me down like King Kong.

“SO HOW DOES IT WORK?” said Stuart, staring at the machine.

“JERRY’S GOT TO JOLT AGAIN,” said Remy.

At Stuart’s bewildered expression, Remy added:

“—THAT MEANS ENGAGE THE MACHINE.” His voice transformed into the detached academic that I’d heard back when I’d first shrunk and he was talking about the anhedral and dihedral stuff. “BUT HERE’S THE STICKING POINT: WHEN JERRY JOLTED THE FIRST TIME, HE WENT THROUGH A TINY HOLE. THAT’S WHY HE TURNED INTO A TINY GUY. SO HE MUST GO THROUGH A BIGGER HOLE NOW TO MAKE HIM A BIGGER GUY.”

I frowned. Something didn’t sit right. When I’d used the machine at the party, I’d seen angles from which the warp tunnel shrunk down into a point, like a perspective illusion, but I hadn’t gone into the tunnel at those angles. I was sure of it.

“Are you sure?” I said. “I thought you said going forward in time made you bigger?”

His eyes flickered with uncertainty for a brief moment.

“I’VE ONLY DONE THE MATH FOR BACKWARD TRAVEL. I’VE NEVER TRIED JOLTING FORWARD, SO I DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN. YOU HAVE TO TRY GOING THROUGH A BIGGER HOLE, JERRY; THAT’S GOT TO BE IT. OTHERWISE…” he scratched his head, his eyes scanning in thought, “…I HAVE TO RETHINK SOME BASIC EQUATIONS. MAYBE EVEN TAKE APART THE MACHINE. RE-OPTIMISE HER FOR JOLTING FORWARD. AND THAT COULD TAKE A LONG TIME. YEARS, I – ”

I shook my head furiously.

“No, your theory makes sense.”

I desperately wanted to believe him, after all, he was the expert.

“Big hole; grow. Small hole; shrink. If you’re sure, Remy, then let’s do it. I need to be able to go outside on my own again.”

He nodded.

“ONE MORE LITTLE COMPLICATION,” he said. “YOU CAN’T LIFT THE MACHINE. SO I HAVE TO PRESS THE TRIGGER FOR YOU. I’LL SHOOT A HOLE YOUR WAY AND YOU WALK THROUGH, OKAY?”

“Fire away.”

Remy hefted the machine up into a ready position and gestured for Stuart to get behind him.

“YOU, SIR, GET BEHIND ME – ”

“IT’S STUART,” Stuart said politely.

“STUART, WHATEVER. I NEED YOU OUT OF THE WAY.”

Stuart dutifully went over and stood behind Remy.

Meanwhile, I climbed off the couch and walked around on the carpet.

“Where do you want me, Remy?”

He pointed a little way beyond me, over the other side of the room.

“WHAT SAY WE HAVE OURSELVES ANOTHER COUNTDOWN,” Remy began, “3…2…1…”

He pulled the trigger and space divided like a curtain.

…Except, not in front of me, where it was supposed to. It divided in front of Remy and Stuart, blocking them from my view.

Panicking, I began to sprint back over the carpet to get through the warp before it collapsed again. Meanwhile, it looked as though Stuart was trying to backpedal to clear himself out of the tunnel, and Remy was trying to stop him.

Half way across the floor I heard Remy’s voice, but kind of distorted, like he was speaking in a cave:

“NO, NO, DON’T MOVE! GET AWAY FROM IT! STOP! STOP! NO, NOT THAT WAY! – WRONG! THIS IS REALLY WRO – ”

Stuart yelled in terror, but as if from some strange angle, as if he was downstairs or upstairs or in another room (and their house only had one floor anyway). Then the warp collapsed and crashed inward, down into nothing.

And Remy and Stuart had vanished.

My stomach dropped.

Oh fuck, I thought.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

“Guys?” I called out, my eyes bouncing from place to place around the room.

Then my gaze dropped and I found myself staring at Remy and Stuart, and they looked back at me, and we all shared the same eyeline from the carpet.

Oh fuck, I thought again.

Really, really fuck.

Now they had shrunk, too. They were my size. Meanwhile, the machine hadn’t done a damn thing to change me back.

Stuart grinned when he saw me, and spread his arms out warmly.

“Jerry, it worked! Welcome back!”

I blinked.

“Stuart,” I shook my head sadly. “Look again. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

His eyes lifted away from me and began to whirl around, taking everything in. At the same time, his face fell and slowly went white – almost as white as his platinum blonde hair.

On the other hand, Remy's cheeks had gone faintly red, like he'd been slapped. Then his mouth screwed up.

“How?!” he wailed. “It was watertight on paper – I swear!” He let out a strained sound like he was trying not to cry, and started to massage his fingers into his brows with vexation.

“It was a bigger hole, but – it was too big! It swallowed us!”

When I looked back at Stuart, he was hunched over, retching dryly; the reality of the situation having caught up with him. I went over and patted his back awkwardly.

“You okay?”

He straightened, wiping spit off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Sheesus, Jerry,” he groaned weakly. “Is this how things look to you all the time? Everything stretches over my head – everything! I don’t think I can take it. I feel so vulnerable and insignificant.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I said. “Hopefully.” I took a step back, putting my hands on my hips. “Hate to say it, but you haven’t seen anything yet. Just wait until you see a normal size person.”

“What is that?” Remy suddenly howled.

He was gawping in despair at his machine, once again, not having endured the same elastics of spacetime, and lying inconspicuously on the ground some feet from us, appearing to the three of us giant size. Well, at least to him, this was novel, but I was tempted to remind him that the machine had looked like this to me for a long time now.

Probably a good thing I didn’t say anything, because the sight of his humungous machine seemed to cause something inside Remy to snap.

“No! She fit in my hands! Now she is useless! I made her and now look! I’m her Frankenstein and now she’s a monster!” He continued to babble incoherently, waving his arms about.

I could only smile grimly. There was something karmic about it, even, at least for Remy, in particular, who I felt was most responsible for this whole affair. And maybe for Stuart a little, too, for the part he played in taking me to the vet that one time…

Remy eyed my smile and glared.

“Jerry, what do we do?” he blathered, waving his fists. “You’re the pioneer of this miserable condition; you’re the Gulliver who has sailed these waters before us, you tell us how we are supposed to live in this Brave New World? How are we to take all this?”

“Take it like a taste of your own medicine,” I said, trying not to sound smug.

“This isn’t a medicine, you bastard, it’s a poison!” he gasped, looking like he wanted to tear his hair out. Or he wanted to destroy something with his hands, at least, and with nothing in sight small enough to tear into, he launched at me with hands around my throat. We fell onto the carpet and tumbled around before Stuart set upon us and physically separated us, being the biggest of us all, over six feet in normal size and still having that comparative size advantage over us although shrunken.

Only later I was able to appreciate the situation from Remy’s point of view. He had the most at stake. He prided his own knowledge of time travel, and the shrinking had slapped his ignorance in his face. It shook him that his own machine, his ‘baby’, could uncaringly turn against him, and he didn’t know ‘her’ as well as he thought he did. The actual size change was only a somewhat more incidental embarrassment.

“Hey now!” Stuart chided as we all got to our feet and dusted the carpet lint off ourselves. “We’re in a real dangerous position already. Let’s not all kill each other within the first five minutes. We have to help each other, after all, we only have each other in this.”

“And Jennifer,” I pointed out.

“But she didn’t get…” Stuart began automatically. Then he got an expression like he'd just heard someone had died. Then he slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Oh, no…” he groaned, “…Jennifer. Oh man…I didn’t even think. What’s she going to say?”

“Say? I think we should worry more about her bite than her bark,” I said darkly.

Remy flicked me an anxious, confused look. To him, Jennifer was just a name. He didn’t know her like we did.

Not wanting to worry him, I said quickly:

“Anyway, Jennifer’s not due home for a few hours, so put that aside for now. We have more important things to figure out.”

“Yes, like…well…my little problem,” Remy interrupted.

“I think we all have a little problem here, buddy,” said Stuart, gesturing his arms out.

“No, I mean: where am I going to go? – How am I going to go?”

“Are you married, or kids at home?” I asked.

“No.”

“In a relationship?”

“Yes – “

“Does she live with you?”

“No,” said Remy. “And the second thing: it’s a ‘he’. But there is no ‘us’ after this; we are over.”

“Hey, let’s not assume anything,” I said. “Maybe you should tell him and just see what he says. He might want to help you.”

“No,” Remy shook his head resolutely, his eyes angry. “We were already in trouble. He said I was too controlling. Now, he’ll never listen to me anymore. He’ll laugh at me. He must never know about this!”

“You’re welcome to stay here while we figure things out,” said Stuart.

“Thanks,” Remy said sadly, wringing his hands, “I can’t go home like this, can I?”

We then spent some time discussing some other practical issues of our situation. I reassured both of them that with practice, they could be scaling the furniture like spider monkeys – like I did. Neither of them sounded very hopeful. Neither of them were fitness fanatics. Remy was a nerd, he sat in his garage tinkering with junk, and Stuart was bookish, exercised irregularly – his sportiest hobby was chess.

I wasn’t much better myself but I used to use the pool and gym almost to obsession in a failed attempt to get over Jennifer, and continued to enjoy the outlet offered by physical activity. Still, I mentioned how the reduction would increase their muscles regardless, make them faster and stronger over the next few days.

“And also…uh…I should warn you…” I gingerly brought up the increased circulatory thing. This information failed to make an impact on Remy – probably meditating on his doomed relationship again.

Stuart, however, was starting to look a little queasy again. Particularly when I suggested one of the side effects would be that his junk would turn into a log of lumber and become trigger-sensitive for unwanted excitement at all and any time of the day.

“That might sound like a good thing,” I went on cautiously, “but let me tell you: it’s not! It’s going to suck for a little while and there’s nothing you can do. You just have to get used to it.” 

Stuart was rubbing his face like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. So I dropped the subject again and moved onto advising them on bedding, food and bathroom issues.

None of us noticed as it gradually got dark outside; the windows were quite some distance above our heads, after all, and the living room light was already on. Remy was carrying on a long, semi-incoherent conjecture on how he might get us back to normal, but none of his projections were very hopeful. Each one sounded a little more desperate and far-fetched than the last. I began to space out; his breathless voice becoming a drone...

Then, from down the hallway, the sound of the front door opening and shutting.

We all froze and went dead quiet.

A second later, footsteps thundered down the hallway.

Stuart let out a small, almost voiceless yip.

"Oh my God..."

He had never heard giant footsteps before. I recalled they sounded like objects of furniture crashing from out a window onto concrete.

“GUYS,” Jennifer’s voice boomed, “I GOT PIZZA. YOU BETTER BE OKAY WITH THAT BECAUSE, FUCK IT, IT’S FRIDAY, AND BY THE TIME I –”

She strode into the living room, and stopped on the sight of the TV on, playing softly, but the sofas empty and the room seemingly inert.

“STUART…?” she called. “…JERRY…?”

“We’re down here,” I rang out, agilely climbing up the sofa until she could see me.

“WHERE’S STUART?”

Stuart let out a small cough.

“I’m down here, too,” he said.

He tried to climb up the sofa after me, but – not having had as much practice as me – was not nearly so fast at it. Plus, his limbs seemed to be trembling like mad.

“And me,” chimed in Remy, from the floor.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” she bellowed, ogling us like we were aliens. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

Remy didn’t answer. I glowered at him and then said:

“We had another go at the shrinky thing. As you can see, it didn’t turn out so well. For them.”

She put her hands on her hips, her eyebrows coming together fiercely as she stared down at me.

“WELL, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU ALL HAVE A GO? WHAT DID YOU THINK THAT WOULD ACCOMPLISH?”

Finally, Remy conjured up his voice:

“Uh, excuse me, madam,” he was back in his ‘friendly neighborhood know-it-all’ mode, “we did not ‘all have a go,’ like rowdy teenagers dabbling with drugs at a puff party. We took stringent precautions. What went wrong was entirely unforeseen. You must understand, we are making contact with channels of physics that have never before been traversed, and – ”

Jennifer lifted two fingers in a dismissive gesture to silence him.

“SHUT UP JUST ONE SECOND. WHY IS STEWEY TINY, AGAIN?”

“I had nothing to do with this, Jen,” Stuart said, clasping his hands in front of his chest protectively, almost buckling to his knees under her fierce look, “I swear.”

“I’M NOT DOUBTING IT, SWEETIE,” she said with a kind of veiled menace. “IT’S NOT LIKE YOU AT ALL.” Her medusean gaze then rounded back on me. Because I was the only one smiling (in spite of myself), she took that immediately as a confession of guilt.

“DID YOU ROPE THEM INTO THIS, JERRY?” she said.

“Why would I do that, Jennifer?”

“I DON’T KNOW. YOU WANT FRIENDS YOUR OWN SIZE?”

“I did not. I would never force my size onto anyone else.”

“IF YOU’RE LYING, JERRY, I’LL FIND OUT, AND I’LL MAKE YOU FLOSS THE BACK OF MY MOUTH – FROM THE INSIDE.”

My spine remained straight, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Remy flinch and Stuart’s trembling became more pronounced.

Yeah, that’s right, I thought to myself, these crazy threats don’t sound so silly and implausible when you’re barely 4 inches tall.

“Remy’s smarter than I am,” I said calmly, “I don’t think he would have been coerced even if I’d wanted him to. We thought this was going to grow me back,” I shrugged. “But it just took in some new victims.”

Jennifer eyed the machine warily like it had evil sentience.

“WOULD SOMEONE SMASH THAT GODDAMN THING WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER, ALREADY?”

When Jennifer got angry at someone or something, the solution was invariably to smash it with a sledgehammer, broom, or frying pan. She was partial to creative, ludicrous threats, and always said that I would make a cute rug for the living room or throw blanket for her bed if only a Bösendorfer would fall on top of me (although at my current size, I might only be lucky enough to make a coaster or napkin). I knew her well enough to know these were just empty threats, but Remy did not, and it looked like her words were sending shockwaves up his spine.

“Oh, no!” Remy, clawing at his face. “You can’t! You must not! She’s still got potential!”

“FINE…” she said, turning away in disgust. “JUST…UGH…STUART, I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU TO SERVE UP WHILE I TAKE A SHOWER, BUT…” her sentence dwindled off helplessly. She ran her hands through her hair, shutting her eyes.

“I’M PUTTING IT IN THE OVEN. I NEED TO CHANGE.” She went into the kitchen and slid the pizza boxes onto the oven tray, flicked it on and marched out of the room again.

“OH MY GOD…” her voice came from down the hallway before the sound of the bathroom door shutting.

I turned to look at Remy. His eyes were boggled and his mouth slack.

“That went well, relatively speaking,” I said quietly. His unchanged expression said said he didn’t believe me.

Not long after, we were all on the dinner table, eating tiny, sliced up bites of pizza. Jennifer sat at the head of the table, eating slowly, drinking wine – lots of wine – and looking between each of us – particularly at Stuart.

She looked tired; ready to crash and was just wearing a satin slip, her still wet part-light-part-dark ombré hair dribbling down her back. She didn’t seem to realize that at our size, it was startlingly obvious from our point of view that she wasn’t wearing a bra. This was because – as I’d so often found previously – when viewed from below, if you wanted to look her in the eyes, your eyes were forced to make the passage up over her chest. And her bodacious mammaries, complete with perking nipples, proved an eye-goggling obstacle to straightforward eye contact.

And with everyone a little raw and anxious over what had happened, no one had the guts to tell her. I only prayed she was wearing underwear, but knowing her, no guarantees there, either.

Oddly, Stuart was not meeting her gaze at all. In fact, he had been acting weird ever since she’d gotten home; quiet and evasive, like he was ignoring her. There was nothing subtle about that; at this size you could no more ignore her than pretend not to notice a rampaging elephant.

Remy was ignoring everyone, too, but not in the same way. He was in full gorge mode. It was pretty clear he loved food…or was a stress eater. And if the latter, the circumstances threatened to overshoot him into obesity.

“ANY MORE AND YOU’RE GOING TO BURST,” Jennifer warned him, prodding his distending stomach gently with the tip of a finger. He flinched but recovered instantly and then went on stuffing crumbs of pizza crust into his mouth.

“Don’t push him,” I said gently to her. “I think he’s in the early stages of a mental breakdown.”

“My whole life,” he spluttered through a mouthful, not to anyone in particular, “I eat healthy, lean, good food.” He shrugged. “Now this happens and here I am packing it in like a starving cow.”

“I REMEMBER WHAT YOU WERE LIKE, AT FIRST,” Jennifer said to me. “YOU TOTALLY FLIPPED YOUR SHIT, TOO.”

“It’s really destabilizing,” I said defensively. “I’m used to it now, but…” I looked over at Stuart, who was staring into space, his mouth thin and tight, “…Stuart will tell you. He said it’s like feeling vulnerable and insignificant – right?”

Across the table, Stuart came to and then, with a small shake of his head, quickly looked away again.

“No, no, Jerry, it’s fine. Let’s not go into it.”

That was not the response I had expected.

Were either of the guys on my wavelength, here? We were all in the same boat now, with a shared understanding of the situation. I had been angry after my accidental miniaturization, sure, but apart from passing out, I didn’t remember being so mentally disoriented.

Maybe if I gave them time, they’d come around and we could have a rational discussion, eventually. I had to be patient and let them adjust.

After dinner, Jennifer made up a bed like my own for Remy. To give us both some space, she put his on the coffee table in the living room, whereas mine was on a table across the room, connected with the kitchen area.

“GOODNIGHT, YOU BOYS,” she said to me and Remy, “—AND YOU,” her eyes came to rest on Stuart, “BEDTIME.”

“Where’s my bed?” he said with innocent curiosity.

“YOUR BED IS STILL YOUR BED,” she said meaningfully.

The color drained out of Stuart’s face until he was sickly pale. He turned clumsily away from Jennifer, his knees actually giving way, causing him to fall over, and reducing him to crawl pathetically on his hands and knees toward me.

“Jerry…” he whispered, grabbing my wrist, “…please, help me…You know her better than I do; what do I have to say – what do I have to do to get her to leave me alone?”

Dumbfounded, I said:

“Stuart, I can’t be your rep on this. You might be smaller now, but you have as big a voice as ever.”

Over his shoulder, I saw Jennifer’s eyes flick from Stuart to me and back, and then narrow.

“STUART,” she intoned slowly, disciplinary, “DON’T YOU TURN AWAY FROM ME. YOU CAN HEAR ME PERFECTLY WELL. I SAID: WE’RE GOING TO BED NOW.”

He rotated back around to face her with all the eagerness of an acrophobe looking out a plane window.

“Honey, please, j-j-just give me a second,” he said with a weak smile, “I just need to…uh…I still need to…um…”

“WHAT’S IT GOING TO TAKE TO GET YOU INTO BED?” she conjectured, slowly sauntering over to him. With each step, her braless breasts bounced beneath the silk slip. “DO I NEED TO ROLL YOU UP INTO A TINY BALL AND KEEP YOU STUFFED INSIDE MY PANTYHOSE FOR THE ENTIRE NIGHT?”

“No!” Stuart shrieked.

His face was stricken by a look of sheer pants-wetting terror, as if he actually believed her threat was imminent.

Before he could say anything else, Jennifer swiped one hand down and snatched him up off the table. A little whimper escaped him as she carried him towards the master bedroom. She switched off the lights after her.

Once they were out of sight, I let out a big exhalation.

“Oh boy…”

“What?” I heard Remy from his bed on the coffee table. He must have been so in his own world he hadn't heard or made sense of the exchange.

“Never mind,” I said. “Go to sleep.”

At one point early on in the night, I was awoken to hear the ghost of a pre-orgasmic moan – Jennifer? – but when I opened my eyes, the house was still, quiet again, and very dark. And not a peep from Stuart.

The quiet was nice. I rolled over and shut my eyes again, and to my pleasant surprise, had a great night’s sleep. One of the better I’d had since shrinking. No unexpected groaning, or bed-banging.

I dreamt I was big again, and with my money bought a tiny mansion, small enough for my size, but kept adding extensions, extra floor space, raising the ceilings, and made it bigger and bigger until the mansion’s interior resembled something more like a regular house, until I found myself looking at a replica of the inside of Jennifer and Stuart’s house. And then I found I had opened my eyes and actually was in their house.

It was morning, and sunlight was streaming in through the window.

Wait…

What?

Something was different about this morning.

Then I realized: I was alone.

Almost every morning since the first morning I’d awoken in their house, she had been somewhere hovering nearby. She was usually what woke me up. Teasing me awake was one of her ‘games.’

It had taken me a long time to realize she didn’t intend it to be cruel. She had told me that whenever she saw me she had the urge to pluck me up and stroke me, to roll me around on my back in her palm and rub and tickle my stomach, laughing affectionately at my kicking legs. My cute size triggered the urge, and when I was asleep I – allegedly – looked even cuter, so that seeing me in my tiny bed made her fingers itch with the intolerable desire to squeeze me like ripe fruit.

But I ran from her almost all the time. When I was unconscious it was the only time she got alone time with me where she did not have to meet my protests.

To outsiders, none of this probably made any sense – certainly not to Natalie, whose head spun with the unfortunate implications of abuse – but it was one of those strange games we played; a dance we had performed countlessly over the years, though the music kept changing – not to mention my size – the steps were always the same.

Now, I was lying here with a raging boner pointing at the ceiling that my hand alone just wasn’t fully containing. I had assumed if Jennifer stopped waking me up in the morning, the daily boners would go away. Obviously not. A disturbing thought: maybe they would carry on even if I lived on my own, slowly driving me nuts.

Snorting with frustration, I got up, stretched, and, went up the kitchen counter, over to the kitchen sink, where got myself a drink of water, with the help of some shoelace wizardry and manual exertion. I also took the time to splash myself with the cold water in an effort to get my blood circulating to the rest of my body. All the same, hard not to think that I’d rather be awoken by warm hands than chilled water.

It wasn’t long until Jennifer came into the dining area looking noticeably more cheerful and calm than the previous night. She had both hands wrapped around Stuart, who – by contrast – didn’t look so hot.

“Jen –!” he was gasping, his eyelids clenched shut. “Don’t squeeze – don’t squeeze! My chest – I can’t – ! Oh man – hurts! – Oh boy – Don’t – !“

“BABY, I HAVE TO SQUEEZE A LITTLE,” she said calmly but firmly, “OTHERWISE YOU’RE GOING TO SLIP THROUGH MY FINGERS AND CRACK YOUR SKULL ON THE FLOOR. AND WE DON’T WANT THAT, DO WE?”

She slid him down onto the dining table, where he assumed a cramped over sitting position, and sat there panting for a moment. He had a bruise on one side of his face. Later, I would see him shuffling with a limp, and he couldn’t seem to lift his arms very high without grimacing in pain. It looked like he was finding breathing painful. Jennifer went over and clattered around in the kitchen area to make breakfast.

“What happened to you?” I eyed him warily. “Don’t tell me she actually made good on the rolling you up into a ball thing.”

His eyes shifted about for a moment before he answered.

“I fell off the bed.”

I gave him a small humorless smile to show I didn’t buy it.

“It’s not a cakewalk being so small, huh?”

“Jerry,” he briefly looked over his shoulder at Jennifer, and then gave me a long, solemn look. “If I ever trivialized your size in the past, or was too rough and hurt you accidentally, I’m sorry. Good grief…I had no idea it was like this…”

“Don’t be stupid, Stuart. You weren’t rough. You were a little permissive, though.”

He sighed.

“Yeah, permissive. I guess that’s going to be the death of me, now.”

Hey,” I said seriously. “Don’t forget you’re still a person. You have rights. You’ve got to assert your own interests.”

He looked at me, squinting through the pain he was feeling.

“Maybe you’re right.” He was sounding a little more confident emboldened already. “Maybe I’ve just got to man up and tell her what I want, don’t I?”

“Exactly! She’ll even respect you more for it.”

Remy did not have breakfast with us. He was lying in his bed, groaning whenever anyone spoke to him. His gut was still distended from the pizza. It was so bad his shirt no longer fit him and he had taken it off, revealing the hairy ball of his torso. It turned out he’d eaten too much the previous night, all the pizza crust dough had all glued together and left him impacted. To the surprise of no one.

Now he complained of being unable to use the bathroom, and kept trying and failing to vomit. Not pretty. The digestive complications were probably partly due to his altered size, then again, it might have been his diet shift – he did say he used to only eat lean. All the pizza of the previous night had probably shocked his system.

Jennifer stood over the coffee table, running her hands over her brow, staring at Remy like she could not even believe such a thing was possible.

“WHAT IF I DO THIS, SWEETIE, DOES THAT HELP – ?” she said speculatively, and pushed his stomach in an attempt to massage it.

He screamed.

“OKAY,” she said conclusively, turning on her heel, “I’M GETTING DRESSED AND TAKING YOU TO THE VET.”

The word ‘vet’ rang like an ominous bell toll in my mind. I looked at Stuart.

“Be glad you’re not him,” I said, jerking my head.

She had a quick shower and went to pick up Remy off his sponge bed on the coffee table. She deliberated for a moment, but there was no real way to do this without putting pressure on some part of his bulging stomach. She eventually got some success levering her fingers beneath his spine and rolling him sideways onto her hand. He shrieked any time her fingers made contact with his stomach, and once lifted into the air, began to moan weakly, unable to struggle or resist her as went to carry him out of the room.

“MY GOD,” she said with morbid surprise, “YOU’RE SO FIRM – LIKE A ROCK. HOW HAVE YOU NOT EXPLODED?”

He just groaned again. Stuart and I listened helplessly to his groans as they faded down the hallway.

After she’d gone off in the car with Remy, I began climbing down from the kitchen table.

“Where are you going?” Stuart said anxiously.

“The bathroom sink. Going to run a bath. Want to come?”

I had no inclination to strip down with him and compare jiggly bits, but since he was injured, I thought the least he could use was some help getting the water on and off. It was unlikely he’d manage on his own, being injured as he was, not to mention he was much less experienced in the gymnastics required to get around the house. I had since learned to scale the bathroom sink and turn the water on (using a jungle gym system of woven shoelace ladders which I lassoed up onto things). I put a lot of effort into demonstrating to Jennifer that I could get around on my own; my motivation being to avoid more adventures in the shower soap dish, or on the shower floor, gargling on her soapy pussy water…

“No, buddy,” Stuart said. “It’s okay. I just need a moment here alone to think. I’m not performing at peak at the moment. I need to go slow.”

I nodded, not the type to resent someone for wanting their alone time.

“Suit yourself.”

I had my bath and dressed, and when I came back, noticed Stuart was sitting by his – now comically oversized – phone and was talking quietly into it. He quickly ended the call when he saw me climb back up onto the table, but not before I heard him quickly say ‘love you.’

“Letting people know what’s happened?” I said.

“Uh. It’s just a relative,” he shrugged.

That surprised me; how quickly he was being mature about it. After I was shrunk, my immediate impulse was to shut people out, to prevent people finding out about me.

Jennifer came back with Remy.

He was lethargic from the anesthesia he’d had applied, and quickly went back to sleep on his sponge bed on the coffee table. Apparently the vet had to ‘pump’ him. It didn’t sound pleasant and I passed on hearing the details.

“WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS GUY, JERRY?” Jennifer said, aside, to me.

“Scott’s friend,” I shrugged. “He’s actually kind of fun when he’s not, you know, in the acute stages of nervous shock.”

Forgetting about Remy for a moment, she shrewdly noticed I had bathed and Stuart had not.

“LOOKS LIKE IT’S BATHTIME, BABE,” she said, rounding on him.

His eyes bugged out.

“Wha – ?”  he spluttered, and quavered under her growing shadow. “Honey…baby…no, I’m a little tender at the moment. I will, I promise, I can do it myself, I just need – ”

“STUART, LOOK AT YOU. YOU’RE IN NO CONDITION TO WASH YOURSELF. YOU CAN BARELY SIT UP STRAIGHT.”

He blinked rapidly, looking around, as if for a means of defense, and his eyes fell desperately on me.

“Jerry, you tell her – you tell her…uh…oh…” his voice raised to a whiny screech, “come on, man, help me out here!”

I shrugged.

“I offered to help you earlier, Stuart, remember? But if you want – ”

“I DON’T NEED JERRY’S HELP,” Jennifer interjected. “I CAN MANAGE YOU JUST FINE MYSELF. YOU’RE MAKING A HUGE FUSS OVER NOTHING.”

“Jen, I’m not screwing around here,” he pleaded, “any more handling from you and I’m going to break into tiny fucking pieces!” His voice was thin with stress, and didn’t sound like himself. He never lost his temper. It was kind of alarming.

But it didn’t move Jennifer. She was as cold as ice.

“STUART,” she sighed, folding her arms, “YOU CAN LET ME BATHE YOU, OR YOU CAN HELP ME PAINT MY TOENAILS, USING YOUR HEAD AS A TOE SEPARATOR – YOUR CHOICE.”

“You’re trying to scare me witless,” he frowned, “shame on you.”

“AM I? THAT LAST ONE IS ENTIRELY WITHIN THE REALM OF POSSIBILITY.”

With no further argument, she swept him up in her hands – he shrieking his head off – and took him out of the kitchen. His voice wavered down the hallway, and then I heard Jennifer say: “SHHH, BE A GROWN-UP FOR ME, HONEY,” and his voice went abruptly silent. I guessed she had covered his mouth or something.

Remembering the firmness and even roughness of the baths Jennifer had given me, I cringed, but felt grateful the heat was off me.

For now.

While Remy was coming out of his sedation, his semi-cognizant ramblings suggested he was intent on leaving the house and reuniting with his boyfriend after all, if only because he repeatedly awoke to gasp “Where am I? – Al? AL!”

‘Al’ turned out to be the name of his boyfriend.

Jennifer and I thought he needed more time to recover, however Stuart was oddly adamant that if Remy didn’t get out of the house soon, he was going to go batshit crazy or make an ill-fated escape attempt and get hurt.

So Jennifer got on the phone with Al and gently explained the situation to him. I couldn’t hear the other end of the phone call, but by the halting pauses, and number of times Jennifer stopped mid-sentence as if she had been interrupted, and number of times she had to repeat a basic salient piece of information – for instance, that Remy could not just get in the car and drive home anymore – told me that the news hadn’t sunk in. Finally, in desperation, she mentioned me, and it turned out the guy had seen my media bit. Then he must have gone quiet, because Jennifer promptly ended the call.

We didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day, and sadly assumed we’d unwittingly botched Remy’s relationship lifeline. At least, that’s what I was thinking; no one else said anything, although Jennifer and Stuart seemed to be too distracted by their own personal unfolding drama to pay Remy a lot of thought, while Remy let out little moans of self-indulgent pity every so often, and refused to engage in discussion. It left me feeling like the most level person in the household, which – coming from me – was not good.

Across the day, Jennifer shuttled between the master bedroom – where Stuart was – and the other rooms of the house. The bath he’d had earlier seemed to have seriously affected him. Ever since then, he’d slunk away into the master bedroom and no one heard a peep from him. It’s like he had reached his snapping point, as had Remy the day before. Neither of them seemed to be taking to the situation as well as I would have guessed. Being shrunk had disturbed me at first, too – it was an incredible shift in perspective, literally – but their sheer refusal to at least try to grapple with the situation was disheartening, and brought the whole energy in the house to a grinding halt. Stuart at least had me as a role model to show him existence at small scale was doable, even enjoyable at times. But for the time being he had totally shut me out. And, by the looks of it, Jennifer, as well.

At one point, she came into the living room, where I was sitting on the two-seat sofa, and uttering a big sigh, dropped onto the space next to me – at the last moment, flattening her palm over me to prevent me bouncing up into the air. Then she hunched forward, her forearms resting on her knees, looking straight ahead.

“You sound tired.”

“GUESS SO. GUESS I’M STILL WORKING IT OUT.”

‘Working it out’ sounded like an understatement. I could only imagine how devastated she was: having her boyfriend pulled into this situation now as well. At least she used to be able to escape my situation – I assumed she used Stuart to do that. Sometimes vocally in the bedroom, after dark. Now even that avenue was closed. And it didn’t seem Stuart wanted to talk to her much, because she was rarely in the master bedroom for very long, although she went in there frequently, like she just could not leave him be.

“JERRY…” she said in a low voice, still looking straight ahead, “…HAVE YOU NOTICED ANYTHING DIFFERENT WITH STUART LATELY?”

“Uh,” I thought for a moment, shifting my legs back and forth, “apart from being zapped down to fun size, nope.”

That wasn’t entirely true. I had noticed he wasn’t attentive of Jennifer anymore. He wasn’t his usual goofy, gentle self. He was acting more and more like a caged rat. His eyes darted around whenever she entered the room, and his body didn’t properly relax until she was out of sight again. Totally uncharacteristic of him. On the other hand, long-term with Jennifer could be tiring like that.  

But I didn’t want to be the one to point out that she wasn’t imagining things. After failed attempts to mediate their domestic issues, I had sworn off interference altogether.

“What kind of thing do you mean?” I asked, with slight discomfort.

“HE’S ACTING STRANGE AROUND ME, LIKE HE’S GOT SOMETHING ON HIS MIND, BUT HE WON’T TELL ME WHAT.” Her brow creased as she deeply analyzed the lines on her palm. “HE’S NEVER KEPT THINGS FROM ME BEFORE.”

She suddenly stopped talking and looked up.

There were car lights outside, refracted by the heavy rain. It was difficult to tell because it was so dim, but the sun was beginning to go down.

And it looked like Al had just shown up.

Jennifer got up to let him inside, taking him over to see Remy, who was still lying on the sponge bed on the coffee table.

When Remy heard Al’s voice, he hugged his arms over his face as if to block out the light.

“Avert your eyes!” he wailed. “Flee! Depart! This is not the real Remy you see lying before you! It’s a merely a poor facsimile!”

Al’s eyes were blank and he spent the majority of time in a whirlwind of stammering shock. Gradually he became amenable to the suggestion he take Remy home with him, and once this was the case, Jennifer was keen to get them to leave before he changed his mind again.

“You can do a TV special,” I offered as they were leaving the room.

“No!” Remy and Al said at the same time.

Al took Remy in one hand, tucking the time machine under his other arm, as Jennifer walked him to the door. He was so shocked by the appearance of Remy, he didn’t even ask what the time machine was, just wordlessly accepted Remy’s pleas that he take it with them.

“THEY’RE MAKING NEW MEDICAL DISCOVERIES ALL THE TIME, THOUGH, RIGHT?” said Al’s voice, from the doorstep.

“ABSOLUTELY,” said Jennifer, briskly, “AND IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, CALL THIS NUMBER.”

Al looked at the business card.

“THAT’S A VET.”

Once they had left, Jennifer went back towards the living room where I was. She gave the room a cursory look around.

“IS STUART STILL…?”

He was still in the master bedroom. I nodded.

Her footsteps receded up that way.

“STEWEY? REMY’S GONE NOW. HONEY, TALK TO ME...”

Then I heard the bedroom door shut quietly.

I flopped back on the couch and watched the TV news, more for the noise to fill the room, and drown out any sound pollution that might leak out of the bedroom.

The sun had set now and it was dark outside. Rain was pounding against the windows, trailing down in streams against the glass.

Beginning to feel cold, I put on my superman costume, which was folded by my sponge bed. Then, returning to the soft sofa, I lay down and wrapped the cape around myself.

Later, the master bedroom door opened and Jennifer padded back out. Of course it was her; no one else in the house made normal sounding footsteps anymore.

The kitchen light flicked on. The fridge door opened and glasses clinked. Then the sound of a drink being poured.

Oh God, she’s going to get Stuart drunk, I thought immediately.

But she didn’t go back to the master bedroom. Instead, she hovered around the kitchen, in a somewhat lost fashion. At one point she wandered into the living room, and, seeing me on the couch, wandered out again. But not before I noticed she was drinking a glass of vodka and was still gripping the neck of the bottle in her other hand. You knew it was bad when she didn’t put the bottle down while she was drinking from the glass.

“You okay?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“FINE,” she grunted.

Within another minute she came back into the living room, trying to look as though she meant to be there all along, but sitting on the sofa armrest as if waiting. She drained her glass and poured herself another.

“Maybe you better slow down…” I mumbled. I was thinking of Stuart more than anything; he shared the bed with her and so was at direct risk if she flopped down onto the bed drunk.

She didn’t respond. Her face looked a little out of focus. Finishing the glass, she finally clanked the bottle and glass down on the coffee table and jumped to her feet.

“I’M HEADING OUT,” she said.

I bolted upright, looking at the clock. It was nine thirty.

“What? Where?”

“I DON’T KNOW. I DON’T CARE. I HAVE TO GET OUT FOR A LITTLE WHILE.”

“In the car?”

“HOW ELSE?”

“But you’re drunk!”

She didn’t reply. She was already striding out of the room and down the hall, her high heel boots clattering over the tiles.

I scrambled down from the couch.

“Jennifer, wait, stop!”

“BE GOOD WHILE I’M GONE,” she called from down the hallway. “STUART’S IN A WEIRD MOOD.”

I sprinted down the hallway after the echo of her departing boots, my cape flapping behind me. I knew I wouldn’t catch her before she went out the door, and once she did, I wouldn’t be able to open the door to follow her. So there was no point running straight on her tail.

Thinking quickly, I deviated into the spare bathroom, practically skidding over the polished tiles as I halted before the shoelace ‘rope ladder’ that stretched up to the sink counter. I grabbed the lace rungs and began to scrabble up in a series of furious leaps until I had surmounted the countertop.

From there, I leapt down onto the rim of the bath, and followed it around to the other side, which came to a wall, with a window.

Jennifer loved the position of the window, facing one end of the bath. When it was dark outside the window became a mirror and she could admire herself while she bathed. She was not self-conscious about things like that.

Well, now I loved the position of the window, too, but for an entirely different reason.

All of the windows in the house opened by sliding…except the bathroom windows. They were awning windows; the glass pane tilted outwards. I had never used them to get outside before because I would need to push against the window to open it, creating a risk of me falling outside through the newly created gap. That didn’t concern me right now.

The window was inky black and streaked with rain. I flipped the latch and then started to push with all my might against the glass.

Come on, you—!

It shifted outwards a tiny bit. But not enough to slip through.

From down the hall, the front door thudded shut. Jennifer must have gone to get something before she left the house, like her handbag or the car keys.

I slammed into the window again with my full body weight.

Piece of shit! Come on!

The glass slipped outwards all at once, I went tumbling forward and down into the cold black night, the air whistling in my ears. Twigs prickled against my face and chafed my limbs; a shrub catching me a moment before I crashed onto the soft rain drizzled grass below.

Not giving my head time to settle, I jumped to my feet again. An equivalent drop at normal size would have probably broken bones, but I seemed okay, just my nerves were jangled.

Everything was shrouded in the smoky gray blanket of rain that threw up a screen of watery mist as it pelted the ground. It was heavy rain even at normal size but at my size it was like getting showered by a garden hose. Two seconds exposure and I was soaked and chilled to the bone.

Forced to squint, I began to run under the open black sky, following the perimeter of the house towards the driveway. My rapid footsteps squelched over the wet grass, and big raindrops tapped my body like frigid fingers and bounced around my heels. The cold cement bit into the soles of my feet. I wasn’t wearing the rubber red superman boots; they tended to slip when I ran, and slowed me down. My soaked cape stuck to my back and flapped at my ankles.

Depressing that a race down the driveway was such an endeavor – and Natalie’s remark jumped into my head out of nowhere; that she couldn’t see a relationship with a guy whose crowning achievement was opening the fridge. Well, if my crowning achievement of today was making it to the mailbox before Jennifer drove off, then that was enough for me. Assuming I could even do that.

Just ahead, the corners of the driveway were beginning to spillover with rain. Standing at the very end was Jennifer’s towering shape, with her umbrella, like a huge domed canopy over her head. She had put on a fur lined coat, probably the reason she had delayed leaving the house. She had also probably taken the trip down the driveway more cautiously than usual, due to the slippery rain and her drunkenness, giving me the extra fraction of time to try and reach her.

Now she had her back to me, and she was juggling the umbrella and her handbag as she fished her car keys out. I tried to ignore the sedan behind her; never having seen it from ground level, it was like some beached whale made of metal. Never mind the whole car; a single one of the black rubber tires, if unloosed from the axel, could roll me into a pancake.

To realize that she was immediately contemplating commandeering this monster killing machine, without a second thought, was so terrifying that each rapid beat of my heart became painful, while my legs were urging to lock up entirely. It took all my willpower to keep running towards the car that could crush me like an insect.

If she got in the car and started sliding out of the driveway, she could bulldoze over me, hammering me with one blow down into a tiny human manhole cover. And that was if I was lucky. If I was unlucky I might get pasted to the wheel like a postage stamp and be forced to revolve at dizzying speeds down road after road until she finally reached her destination. And then I would be stuck there for God knows how long until having to repeat the entire trip back. I could only hope I would be dead long before then.

The car lights flashed as the car was unlocked.

“Jennifer!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I dashed headlong down the wet glittering concrete. “Stop!”

I was convinced she couldn’t hear me over the drumming rain, but she must have, because she then turned and noticed me. At least my red and blue costume made me stand out against the charcoal cement.

Seeing me, her eyes flashed with concern, the giant boots took the last couple of pounding steps to reach me. Then a hand dropped down from the sky, scooping me up, whipping me up into the air and in the same instant, pulling me into the car.

Sitting in the driver seat, she put me up onto the shelf over the dashboard, and folding up the umbrella, shut the car door, dimming out the rain.

She looked at me curiously.

“HOW DID YOU GET OUTSIDE?”

The bathroom window must have slipped her mind. I decided not to tell her, in case she thought better of sealing it in future.

“I flew,” I said, pacing anxiously, leaving a small wet trail on the dashboard. “Don’t drive.”

Her eyelids dropped a little over her eyes. Finally, she said:

“I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”

I sat down on the top of the dashboard, pulling the cape around myself. The physical exertion had warmed my body, but now my limbs were going cold again.

Maybe she was telling the truth, but we were sitting in the car, and she could still change her mind.

“Why not wait until Stuart is in a better mood?" I went on. "Don’t you think it’d piss him off even more if you went somewhere without telling him?”

She stared straight ahead, out the window.

“MAYBE YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED FROM YOUR VANTAGE POINT, BUT LATELY MY LIFE HASN’T BEEN GOING EXACTLY TO PLAN.”

“I know this really sucks for you both, but…” I searched for words, “…you still have a lot to be grateful for.”

“LIKE?”

“Well, you didn’t get shrunk too.”

She didn’t say anything, but I thought her eyes softened a little, like she was considering what I said.

“You should be grateful for that,” I emphasized. “I am.”

Now my feelings were spilling out before I could it, and in the desperation of keeping her from starting the car, I surged on:

“When I get angry about it, I remember that. I would jump in front of that machine all over again if it meant saving you from having to go through this.”

She pursed her lips.

“YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THAT SAPPY STUFF.”

“I’m not being sappy. I mean it. You have a big presence. It wouldn’t fit inside a small body.”

Letting this sink in, she folded her arms over the steering wheel leaning her face towards me until I began to smell vodka fumes. I scooted closer, trying to bathe my cold body in her warm breath.

"BEFORE NOW, I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE TO LIVE WITH SOMEONE AND MISS THEM AT THE SAME TIME."

I swiped some speckles of rain off my brow and sighed.

"Give Stuart time. And be a little gentler with him. It's a big transition."

"I WASN'T TALKING ABOUT STUART.” She pushed a strand of hair back from her face. “I MISS YOU, JERRY.”

She batted her eyelashes at me, giving me her best come hither look.

In one swooping instant it seemed like a bad idea to have followed her into the car. All the car doors were shut and I had no way of opening them. The black night pressed against the car windows like a conspiratorial curtain, fogging them slightly, and the pattering rain dimmed all outside sound.

My gaze slipped downwards. I could slide down the dashboard, and scramble for cover underneath one of the seats.

Problem was, she would hate that: her antipathy of out-of-reach hidey holes. And I didn’t want to upset her. She could still drive off in a huff.

In the silence, the driver seat groaned as she shifted back. She was adjusting the hem of her skirt…

…pulling it up?

My lungs tightened.

“Take me inside,” I demanded, drawing myself up. “I’m freezing my balls off.”

Voicing a threat to the functionability of my groin seemed to work. She paused.

Then her hand came up and snatched me.

“Jennifer, Goddamn it, if you—!”

“RELAX! WE’RE GOING INSIDE.”

Before I could say another word, I was slipped into the soft folds of a pocket of her fur-lined coat, submerging me in darkness and silky hair. There was rustling and shifting around as she took her umbrella and got out of the car.

I bumped around as her heels clacked up the driveway, padded at all sides by the fur lining. Grateful as I was to be out of the rain and cold, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was like some suckling baby animal nestled against its mother’s soft underbelly.

The sound of rainfall dimmed as we entered the house. She must have pulled her boots off at the door, because her footsteps became muted. Then we were moving again.

The coat shifted around like she was taking it off, and then went completely still. Gripping bunches of fur for balance, I poked my head up and out of the pocket to find she had hung the jacket up on a hanger in the bathroom by the guest room.

Her eyes drifted to the gap in the awning window.

“OH,” she gave a dry smile. “VERY CLEVER.” She pulled it shut again, before returning to me, and stood a moment, as if marveling.

“SOMEONE LOOKS VERY SNUG. IS THERE ROOM FOR ONE MORE?”

“Why are we in here?”

She slipped her hand behind me, down into the pocket and scooped me up into her palm. Then she placed me onto the sink counter.

“YOU’RE GETTING A BATH NOW, LITTLE GUY.”

“I already bathed this morning.”

She laughed as she started to run the water.

“YOU SAID YOU WERE COLD. AND WE’VE GOT TO GET YOU OUT OF THAT WET SUIT, PRONTO.”

While the sink was filling up, she took my head between her fingers and lifted me up a little off the counter, while the fingers of her other hand grasped the material at one of my ankles. Then she gave a firm tug.

For one brief moment my body was pulled unbearably taut, before the superman suit slid off me in one go.

Maybe my relief and elation that I’d stopped her from driving caused me to let my guard down. Whatever it was, the feeling of my clothing altogether flying off my body with such effortless precision, leaving my stark naked body hanging limply by my head in the semi-warm air breezing over my skin (due to the inside ducted heating) had a powerful effect on me.

I was in the clutches of acute helplessness and vulnerability. In that moment, the only thing giving me a measure of reassurance was Jennifer’s affectionate smile. She found my position amusing, and seemed to enjoy prolonging it, but there was also deep warmth in her eyes. My brain seized on this affection like it was some elixir of wellbeing, and my blood started pumping hotly.

“DOES THAT HURT?” she inquired softly, referring to the way she was holding me by the head.

“No,” I said earnestly. “It just feels really weird.”

It wasn’t the only thing that did: growing arousal was panging my insides almost to the point of nausea. My groin was beginning to stir.

“YOUR NECK IS SO MUSCULAR,” she wondered aloud, sticking her face right in as she poked at my neck tendons with the end of her pinky finger. She was trying to be delicate, as to not compress my throat, and it was tickling me. “HOW ABOUT WE TIE A ROPE AROUND IT AND SEE IF YOU CAN PULL ME ACROSS THE FLOOR.”

She was joking, of course. Hopefully.

I didn’t say anything. I was worried my voice would flutter.

She turned the water off. When her eyes returned to me, they drifted slowly down my body and stopped on my groin, which was now throbbing madly.

Her smile became more pronounced.

She had a light burning in her eyes now.

I swallowed hard, feeling a wave of nauseous longing roll over me.

“YOU CAN’T HELP YOURSELF, JERRY,” she said with a low chuckle, “AND YOU KNOW IT. YOU JUST HAVE TO COME OUT AND SAY HELLO THE MOMENT I RAISE A FINGER.”

On a whim, she cupped her hand under the faucet and then brought it to her mouth. I watched, perplexed. She swished it around in her mouth for a second and then, holding me up some distance before her face, her eyes held on my erection like a laser, her lips sucking and puckering in concentration. Then she sent a spurt of water straight at my erection.

Her aim was fantastic. Her practice came from the weird party games – like shooting beer at a target – she and university friends played where the penalty for losing was the removal of an article of clothing. Even drunk she tended to blast through the games and get people naked, without having to remove scarcely a shoe herself.

The spray of warm water whipped my dick like a sharp swat, making it flap.

I let out a whimper. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, snickering.

Her voice was less distinct; my temples were beginning to pulsate with white noise. The pressure of her fingertips was slowly easing the blood out of my head and sending it to my groin. If she didn’t put me down I was going to pass out.

Luckily, she then lowered me into the sink water. The wet warmth climbed up my body, seeping into and relaxing my muscles like a painkiller.

I groaned, shifting my hips and clenching my butt under the water. There was no point hiding my arousal.

With no wash cloth nearby, she briskly lathered her hands in washing lotion, before they came for me, plucking me up out of the water so she could begin to wash me.

“Aaaaargh!” I screamed, writhing in her grip.

The moment her foamy hands made contact with my flesh, it set my skin ablaze – and not in a good way. Unnoticed by either of us, my body was covered in fine scratches caused by twig branches when I’d fallen through the hedge below the bathroom window. I’d been so adrenaline fuelled at the time, the pain hadn’t caught up with me.

Alarmed, she slipped me back down into the water.

Even my face stung and it felt like there was some soap in my eyes. I shoved my head underwater and when that didn’t work, began swiping my hands over my cheeks and brow, and trying to hold my eyelids open in the water with my thumbs. My butt bumped against the bottom of the sink, I let myself drift there, and as my body seeped, the stinging began to subside…

Suddenly there was pressure around my shoulders and I was yanked up over the surface.

“HEY, DON’T FREAK OUT ON ME,” she said, sounding worried.

“I’m trying to get all the soap off. It stings like a bitch!”

“JUST DON’T DROWN, OKAY?”

“I was barely underwater,” I said, disgruntled.

“YEAH, BARELY, LIKE, TWO MINUTES.”

“What?” I scoffed.

“SERIOUS.”

While I was underwater, she’d been rubbing the soap off her hands with a towel, and had turned to realize I hadn’t yet surfaced.

But I hadn’t even been out of breath. An idea came into my head.

“I must be able to hold my breath for longer now. My circulation is different. Maybe my brain is able to process oxygen more efficiently.”

Jennifer went quiet for a moment.

“REALLY.”

Her eyes held on me for a beat, gleaming.

"WANNA SEE HOW LONG YOU CAN HOLD IT?”

That was always her first response to something odd, even dangerous; go investigate. If I’d said there was a landmine buried in the backyard I think she would have whipped out a metal detector and said ‘Wanna find it?’

She didn’t wait for my response. One of her hands dived into the water like a big pale dolphin, and curved beneath me, positioning itself. I looked up at her quizzically.

“YOU READY?”

“What are you doing?”

“THE SECOND YOU STRUGGLE, I’LL LET YOU UP. I JUST WANT TO SEE EXACTLY HOW LONG YOU CAN LAST.”

“Hang on—”

The hair on the back of my neck was prickling. This was starting to sound a little on the not-safe side.

“DEEP BREATH,” she said, giving the top of my head a playful tap with a finger of her other hand.

Given no choice, I opened my mouth and filled my lungs.

The hand that was poised beneath me in the water flashed with movement, like a hungry shark. A pair of fingers closed around my penis and pulled me under. An aching stretch tugged through my dick as I was taken down to the bottom of the sink.

Fuck! I thought.

The pressure was a killer on my hard-on, which hadn’t yet subsided since it had been used for improvised target practice. It didn’t hurt – my member was so big and thick and my body light and small – but it felt distinctly uncomfortable; an intolerable tightness that ran clean through my dick and lodged deep in my gut. It was like I had been harpooned in the bellybutton and was being dragged along. And I couldn’t wriggle out of her grasp now, lest I make the pulling pressure worse.

Stray bubbles escaped my lips.

My full lungs trembled.

A painful throb ran around my head.

Every couple of seconds the blurry sink basin flashed, like I’d blinked, even though I wasn’t. Then the basin started darkening.

I needed a slap in the face.

My hands pounded and raked at the giant fingers anchoring me. They didn’t budge.

A stream of bubbles burst out of my lips.

My lungs were emptying and began to constrict.

A choking sound; from my throat, but as if someone else made it.

My muscles started twitching, random kicking motions in my legs exacerbating the pressure in my groin—

From below, the palm of the giant hand rose like a platform. Water spilled off my face as I was lifted over the sink, coughing and gagging until my face was red.

"I'VE GOT YOU," came Jennifer’s murmuring voice, rubbing and compressing my chest to squeeze any water out.

Once I had settled, she brought me, sitting in her cupped hand, up just beneath her face to examine my condition.

"I CAN DO MOUTH TO MOUTH IF YOU NEED IT," she said with a wink.

"I think I'm good now," I panted. "How long was that?"

"EIGHT MINUTES."

"Holy fuck. Really?"

“ABSOLUTELY. I TIMED YOU.”

My head flopped back against the inside of her fingers, and marveling again at how much like a soft sofa her cupped hand was, the supple flesh cradling and contouring my body. She automatically curled her fingers against my back to provide my spine the best support. If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe I was sitting in a leather recliner built just for my frame.

“That’s insane.”

She nodded. She still had the gleam in her eye from before, like my performance had excited her. I didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

After draining the sink, she deposited me in the living room while she went to find a towel to dry me.

When she returned she didn’t have a towel, but she’d changed out of her clothes and was now wearing a white bathrobe and matching open toe slippers. And by the looks of it, only lingerie beneath the robe. She was wearing a lot of lingerie in lieu of pyjamas these days, I realized.

Scooping me up, she dropped back against the couch, settling me on her lap. Then, cupping me in folds of the terry cloth robe, she began to rub the material over my body to get me dry. For the next few minutes I was repeatedly pressed and clamped between the walls of her robe covered hands as they rubbed together; me sandwiched between, causing me to get rolled back and forth and around.

In spite of her tenderness, the terry cloth was somewhat abrasive against my cuts and scratches, which soon began to tingle like tiny needles all across my body, until it felt more like I was being licked by a giant prickly cat’s tongue.

“Please…!” I gasped, arching my spine and kicking my legs in protest against the onslaught, “…That’s enough…!”

The ceiling appeared above me again as she opened her hands exposing my naked, now reddening body.

“AW, BABY, I’M SORRY,” she leaned right forward, causing a stray, blonde-tipped tress of her hair to tumble down onto me. “I DIDN’T REALIZE YOU WERE HURT.”

The concern in her voice stunned me. She sounded surprisingly bothered, like it hit a sensitive spot. It was almost enough to make me feel guilty, even though I couldn’t remember what I’d done wrong.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “I fell into a bush.”

Normally, this would have occasioned a splutter of laughter from her, and possibly a double entendre to boot, but now the room was hushed, awkwardly so.

I was almost relieved when she put me down on the sofa to momentarily leave the room. When she came back, she had some ointment cream.

Once more I found myself on her lap, now stretched out on my stomach along the length of her thigh. The terry robe was much more comfortable now that it wasn’t scouring my flesh raw.

I folded my forearms arms and lay my head sideways over them as she massaged the cream into her fingers. A moment later, her hands set upon me. A jerking shudder ran beneath my flesh. The antiseptic was still cold and she must have seen me squirm.

“YEAH, IT FEELS LIKE ICE CREAM, DOESN’T IT?” she said in a small, apologetic voice. “YOU’RE TIGHTENING UP. RELAX. LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU.”

The fingerprints began to work into my shoulders, and ribs, making multiple points of contact with my back all at once. The lotion made her hands feel even softer than usual as she followed my spine down until her thumb was doing its sensual shiatsu thing into each of my butt cheeks. After stroking down the back of my thighs and calves, I was then flipped onto my front.

Her touch was so soft, almost ticklish, that it was disarming. The cream-coated fingers glided over my muscles with no resistance, tracing all the curves and bumps of my body. She was even taking extra care not to accidentally prick me with her long nails; the fingers which were not in contact with my flesh she kept delicately raised off my body.

Most of her attention was on my torso, where the majority of the scratches and marks were. She had a serene look on her face as her fingers ran over my body; exploring my anatomy as much as looking at me.

With my face oriented up, I just stared at her expansive profile inclined over me, not really focusing, letting my eyes run over her features like a painting.

As the massage carried on, my blinks got heavier.

After a short interval of dreamy half-sleep, my eyes flickered open again to find her gazing at my face. We locked eyes and she sent me a soft smile, almost in spite in herself.

Now she had finished rubbing my belly, the very tips of her nails were trailing down towards my groin which, at some point during my rest, had swollen right up again, and was now pointing at her, stiff as a pole.

In the past few hours it had risen and fallen so many times that I couldn’t be bothered trying to hide it anymore. 

“I SEE EVEN YOU CAN’T STAY MAD AT ME,” she smirked, giving the tip of my penis a prod with an ointment slicked finger.

“I’m not mad at you,” I exclaimed.

If anything, I was enjoying the attention, and her mood had seemed to have improved since earlier, too. Also, my dick was silently pleading for more physical contact, and I had barely any reserve of willpower left to deny it.

Hugging my arms over my chest, I went on in a low voice:

“I just got frustrated earlier. You act like the answer to everything is to throw on a pair of heels and make a race out the door to the nearest nightclub.”

It was difficult to sound like the voice of wise counsel when I could see my red blown up dick in my peripheral vision like a second head.

She regarded me for a moment, thinking.

“I DIDN’T THINK YOU GUYS WANTED ME IN THE HOUSE.”

“Where’d you get that idea?”

“NEVER MIND.”

Searching for a distraction, her eyes fell back upon my engorged member.

“I HAVEN'T FINISHED WITH YOU YET,” she indicated slyly, “YOU’RE STILL A LITTLE RED AND SORE.”

Before I could respond, she took my penis between soft creamy fingertips and began coaxing it through a seemingly endless number of luxurious stretches that I felt ripping through my pelvis, all the way up my spine, and down to my toes.

In order to avoid lifting me clean into the air by my rod (which was virtually big and thick enough to pass as a kind of handle) she pressed a couple of fingertips of her other hand down against my heaving chest to keep my back flat on her lap, while the tip of her pinky rested firmly on my brow to keep my head still.

I let out a long trembling groan, as raw, agonizing arousal ran in feverish waves across my body, and my stomach busied itself tying up into knots. The outbreak of nerve activity caused my scratches to spark up again, but the prickling pain mixed indivisibly with the pleasure into an overwhelming hybrid of sensations.

Above me, she gave a low bubbling giggle.

She loved the noises and faces I made during orgasm, and would commit them to memory and play them back to me at some inappropriate occasion. And she was a good actress.

If going by how I felt right then, I was giving her a lot of good material.

The pressure in my loins seemed to collapse outwards all at once; spraying the inside of her hand and my stomach in a series of pulses.

She let me catch my breath on her lap for a moment, dabbing my belly with a finger to clear away the traces of fluid.  Then, as if unable to help herself, her hand went lower, and she began idly twiddling the head of my finished penis between forefinger and thumb, ignoring my feeble grunts of protest.

“WOW, THAT WAS A BIG ONE.”

Her voice lilted with genuine surprise, and no undercurrent of mocking. A rare compliment.

It was the result of not having jerked off in a while; at least since I’d been incarcerated by Samantha. Not to mention, something about that whole scenario made Jennifer more radiantly beautiful than ever, as if by comparison. Even her teasing thrilled me, if only for its comforting familiarity.

Then she gave me a dreamy, somewhat sad look.

“AS MUCH AS I KNOW YOU’RE ENJOYING YOURSELF,” she said as she nipped and tweaked my penis affectionately between forefinger and thumb, maybe as a strange kind of parting handshake, “IT’S LATE. I’VE GOT TO CHECK ON STUART.”

The bizarre temptation filled my head to leap into one of the pockets of her robe and sleep in there the entire night, while she wore it to bed – or even if she took it off, at least I would be surrounded by her scent. Deep down I just didn’t want her to leave me alone for the night. I wanted to be pressed against her in bed like we used to, and wake up to her pressed against my back, drooling into my neck. Maybe that was no longer possible, but I was grasping for anything remotely like it. The coy, clandestine handjobs were just a consolation prize that only deepened my embarrassment at not winning first place, and deepened my guilt that I was still hanging around uselessly in her life like a…a key ring.

She might have been joking when she’d said that, but the metaphor was strikingly apt to me. I was stuck to her almost as a possession, left hanging, and she fingered me occasionally as if to figure out what I was good for anymore…

My system was depressing in the post-climax come-down. My thoughts circled around and tripped over themselves. I was too exhausted now to even articulate what I really wanted or what I really meant.

The living room shifted around me before I was deposited onto my sponge bed, where I curled up. She tucked me in.

“THE SUIT IS IN THE LAUNDRY,” she said a little regretfully, rubbing the hand towel blanket around my shoulders, “ARE YOU GOING TO BE WARM ENOUGH?”

“I’ll hang in there.” I closed my eyes.

I sensed her pause as she leaned over me, her breath swept through my hair, which was quickly smoothed over by the caress of a finger.

“ARE YOU HAPPY HERE, JERRY?” she said in a very soft voice.

I thought for a moment. My brain felt way too slow for such a simple question. Finally I replied:

“I can’t complain. I’m looked after very well.”

She continued to stroke my hair for a moment.

“MAYBE IT’S TIME WE GOT YOU A PROPER BED,” she considered aloud.

“That would be nice.” And added without thinking: “Goodnight, Jen. I love you.”

As soon as I said that, her head swooped down and pressed a startlingly passionate kiss against the side of my face.

“I LOVE YOU TOO, JERRY,” she said into my neck, but very softly.

Then she patted my body gently with the inside of her hand, before switching off the light.

Everyone seemed to be in a better mood the next day. Even Stuart.

He reappeared in the house early that morning, looking fitter and healthier, making a steady and determined, if slow, course out of the master bedroom to the kitchen and living room areas. Jennifer helped him to make breakfast, though he vocally refused her doing everything for him, wanting to be as independent as possible. He also accepted my help to show him how to run a bath for himself in the bathroom sink.

Jennifer seemed a little taken aback. She didn’t expect Stuart to insist on having the last word against her. But he was using a ‘that’s final’ voice that even impressed me.

In fact I was secretly thrilled. With two shrunken people in the house, maybe it would shift the dynamic a little. At least, I would no longer feel so alone. I couldn’t wait to show him how to use the system of rope harnesses I used to climb things. Stuart and I could probably accomplish all kinds of things if we worked as a team. We might even be able to choreograph an excursion outside the house on our own.

I checked on Stuart again after his bath. With just the two of us in the bathroom, he told me in a hushed tone about the previous day.

Apparently Jennifer had bought him a little Batman suit while Remy was having his procedure at the vet. Stuart had been very raw the previous night, and her way of trying to cheer him up and make him see the funny side of it was to bring out the Batman suit and tell him to put it on for her and pose. This was also her coy way of suggesting that he was her superhero. Unfortunately he misread the humor or the intent, and completely flipped out. He thought she was making fun of him.

He had accused her of trying to turn us into living action figures and next thing you knew, we would be ‘shoved away in boxes’ and ‘taken out whenever the nieces and nephews come over to play’. He told her not to speak to him again until he was ‘respectable’. He was referring to clothing, but she thought he was referring to his size; taking it to mean he never wanted to talk to her again, period.

More explicit words were shared. I cringed as Stuart spoke but didn’t say anything. It sounded like he had said things that I knew she’d have taken the wrong way. The kind of things you'd regret saying the next morning. How she ‘looked wrong’ and ‘felt wrong’ to him now, among other more specific provocations.

Now I felt a little guilty myself having gotten on Jennifer’s back the previous night about her attempt to go out, though I didn’t regret it. At the same time I empathized with Stuart’s headspace; he was worrying about all the things I’d worried about when I'd first been shrunk; how he could possibly work and sustain outside relationships with people. Maybe we all needed to go out for a drink.

However, that notion never eventuated, because sometime in the evening, a young woman came bouncing into the living room, not even having knocked at the front door.

She had long, wavy red hair and red lipstick and some big brand sunglasses pushed up over her head, those ones with huge lenses that were so fashionable with women, almost like aviator goggles.

I blinked at her from my perch on the sofa armrest, not even comprehending what I was seeing for a moment. Then it hit me – there was a total stranger in the house – and my heart jumped into my throat.

What the heck was a young woman doing in the house? It couldn’t have been one of Jennifer’s friends; she didn’t invite them over.

“Uh,” I said to Stuart, who was sitting on one of the cushions of the sofa, below me, “who’s that?”

Stuart had gotten to his feet and was now shifting back and forth on his heels.

“Oh…this is…my…”

The red-haired woman’s eyes swept around the room and stopped on Stuart. Then her face filled with radiant warmth.

“STUART!” she said. “HI!”

She took a step over to him, approaching him gently.

Like she’d been summoned, Jennifer entered the room.

She saw the woman and froze, and it seemed like a shadow was cast across the entire room. There was a perceptible change in her posture, she grew stiff like she’d turned to stone. It was like one cat seeing another cat on its territory.

The red haired woman’s smile faltered a microsecond at seeing Jennifer, before she recovered, looking back down to Stuart on the sofa.

“I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD COMPANY,” the red haired woman said, “IS THIS YOUR SISTER?”

Jennifer’s face was a cold, impassive mask. She spoke while never taking her eyes off the red-haired woman’s face:

“STUART, WHAT’S GOING ON? WHO IS THIS WOMAN?”

Stuart coughed uncomfortably.

“Uh, Jennifer…This is Margo. Maybe you remember her from…uh…” as his voice dwindled away, he looked to Margo with a pained expression.

“Margo, what are you doing here?”

She looked at him curiously.

“YOU SAID COME IN TEN OR FIFTEEN,” she said. “IT’S FIFTEEN MINUTES TO YOUR HOUSE, SO I JUST FLEW RIGHT OVER.”

“No, actually, I said come at ten-fifteen. Fifteen past ten. At night.” He ran a hand over his head, mussing up his hair, and as if seeing no point to lying or maintaining pretense, sighed, “Oh, geez this is so bad…”

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed at the word ‘bad’ – she got the drift in an instant. She was as still and as tense as piano wire. There was a flicker – a nerve – at her temple.

“STUART,” she said, trying to sound as calm and composed as humanly possible. “TELL ME WHAT THIS WOMAN IS DOING HERE. RIGHT NOW.”

“OH, ME AND STUART ARE SORT OF A THING, I GUESS YOU COULD SAY,” Margo gabbed on, innocently.

“Margo – !” Stuart yelped.

“—HAVE BEEN FOR A FEW MONTHS,” she flashed him a warm smile, “ISN’T THAT RIGHT, STU?”

Stuart looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

“SO, CAN YOU EXPLAIN TO ME,” Jennifer with painful slowness, “JUST HOW THAT’S EVEN POSSIBLE?”

Stuart ummed and ahhed for a long time, so Margo replied again, misinterpreting her question:

“I KNOW, THE SIZE DIFFERENCE,” she waved a hand dismissively. “IT’S UNUSUAL, BUT STUART IS A WARM, LOVING MAN AND HE’S JUST STOLEN MY HEART. HIS SIZE MAY HAVE CHANGED, BUT HE HASN’T. I STILL LOVE HIM LIKE CRAZY. IT’S NO DRAMA, REALLY.”

Jennifer shook her head.

“I DON’T BELIEVE THIS.”

“OH, IT’S NO JOKE,” Margo went on. “I’M SERIOUS ABOUT HIM, AND I’D FIGHT ANYONE WHO DOUBTED IT.”

“Margo, stop!” Stuart gasped. He turned to Jennifer.

“Look at us, Jennifer. You think I’m small. But from my view, you’re big. You’re so big; it’s insane.”

“THIS WOMAN IS JUST AS BIG AS I AM.”

“She’s a little smaller, give her that,” he wrung his hands. It was true; Margo was noticeably shorter than Jennifer. “And she’s so gentle and delicate.” He blurted in desperation: “Don’t you understand how terrifying your profile looks blocking the sunlight? – like a monster!”

“YOU’VE BEEN CREEPING BEHIND MY BACK FOR MONTHS, STUART!” Her yell made the air quake. “THAT’S BEFORE YOU SHRUNK!”

Her hands had curled into fists at her sides, which might have even been painful as her long nails must have been digging into her palms.

“Well, okay,” Stuart said firmly, “it’s not just the size thing. There’s a whole backlog of problems.” He was sounding more and more distressed. “You’re so rough. So demanding. You always were. The size difference has just blown that right up. But it’s always been a problem.”

Jennifer turned away, putting her hand against her forehead and sweeping her hair back.

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THIS.”

“Well, okay,” said Stuart, awkwardly. “That’s easy, then.”

Margo’s smile had faded. In the brief pause, she uttered weakly:

“OH, YOU’RE…YOU’RE…”

“YEAH,” Jennifer snarled, rounding on her, “I’M HIS GIRLFRIEND. WHO DID YOU THINK I WAS – HIS GRANDMOTHER?”

“MAYBE I BETTER BE GOING…” Margo said, beginning to skip lightly over the floor.

“YES, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

“No, wait! – Margo, take me with you!” Stuart wailed, dashing over the sofa, holding out his arms.

Now it looked like Jennifer was hunting around for objects to throw. It looked like she might yet bring out the sledgehammer after all.

Eyes wide with fear, Margo snatched up Stuart and zoomed out of the room. Jennifer stormed after them. From down the hall, the front door slammed and then bolted.

Finally, Jennifer stalked back into the living room, looking murderous. She didn’t say anything or look at me, she just went on through to the master bedroom. Guessing she was probably going to be in there a while, I flipped on the TV and turned the volume low, trying to look like I was watching something.

The minutes crept on, into hours. It crossed my mind that I should go into the bedroom and check she was okay. She wouldn’t just be angry. She would be humiliated. Bad enough for Stuart to leave her, but suffering his new girl strolling right into the house and snatching her man right out from under her nose was the height of insult.  

But I could never figure out whether girls who were upset wanted you to be there or let them have space. Particularly Jennifer. Remembering the pile of smashed glass behind the TV, I stayed where I was on the couch.

Sometime later, she came back out from the bedroom. Her eyes were slightly red like she’d been crying, but she seemed a little bit better. A little. She wasn’t yelling at least.

Feeling cautious, I didn’t say anything.

She disappeared into the bathroom for another little while.

It was dark outside when she came out again. Now she was dressed up, faintly made-up and had her handbag slung over one shoulder.

I got to my feet on the couch and watched her, warily.

“Are you going out again?”

“YUP.”

I shut my eyes.

“Please, just – !”

“I’M SOBER,” she interjected. “AND I’M NOT GOING TO A BAR. I’M GOING TO TAKE A WALK ALONG THE BOARDWALK.”

This was a strip of the city by the bay. It was lit up at night and she used to love going there to cool down and relax after a night out. And obviously, still did.

Now I could see her open-toed shoes had no heels, I relaxed a little, thinking at least she was at a lesser risk of falling over the railing and into the water.

“Don’t get into trouble,” I grunted, resenting that I felt so protective over her, considering my size made me so helpless. And it was probably unnecessary anyway, if anyone bothered her, she knew martial arts.

She paused. Then she came over and knelt down beside the couch, bringing her upper body right into my line of sight.

“DON’T YOU GET INTO TROUBLE,” she said with mock indignation, giving me a couple of sharp pokes in the belly.

Still, I felt uncertain, but there was little else I could say. She was a grown woman. I was a grown man – in age, at least. My eyes shut again for a second.

Then I raised my arm up towards her, hooking my fingers in towards my palm; the 'come' hand gesture. 

She stared at me, nonplussed.

"Closer," I said, 

She hunched down, cocking her head to align it with my eye level.

I reached my arms up and waved them in at myself repeatedly. 

"Closer," I urged.

Giving me a faint puzzled look, she gently leaned forward until her upper body was extending over the sofa, her head bent low enough to be within my reach.

I padded up to her lower face and, spanning my arms around her chin, pushed my face against her ripe pink velveteen lips, doing my best to cover their shining exteriors with kisses, while rubbing my head back and forth. The gelatine surface of her lipstick oiled my cheeks and made my skin stick while her warm exhalations skimmed through my hair from her nostrils.

She didn't react, except that one of her hands swept around behind me and a couple of fingertips delicately pressed against the muscles between my shoulders and held there, as if to brace me.

Finally, I stepped back, blinking through a clammy film of saliva, my face now shining, and almost glittering from a vivid pink lipstick face mask.

She brought her thumb into my face, rolling the pad over my cheeks to clear most of the lipstick away. Then, placing her palms on the sofa seat, she stood up again; the sudden depression of the seat foam caused me to topple forward onto my face and bounce slightly.

“I’LL BE BACK SOON,” she said, striding down the hall.

A moment later, the car rolled out of the driveway into the night. At least it wasn’t raining.

Once she was gone, I got onto the laptop and went online. Email notifications were alerting me to new messages on my dating site profile. But the fiasco with Stuart had quelled my curiosity. Last thing anyone needed right now was for more unfamiliar women to come wandering up to the property, invited or not. I logged onto my account and deactivated my profile.  

A movie began playing on the TV. I went into the kitchen and dragged a small bunch of grapes back to the couch. I had wanted popcorn, but that was off the cards since I hadn't yet figured out how to use the microwave.

With the house empty, I could laugh loudly and kick uneaten grapes at the screen like soccer balls. Soon the movie was forgotten; I was running around on the floor dribbling grapes on the tiles like basketballs, bouncing them against things. Counting laps, I sprinting up and down the hallway, then timed myself to see how fast I could scale up the curtains.

Then I got naked and crawled down between the sofa cushions, and burst up again, clawing out of them screaming, pretending I was being born.

The movie ended. I turned the TV off. It was very late now. Heart racing and covered in sweat, I climbed into my sponge bed, feeling like I was going to pass out sooner than I would fall asleep.

Sometime after midnight, a car crunched over gravel. I stirred, half-asleep. The sweat had cooled over my skin now, and I pulled my blanket up over my shoulders.

The front door opened and shut. Soft footsteps scuffed over the tiles.  

Rolling over, I watched as Jennifer glided past the kitchen, switching the lights off as she went.

“Goodnight, Jen,” I mumbled. “See you in the morning.”

She disappeared into the master bedroom without a word, as if she hadn’t heard me.

Under cover of my sponge bed, I shifted around, getting comfy again. I hoped she would not get too depressed over Stuart. With him gone, she was my sole life line. Selfish as it sounded, if she fell into a slump it could threaten my ability to look after myself. I could do a lot of things for myself, but I couldn’t get groceries or cook, leave the house, or drive anywhere. At the same time, I sympathized with what she was going through; probably something more than resembling how I had felt after she had broken up with me.

With the room now dark, my mind soon disappeared into the black depths of sleep.

*

Sudden, firm pressure had my body enclosed, lifting me up out of my bed before my brain even had time to rise from slumber. My eyes snapped open, but it was dark all around.

Warm waves of air pulsed against my face as a vice pincered around my head and held it firmly, tilting it up, stretching my neck back, exposing my throat to the hot pounding breath. A low voice said, very close:

“YOU’RE NOT SEEING ANYONE FROM OUTSIDE, TOO?”

“Get off me!” my legs kicked around, “Let me sleep!”

“BECAUSE IF YOU ARE – AND I CAN TELL IF YOU’RE LYING,” the low voice went on calmly, “ – YOU’RE GOING TO BE SPENDING THE REST OF THE NIGHT IN MY SOCK – WHILE I’M STILL WEARING IT.”

“I’m not seeing anyone!” I said. “There’s no one else! What are you doing? Hey – !” A huge thumbpad quickly covered my mouth, muffling my speech.

Then I was sailing through the air, vaguely making out the kitchen passing by, before the dark outlines of the interior master bedroom materialized all around me. The soft mattress pressed up against my side as, seemingly all around, the bulk of the mattress creaked and depressed, causing me to begin to roll sideways. Just as quickly, an enormous warm shelter dropped over me, tightening around my body and dragging me over the mattress, before submersing me into an insulated cave where it was pitch black.

Every breath was suffused with heat and natural body aroma, which got increasingly pungent before I was rammed face first into a pair of plush, padded objects that radiated warmth.

I pushed my hands out and ran them against a wall of satin. From outside the blanket, there was a deep, contented, feminine sigh. A heartbeat drummed against my brow, telling me that I was currently pressed against one of her breasts.

“Uh, Jennifer…?” I piped up.

“MMM?” she rumbled.

“Don’t you think this is a little soon after Stuart? You’re still upset that he left.”

“IT'S NOT THAT HE LEFT. IT'S THAT HE CHEATED ON ME.”

“The distinction being – ?”

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT,” she said. “MAYBE HE WAS RIGHT. WE WERE COMING APART EVEN BEFORE THAT GIRL FLUTTERED IN HERE.”

“You seemed okay to me.”

There was silence for a brief moment. Then her tremorous voice filled my head again:

“THAT WAS THE PROBLEM: I WASN’T HAPPY. I WAS JUST ‘OKAY’.”

“Not to be personal or anything, but it sounded like you had a few all-action nights of thrills and spills going on.”

“YOU LIKED TO LISTEN?” she said, rubbing the side of my head with almost knuckling force.

“I wouldn’t know except the walls told me,” I said, trying to defend my skull from her bullying fingers.

“IF YOU WERE A LITTLE BETTER AT LISTENING," she sniffed, now tapping the side of my head with the tip of a long fingernail, "MAYBE YOU WOULD HAVE HEARD THE SIGNS WAY BEFORE NOW. I’M SURPRISED ANYTHING GETS THROUGH THAT LITTLE SKULL OF YOURS, SOMETMES.”

“I can’t read your mind," I said, throwing my arms up around my head to ward off any from more blows from her nail tip. "If I hear wall-banging screwing, I just assume things are smooth.”

“WELL, YOU SHOULD LEARN TO READ BETWEEN THE LINES. A LOT OF THINGS HAVE BEEN GOING OVER YOUR HEAD LATELY.”

“Hey!” I shot back, twisting around in her grip, trying to identify in the dark where the edge of the blanket was, so that I might have a chance at accessing some fresh air. “I’m not so dense I didn’t catch that pun!”

“IT WASN'T A JOKE.” Her fingers closed around me more firmly, keeping me sealed in place in the stuffy darkness beneath the blanket, swampy with the miasma of her sharp, humid scent. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, JERRY?”

I frowned.

“Uh, what?”

She went on, a little impatiently:

“WHAT DID YOU THINK WHEN YOU FIRST WOKE UP IN MY HOUSE?”

“You had taken me into your home. And, it bothered me, but I understand you and Stuart thought it was necessary.”

“IT WAS MY IDEA,” she corrected me, “—NOT STUART’S. WHY DO YOU THINK I DID IT?”

“You…you felt bad for me.”

“I MAY HAVE FELT A LOT OF THINGS. BUT I DID NOT FEEL BAD.”

“Well, how about now?” I butted in, “You’re using me as a replacement for Stuart now that he’s gone.”

For a moment there was no sound, just her heartbeat in my ears, thrumming against my temple from the warm wall of her flesh. Then she said:

“YOU’RE NOT A REPLACEMENT, JERRY. YOU’RE THE ORIGINAL MODEL.”

“You broke up with me,” I said quietly.

Her grip around my body softened, until I was able to slip out from between her fingers, dropping onto the mattress just below her bust. But then her hand swept down and caught my ankle, pulling me down onto my front and dragging me backwards to her breast, where it held me in place like a shackle while she spoke:

“I DIDN’T WANT TO. I WAS CERTAIN YOU WERE GOING TO TELL ME THAT YOU DIDN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE. YOU BECAME SO DISTANT, AND NOTHING I DID CHANGED THAT. I KNOW IT WAS IMPUSLIVE, BUT I WAS TERRIFIED AND HURT. I THOUGHT THAT IF I WAS THE ONE TO BREAK IT OFF FIRST, IT WOULDN’T HURT AS MUCH.”

“I didn’t mean to be distant. I wasn’t ready for your energy. But I never fell out of love with you.”

Her chest brushed against me as she shifted.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT…GOING BACK TO HOW IT USED TO BE?”

A pit opened up in my stomach. Natalie’s humbling protests rang in my ears: all the typicall pleasures of coupledom that, at my size, I could not longer enjoy. But not only me, but any normal-sized potential partner. 

“That’s impossible. There is not going to be a miracle cure,” I said firmly, irritated that it still hurt to acknowledge. “I have to plan ahead like this is it. It would be unfair to everyone to plan as if things are going to magically go back to normal anytime soon.”

She shifted again, harder, her breast jostling me.

“UNFAIR? THAT MAKES NO SENSE.”

“I’m trying to be realistic, here. What happens when you want to get serious with someone?”

One of her fingers began to gently stroke up and down my spine.

“WHY COULDN’T THAT SOMEONE BE YOU?”

“This is surreal,” I scoffed. “Do you want me to spell it out? I’m…I’m toy-sized. A keyring. A superman doll.”

I was rocked around as she rolled onto her back, and then I was slid along the satin of her gown, between her breasts until cool air hit my face, sheltered just beneath the edge of the blanket. She had sat up slightly, and through the darkness I could just make out her eyes studying my face closely.

"IS THAT HOW YOU SEE YOURSELF?"

"That’s how everyone sees me.”

“SINCE WHEN DO YOU CARE WHAT ‘EVERYONE’ THINKS?”

“Okay then. It’s what you think.”

Her eyebrows pinched together.

“HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WHAT I THINK? YOU’VE NEVER ASKED.”

I sighed, and lowered my voice.

“What do you think?”

Curling her index finger, she nuzzled the middle joint against my cheek.

“I THINK YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO WONDER ABOUT THAT.”

Her fingers eased from around me and slid to her side, leaving me lying on my front in the crevice between her breasts.

She looked away for a moment, distracted.

“IT’S MORE IMPORTANT THAT I KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.”

“About what? Getting back together?”

“NO,” her voice became pensive and halting. “I HAVE A QUESTION I…NEVER GOT AROUND TO ASKING YOU. I ASKED STUART AND…IT DIDN’T END WELL. SO I WANT YOU TO TELL ME – HONESTLY – WHAT YOU REALLY THINK OF ME.”

My brow screwed up with confusion.

“What kind of question is that?”

“I MEAN, WHAT YOU REALLY THINK WHEN YOU SEE ME.”

It wasn’t a throwaway question. She sounded sincere and slightly hesitant, like the answer really meant something to her.

“DO YOU NEED ME TO BE MORE SPECIFIC?” she groaned when I didn’t reply. “I MEAN…ARE YOU AFRAID OF ME?”

Her eyes were on me again, her head a little cocked as if to seriously scrutinize my response. 

I began to squirm.

“Well…the answer to that isn’t really straightforward. Anyone your size has the potential to make me afraid…”

“NO BULLSHIT. JUST BE HONEST.”

“I feel a mixture of things. Like, fear, excitement, incredible arousal—”

“I’VE NOTICED," she interjected. "YOUR PRICK JUST WON’T QUIT. BUT IS THAT BECAUSE OF FEAR?”

“Sometimes it is. Why do you need to analyze it? It feels good. Isn’t that enough?”

She was silent for an agonizingly long moment, thinking.

Then her hand swept over me, scooping around me and flipping me onto my back with alarming ease. Her fingertips kneaded my chest and stomach, causing me to rock back and forth. Too tired to argue anymore, I closed my eyes and was soon lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking sensation.

The next I was aware, it was morning.

My dick was as hard as a steel pipe, and throbbing joyously. My body was on the receiving end of a regular, rhythmic blast of warm air. It got stronger and then my head was covered in something like a giant, damp marshmallow. It tugged on my face sensually, and then what felt like a big, wet, bumpy towel was smeared over my cheeks and forehead, coating them in a sticky film. There was a sour scent in the warm air, which felt as if it was beating out of a powerful heater system.

I was still dazed from sleep and shifted feebly against the force. At first I couldn’t work out what was happening; it felt like a warm dog-sized slug was trying to bury inside my brain through my mouth and nostrils.

The marshmallow feeling lifted for a moment, only to come back again the next instant, and this time slide down around my head past my face, past my ears, to my hairline, exposing my face to a weak vacuum and another blast of that hot, sour air. Then I felt something blunt and rock-hard close in around my head, capturing me around my jaw and the top of my head. The wet bumpy towel flicked restlessly at my face, and then pressed itself flatly against my features, squashing them, and kneaded up and down, tugging at my lips and eyelids. I groaned but I couldn’t turn my head out of the way with my skull fixed firmly in place between the hard vise.

The wall of sleep had receded, my thoughts were clearer. I knew now that – by whatever whim – Jennifer had captured my head between her upper and lower incisors and was holding it in place whilst she applied firm licks to my face, particularly my jawline; possibly my stubble felt nice against her sensitive tongue.

I couldn’t move my body either, because it was contained in the firm grip of her hand. On top of all that, she had her thumb resting heavily, painfully on my erect penis, sometimes idly using the tip of my member to draw circles into her thumbprint.

I was beginning to tremble, and she could feel it, but she had no intention whatsoever of letting me finish anytime soon. As soon as she began to feel my body tense up, she retracted her tongue a moment, and removed her thumb from my dick, giving it a rest by shifting her thumb down to scoop up my balls and balance them there as if to remind me that her thumb was only waiting, poised, ready to return to my member at a moment's notice. She held me there patiently between her teeth for a moment, her breath pounding away at my face with heat and misted saliva, until she was satisfied my building arousal had been capped, before her tongue resumed its licking and her thumb continued to strum against my shaft and press on my tip, slowly building me up again.

All the things that should have turned me off, actually amplified the experience. My immobility, the fact that my total air intake was controlled and filtered by the constant fanning and vacuum of her morning breath, the irritating tickling and teasing that my dick and balls were being defenselessly subjected to – rather than just out-and-out making me come – and for some bizarre reason I found something startlingly erotic in the notion that if Jennifer were to sneeze, she could accidentally crunch my head to bits in an instant, or take it clean off with a snap. I should have been terrified beyond measure of the exquisitely vulnerable position I was in right then – and on some subconscious level I was – but the terror was perversely being fed back into my heightening arousal. I couldn’t decide which was more arousing; that she was unaware of the risks she was taking at my expense, or that she wasn’t.

She knew how to read my body signals well, and after what seemed like endless cycles of orgasmic build, right at the moment when it seemed like I would finally be mercifully relieved, she removed my head from her mouth, and withdrew her hands from my body. I fell back onto the mattress, my head spinning. My choked dick felt like a clenched fist.

“No!” I pleaded like I was dying. “Just five more seconds. I’m begging you.”

Jennifer was lying on her stomach, her upper body propped up on her elbows, and had me laid out on my back before her. She folded her arms on the bed smugly, lowering her face down to mine, sending a wave of warm air over me. ‘Beg’ was a magic word in her dictionary.

“I WANT TO,” she said, “BUT I ALSO LIKE SEEING YOU SQUIRM.”

“Just finish it, for crying out loud! I’ll do anything you say.” She had me in such a state that I wasn’t hearing what I was saying anymore. I was begging for release like a suffocating person begging for air, with no regard for long term consequences.

“IS THAT SO?”

Her index finger lazily pushed upon my heaving belly as she pretended to consider my request for a moment.

Without warning she bowed her head right down and took my face between her lips, and my head between her teeth again. I could see the rows of her teeth extending back to the dark tunnel of her throat, which convulsed each time she swallowed; as saliva was rolling down over everything, and hanging down in a couple of strands from the roof of her mouth. Playing with my head in her mouth evidently excited her saliva glands, as if some subconscious part of her brain interpreted me as a tasty meal.

Then she arched her spine, rising my feet up off the mattress, dangling me by the head, while I kicked my legs helplessly. She even playfully swatted my body a couple of times, which was much less fun for me, putting extra strain on my neck. It would have been excruciating at normal size, but at my current size, was only moderately uncomfortable – more degrading than painful, especially considering my stiff purple dick was getting caught in her hand’s firing line as well. Maybe it was normal for a kitten, but it was not a natural human instinct to find yourself hanging by your head from someone’s mouth, and I yelled in alarm, my heart pounding.

My voice echoed absurdly inside the cavern of her mouth. She then relaxed her jaw, causing me to fall back down onto the mattress. My head was now sopping wet, my hair stuck to my forehead.

Meanwhile she had her calves lifted up off the bed behind her, and her feet were rotating and shifting

“God, Jennifer,” I groaned. “Stop playing around. My balls are going to fall off.”

“BE PATIENT, DARLING. I HAVE A LOT OF PENT-UP DESIRE SINCE WE WERE TOGETHER.”

“Well, I have a lot of pent-up desire since right now!”

“AND I’M GOING TO GET TO THAT. BUT FIRST, YOU’RE GOING TO DO A FAVOR FOR ME.”

“What do you want?” I sighed.

Her fist came out of nowhere and closed around me. Her hand contracted with slow regularity, kneading my body while she spoke.

“YOU MIGHT BE INCREDIBLY SMALL, BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE A BIG ROLE TO PLAY ANYMORE.”

“Just tell me what you want.”

“YOU’RE VERY STRONG,” she increased the pressure of her hand, flexing my ribcage. I shifted, uncomfortable and restless. “I THINK YOU COULD WITHSTAND A LOT OF PRESSURE.”

“What, do you want to sit on me?” I said jokingly.

“YOU’RE GETTING WARMER.” 

My smile faded.

“Stand on me…?”

“NO. SAVE THAT FOR A RAINY DAY.” I wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.

“You don’t want to shove me up your butt again, do you?” My brow scrunched in distaste.

She laughed.

“NO. THAT’S A VERY SPECIAL ONE I SAVE FOR WHEN I’M FEELING PISSED OFF.”

She went on, more seriously:

“YOU’RE REALLY WARM NOW. COME ON, JERRY, PUSH THAT TINY BRAIN OF YOURS JUST A LITTLE MORE.” As she said this, she gently rolled my head between her forefinger and thumb, as if squeezing my head would coax it to work more efficiently.

“You want me inside you?”

“SOMEWHAT VAGUE,” she mused. “I WANT YOU TO GET INSIDE MY PUSSY AND TRY TO SEPARATE ME AS HARD AS YOU CAN. IS THAT TOO SPECIFIC?”

As I considered this, she was already rolling onto her back and getting into a comfortable position. Still holding me in one hand, she used her other to slip her underwear down, revealing her mound, covered in spiky little hairs. I used to think she was perpetually growing out from previous Brazillians but it turned out she just liked it that length. Her scent was drifting over me even before I could see anything.

Then, as she moved me down in front of her mound, I got the first direct glimpse of her sex. She was plum red, almost purple, and fluid was already starting to drool out. Her lips had widened in preparation for my entry. I had never seen her vagina at this size, like the opening to a fleshy tent. Its familiarity, now so greatly magnified, was surreal. To think, at some previous time, I had penetrated this slitted doorway at normal size – to think I had been that large once, was staggering. I couldn’t even picture it anymore.

The sense of familiarity gave way to an uncanny impression that I was being sacrificed; fed to a starving beast. Her musky scent was overpowering up close, like the sour breath of some huge, predatory wild animal. And something even more ominous: my first time at this, at my size, had been with Samantha. Not a good introduction.

A small yelp came out of my mouth before I could stop it. Eyeing her swiftly approaching labia, I began to babble:

“S-so, you w-want to take me right on in, VIP style?”

Jennifer’s grip on me faltered. She looked unsure of herself then.

My feet touched down on the mattress as her fingers released me, leaving me standing in front of her., between her thighs, which were stretched out on either side of me

“IT’S REALLY HARD FOR YOU,” she suggested in a quiet voice, then met my eyes with some hesitation. “IS THAT BECAUSE…?”

I bowed my head.

“Yeah.”

Her lips pursed and there was a twitch in jaw, betraying a flicker of anger. Then she pushed it away again, smoothing her features.

“IT’S OKAY. WE CAN DO SOMETHING ELSE.”

Now I was the one who was angry.

“No, it’s not okay. It’s anything but okay.”

I fixed my eyes on her.

“I love you, Jennifer. I am in love with you. That means all of you. We’ve done this before. We can do it again.”

Very gently, she scooted over the bed, bringing her mound immediately close, until I was practically staring straight into her tunnel. Her hand slid down, the fingers curled around my middle…

“Not head first – feet first!”

“FINE BY ME.”

She angled my feet into position, cradling my back in the palm of one hand. Her other hand was holding my head; her thumb pressed against my forehead, and her fingers supporting my scalp. Then she began inserting me. It felt like I was being slid into a warm, wet sleeping bag, except one that was actively pulsating and tremoring the deeper I went. As the entrance slid up my legs and waist, I felt it coating me in fluid. Once my hands were entering, I could feel the walls of her vagina against my fingers; spongy, rubbery, and slimy.

A little further in I was wracked with the morbid sensation of sliding down a huge eager throat. When up to my chest in her flesh, I got an unexpected jolt of claustrophobia and yelled out:

“Wait! I need to pace myself. It’s like I’m being swallowed alive.”

My head was cradled by her fingertips, forcing me to look straight up at her face, which looked straight down at me, framed by her heaving breasts, the nipples puckering.

“JERRY, PLEASE,” she implored, “I DON’T WANT TO PUSH YOU, BUT YOU FEEL SO GOOD.” Her voice was getting huskier with mounting desire. I took a deep breath. There was really no going back now.

“Okay,” I said finally.

She didn’t wait, and slid me in until I was right up to my neck, and then – with my head firmly grasped between her fingers, she angled my face against her clitoris. The bulb of flesh pressed right between my eyes, forcing them shut whilst partly squashing my nose. Then, bracing the back of my head, she began grind my face against it. This woke her vagina up immediately, and it cinched me tightly like an anaconda. She began to moan; a sound I used to hear uttered during sexual activity with Stuart late at night, but now they were up close, a series of feminine rumbling bellows that seemed to vibrate through my chest and skull.

I didn’t realize it, but as my face was continually mashed against her clitoris by the commanding force of her directing finger and thumb, my feet were nervously pushing, kicking and rubbing against some part of her vaginal wall, scrabbling as if for purchase. It turned out to be her G-spot.

“OH MY GOD, I CAN FEEL YOUR TOES!” Jennifer wailed. “KEEP GOING, BABY – DON’T STOP!”

I had no more power to stop than did an inanimate vibrator. But since I wasn’t doing anything that either Jennifer or my own involuntary muscle movement wasn’t already taking care of, it was a pretty smooth job for me. I only had to endure the rhythmic crushing of the convulsing vice of her vaginal tunnel around my body, the unrelenting pressure of her fingers wiggling my face back and forth against her clitoris, at times working into my skull like they were trying to pop a grape, and her cloistering, dizzying scent that was threatening to make me pass out.

Well, okay, not so smooth.

But it was my first time at this size with her, I reminded myself. It was like I had to learn her body all over again, and it was exciting; like we were strangers and our bodies were new all over again.

She was panting, and then she began to whimper. The next second her vagina got me into a rock solid clench and did not let up. Strained to the limit, my heart rate fluttered weakly as my blood vessels strained at near bursting point. My face was as red as a tomato and a thick mixture of sweat and vaginal fluid was rolling down my forehead. I opened my mouth in fearful protest, but only a breathless choked squeak came out. My eyes were rolling back into my head. The world was going black.

Then the grip relaxed in a long, gradual release; a sensation like an inflatable pool being pricked and all the water slowly draining out. Jennifer moaned with satisfaction and her respiration spaced out and deepened.

The hand that was around my head retracted, but for a little while she left me where I was, as she enjoyed the afterglow and got her breath back. One of her legs twitched, jerking me a little. I blinked through the clear viscous fluid rolling down my face, taking in deep breaths of air, letting my lungs expand as much as the vagina was permitting.

“THAT WAS LIKE A DREAM,” she said in a throaty voice, reaching down between her legs to stroke some of the fluid off my face with her thumb. Then she surveyed my tiny head emerging from between her legs.

“ARE YOU HOLDING UP DOWN THERE?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but you’ll have to try harder than that if you want to kill me.”

“I KNOW. I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO PUNCH A HOLE RIGHT THROUGH ME – YOU’RE STRONG, DAMMIT!”

She fell back on the bed with a small thump, and just lay there. I stared up at the ceiling.

One of her hands crawled down her body, until the fingertips bumped against my face and came to a stop. The tip of her middle finger began lovingly stroking around the crown of my head.

Her voice went on, breathlessly:

“BABY, THINK OF THE POSSIBILITIES! – THERE ARE SO MANY DIFFERENT POSITIONS WE COULD DO WITH YOU IN THERE! I DON’T EVEN NEED TO BE LYING DOWN…OR NAKED…OR INSIDE THE HOUSE.”

I wriggled a little, trying to stretch my legs. Her finger tips shifted around, holding my head but not squeezing.

“What are you suggesting?”

“YOU COULD BE DOING ME WHILE I’M DRIVING.” Her voice was now reaching a fever pitch of barely contained excitement. “YOU COULD BE DOING ME WHILE I’M COOKING DINNER, OR CLEANING THE HOUSE, OR JUST GOING FOR A WALK AROUND BLOCK! – ISN’T THAT AMAZING?!”

Amazing was not the immediate word that sprung to mind. I took a deep breath.

“You’re excited and I love it, but we’ve gotta talk about this. You want a lot of intimacy and I want my own space sometimes. We need balance. I know it’s hard to figure out, but – ”

“OH…” she sounded distracted all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?”

“CAN YOU STILL HOLD YOUR BREATH FOR EIGHT MINUTES?”

“Last time I checked, yes. Why?”

“GREAT.”

The tunnel I was contained in drew in tight around me. At the same time, a weird vibration ran clean through my length, starting at my feet and racing along my spine. Right before it reached my head, a thunderous rumble erupted directly below me, blasting a wave of odorous heat at the back of my head.

On the other side of the mattress, Jennifer burst into a fit of helpless laughter.

Then her pelvis shifted, rocking me as she gingerly sat up, until her upper body loomed over me once more, her skin shining with perspiration. She ran a hand through her mussed hair. Her eyes held on mine with capering glee.

“I WISH I COULD HAVE SEEN YOUR FACE JUST THEN.”

Then she smiled apologetically.

“I’M SORRY…THAT WAS SO MEAN OF ME, WASN’T IT?” she cooed down at me.

I was speechless; too embarrassed to admit that the deep vibration of her anal passage had provoked my dick into hardening.

Her fingers squeezed my head again, this time to slide me out. It was much faster and easier getting out, seeing how relaxed and wet her vagina was. There was a slight tugging feeling along the length of my body, before I came free with a moist squelch, trailing ropes of sticky fluid.

Lying on her back, she propped herself up on one elbow and lifted me up in front of her eyes, repositioning me so that I was held in her hand; her thumb and forefinger underneath my armpits. Suddenly exhausted, I dangled relatively loosely in her grip.

She looked me up and down, inspecting my condition. Her eyes stopped on my half-risen member, and narrowed with curiosity.

“HOW WEIRD,” she said in an undertone, as one corner of her mouth turned up in a tiny smirk. “YOU FEELING OKAY?”

She was flushed and her pupils were dilated. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end and the muscles in her fingers and toes were twitching every so often, like a restless cat. If she was capable, she would have been purring.

“Fine.”

I couldn’t say any more than that because my mouth was too dry.

Deep down I knew my pretension of modesty was ludicrous; nothing shocked Jennifer. And I loved that about her. How crazy that I would want to spend my life searching for any another woman to accept me.

Clearing my throat, I said:

“I think your thunder sparked my lightning rod.”

She regarded me indolently.

“WELL THERE’S NO MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM, SO WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?”

Her breath raked over me, long and deeply, drying the film of fluid coating my body.

“Fuck me until I come.” I was staring at her lips desirously.

Without warning, she got up off the bed and walked into the bathroom. There, she spun the faucet on, waiting a moment for the water to warm, before dipping me under to wash the rest of the fluid off my body.

Turning the tap off again, she let me drip for a second before she went back into the bedroom, slumping back down onto the bed. Now I was starting to get annoyed. I cleared my throat loudly and said:

“We had a deal.”

“I KNOW,” she said, calmly sitting up on the mattress, and folding her legs. “BUT YOU LOOK A LITTLE PALE, SO I THINK YOU NEED TO GET SOME BLOOD BACK INTO YOUR HEAD.”

She lay me down on the mattress, and then, just as quickly, snatched me up by the ankles, so that I was now being dangled upside down.

“YOU’RE SO BOTTOM HEAVY,” she said, “THAT I HAVE DIFFICULTY TELLING YOUR COCK APART FROM YOUR HEAD. IT’S THIS ONE, RIGHT?”

She captured the crown of my head up between her lips and began to suck. I let out a frustrated yell and slapped her chin.

She pulled back, laughing for a moment, and then finally brought me back up to her face, and this time drew my member into her mouth, before pursing her lips tight around it. So long denied, it got the message immediately and was fast to harden up again. Her tongue flicked my tip, and then slid down, cradling my shaft along its length while the tip of her tongue worked around and probed my balls exploratively.

I grunted, pressing my palms under her jaw. She sucked long and rhythmically, stretching and squeezing my shaft with each firm suck. I couldn’t even describe how helpless I felt, hanging upside down by my ankles, while she lazily worked her muscular tongue around my engorged dick. Every so often she would let out a small moan, which vibrated through her lips and sensitively around my organ.

“HOW DOES THAT FEEL, BABY?” she said softly, causing my dick to get tugged and tickled by her lip movements.

It felt like I was going to pass out, but didn’t take me long to come from that point anyway. Except for the sudden slackening of my body, and the small grunt that escaped my throat, she probably would not have even realized. I would have only ejaculated a raindrop by her standard, evaporating almost instantly on her tongue.

She gently lapped at my member a couple more times to clean me off, and then, reclining back a little, draped my limp body front down over one of her breasts, taking care to position my head on top of her nipple, with it digging against my throat, keeping my chin lifted. I panted hard, groaning. When I did not make a movement on my own, she gently took my head between her fingers and began to coax it against the rubbery pink nub, making it harden. Entirely spent, I limply complied.

When my movements ceased again, she delicately pinched my ear between her fingernails in order to lift my head. When she released my ear, my head dropped face first back down onto her spongy flesh. She did this a couple of times, attempting to balance my head perfectly on the point of her nipple, but my head kept slipping off. Finally, she placed a finger against my head to keep it in position.

I could feel myself rising gently up and down with the swell of her breathing.

“YOU WERE SAYING EARLIER,” she murmured, “SOMETHING ABOUT BALANCE…?”

Closing my eyes, I lifted my hand in a ‘stop’ gesture, too tired to speak.

It was after dark.

The car stereo was blasting. She sang along for a little while. Beams from streetlights stretched over the upholstery each time the car turned. I noticed especially because I couldn’t see out the windows.

The muscular thighs around my middle gave me a reassuring squeeze. She’d been slowly warming up to me sitting in the passenger seat in the seatbelt harness. Some days she’d let me wear it, other days she wanted me between her thighs.

Tonight she wanted me between her thighs. Tonight she had electricity in her fingertips that I felt when she touched me, a faintly concealed nervous energy.

It was Friday night.

The past week she had given me a lot of space. I sensed she was still processing Stuart’s departure, and told her that tonight we could go wherever she wanted, and do whatever she wanted. She pounced on the offer with zeal. She hadn’t yet told me where we were going, but we were now heading there.

I was shaved, my hair was cut very short, and for some reason she had taken the time to bath me before we left, and massage some special lotion into my body that left my skin permeated all over with an appetizing creamy scent. I wasn't wearing my superman suit, or even my new batman suit, or a fancy outfit. I was wearing a tank top and loose fitting sweatpants.

I had more little clothes now, normal-looking clothes. The only thing I didn’t understand was: she had insisted I wear something very casual tonight, but she herself was glammed up in a dark party dress that matched her hair dye, and white heels that matched the tips of her exposed natural hair color, and she looked amazing, as always.

Earlier, she had also had me paint a new coat of gloss on her finger and toe nails. She had even knelt down in front of the bathroom countertop, arming me with her lipstick and having me paint it on her puckered lips. I had to keep touching it up because she kept kissing me and smudging it. She had also got me to do her eyelashes with a mascara wand that was like a chimney sweep brush in my hands.

Jennifer often had me doing these sorts of things for her now. She seemed to find these small gestures more romantic than if I’d hugged her or kissed her as a normal size person. She found it very erotic to get me to work into a sweat over her. I deemed it only fair to oblige to her requests since she gave me so much help around the house.

“Give me a hint,” I said loudly, over the car music.

She dialed the volume down before replying:

“I WAS THINKING ABOUT LAST WEEK, YOU SAID YOU WANTED BALANCE.”

“Maybe ‘balance’ is the wrong word,” I mumbled. “No one can be happy all the time.”

She paused, taking this in, then:

“SO, WHAT DO YOU WANT, JERRY?”

She said this with faint impatience, as she thought no one had ever asked me before. Taken aback, I said nothing. If I even knew the answer.

“YOU WANT TO SIT IN A DARK BASEMENT ALL ON YOUR OWN,” she offered lightheartedly, “AND I WANT TO GO OUT AND HAVE FUN AND PARTY.”

“That’s not how it is!” I grunted. “I just need to be alone sometimes.”

“WHATEVER. THE POINT IS, NOW WE CAN BOTH GET WHAT WE WANT.”

I looked at her dubiously, though this was hard on my neck; her face was high above and behind me. When she said she liked to go out, what she really meant – as I’d previously advised Stuart – was that she wanted to go out with her significant other.

“You want to go out, I like to stay in,” I stressed. “Not really reconcilable if you ask me.”

Her thighs gave me another affectionate squeeze as she muttered:

“WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT…”

The car slowed to a stop, and she switched off the engine. Neon light was shining into the car, as if from street signs or something. The murmuring drone of people talking, and the doppler engine noise of passing cars.

Then I was slipped out from between her thighs, and now placed on top of her right thigh. This was a little awkward for me because I still had to crane my neck up to see her face.

She was peering around outside the window, scanning a crowd of people I couldn’t see.

“BEFORE WE GO INSIDE, YOU HAVE TO TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OFF.”

I sputtered in surprise. She sounded serious.

“What is this; a nudist colony?”

If it was, they’d be awfully cold this time of night.

“LET’S JUST SAY YOU’LL BE MORE COMFORTABLE.”

A finger drifted down and began to stroke my hair, as if in reassurance.

“What? It’s cold outside!”

“OH, YOU’LL BE WARM. DON’T WORRY.”

“Not worried. I am kinda petrified though.”

The finger moved down my scalp, beginning to work itself against my shoulder muscles.

“JERRY…LISTEN TO ME,” she said, “…JUST TRUST ME, OKAY?”

“I do trust you. I wouldn’t be living with you if I didn’t. ”

The finger, or thumb, rubbing my shoulders was causing my tank top to roll up at the back.

“ARMS UP, BABE,” she intoned softly, running a fingernail up and down against my ribcage.

Without thinking, I obediently lifted my arms up. In a quick motion, my tank top was peeled up off my body, effectively sucked up into the air.

“Hey! Give that back!” I jumped up and down on her thigh for the tank top that had seemingly vanished into thin air.

Without saying a word, her thumb pressed against my chest, her first two fingers against my spine, and she lifted me into the air. As my legs kicked impotently, her other hand swept beneath me, a long nail inserted itself into my waistband – catching the waistband of my underwear at the same time – and the lustrously smooth keratin of her nail surface slipped along my shaft momentarily, distracting me –

Then both my pants and underwear were snatched off my legs at the same time.

“Okay! Okay!” I said frantically, feeling more vulnerable with every passing second. “What is this? What’s going on?”

Still in her hand, I was raised until the driver side window was parallel with me on one side, and Jennifer’s enormous face directly in front of me. Her eyes were running all over me and the look on her face was unnerving, dreamy, like she wasn’t really seeing me.

Then her features softened, she began regretfully:

“OH, ONE OTHER THING: I WON’T BE ABLE TO TALK TO YOU. BUT WE CAN INVENT SOME OTHER METHOD OF COMMUNICATION. ANYWAY, I’LL CHECK ON YOU. IT’LL BE FINE.”

“You’re freaking me out.”

“PLEASE, DON’T BE. YOU’RE THE BRAVEST PERSON I KNOW. NOW I NEED YOU TO BE EXTRA BRAVE TONIGHT. YOU’RE DOING SOMETHING VERY SPECIAL FOR ME. I WON’T FORGET IT.”

I couldn’t argue with her tone, or the soft look in her eyes. Quieting the snakes in my stomach, I sighed and said:

“Okay. Let’s do it. Before I change my mind.”

I didn’t even know what ‘it’ was. But I was about to find out.

She continued to stare at me as she sucked and licked her lips.

Then, out of nowhere, I was being thrust at her head as her lips were stretching wide open. Her tongue protruded and caught me under my front like a platform, sticking slightly to my flesh. Her hot breath beat around my ears and cheeks. The tongue retracted, taking me deeper into her mouth with it.

I had one last view of her shiny lips, framing me on every side, before the light dimmed as I came past rows of teeth into the dark cavernous interior of her mouth, walls glinting with a film of saliva, small bubbling pools of which collected around the edges of the mouth floor.

I nearly didn’t see the rope of saliva stretched between teeth until my head was pushed through it, causing it to snap and wrap around my face, carrying the faint cool sting of mint. I slapped my hands against my face, trying to wipe it off, but the saliva was too thick and sticky; it clung to my skin more tenaciously than a cobweb.

I spat, trying not to get any of her saliva in my mouth. Due to our size difference, her saliva was more viscous than mine – a little like honey – and I worried about it clogging up my airways if I accidentally ingested it.

When I opened my eyes again it was pitch black; she had closed her mouth. The steady draught of her breath made my lungs feel heavy and tight.

I couldn’t see her face anymore…

I panicked.

“You know I always say you’re beautiful on the inside,” I began to babble, “but this is ridiculous – open up!”   

The bumpy platform of the tongue beneath my feet rocked and tilted violently, staggering me like a passenger on a listing ship, before bundling me cleanly over a wall of bottom molars. My body bounced against the trampoline that was the inside of the cheek, slipping into the tight pocket on the other side of the molars, with the slimy inner cheek wall sealing me in place. There wasn’t a lot of space so I drew my legs up and pulled my arms in as the tongue withdrew back to its original position in the centre of the mouth.

The lips separated and moved as Jennifer spoke, giving me flashes of the smoky gray night outside the car windows.

“TAKE SOME DEEP BREATHS, BABY,” she said. “YOU’RE OKAY.”

Her voice rumbled through me, through my chest, my nasal cavities, behind my eyeballs, all the hollow cavities of my body, and through my bones, like it was being played through my body as a musical instrument. The vibrations also undulated deeply through the length of my member, which was beginning to twitch.

“VERY NICE FIT, TOO,” she added in afterthought. “I THINK WE CAN MAKE THIS WORK.”

“I-I can’t believe you want this…”

“YOU THINK THIS IS WEIRD? – YOU’VE BEEN INSIDE MY PUSSY!”

“Fair enough…but I don’t feel like I’m food when I’m in your pussy.”

“YOU’RE NOT GOING ANY FURTHER IN, IF THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT.”

“I know you wouldn’t…It’s just the association.”

“WELL…YOU DO TASTE GOOD...”

She sucked her lips, and the air pressure shift made my ears pop.

“That would be the lotion you put on me earlier,” I suggested as I massaged my ears and jaw.

“JERRY, THAT WASN’T LOTION, IT WAS CRÈME BRÛLÉE.”

“What?!”

She let out a husky laugh that – from within the depths of her throat – honestly sounded a little animal-like.

“I’M KIDDING!”

This was followed by the muffled thud of the car door opening and shutting.

“LATER! IT’S PARTY TIME! LOVE YOU!”

Now there was a steady rocking sensation running through my body with each of Jennifer’s footfalls – her extravagant heels probably only magnified the jolt with each impact against the ground.

Then the movement stopped. She was still for a while. Afterwards, I realized she was standing in line for the bouncer to let her in. She sucked on me gently to entertain herself while she waited, her cheek smothering me as she drew it inwards in repetitive motions.

Then her pulse, bleeding through the cheek wall, seemed to swell with the thumping bass of outside club music. At that point I realized we were in a nightclub. Her natural habitat – I should have guessed sooner.

We were in a recursion: I was in the dark interior of her mouth with her heartbeat pulsing all around me, pushing up into my butt and the soles of my feet, outside which she was in the dark club interior, with the music pulsing through the walls, the ground, up through her heels.

Her passage through a jungle of sweaty bodies probably wasn’t far off my experience with the rush and pull of her hot breath making me break out in sweat, like I was sitting in a sauna.  In fact when I opened my mouth I actually could feel it pulling at the bottom of my lungs like a vacuum. This tickled and I had to suppress the urge to cough.

“Can you still hear me?” I said.

In the dark, the amorphous, spongy point of her tongue made contact with my scalp, and rubbed back and forth against my head, almost like a reassuring hand, before departing again.

Calmed by the response, I went quiet for a bit, slackening my body, relaxing to the throb of music drumming in my chest.

I heard Jennifer order a drink. Her voice was distinct from the surrounding din as it was the only sound which originated from further inside her – her throat – rather than coming in from outside.

Then her lips parted, the blare of club music rushed in as a glass rim jutted between her teeth – for an instant dazzling my night vision as the glass reflected the club’s laser lights – and an alcoholic aroma filled the air, immediately followed by a wave of clear liquid gushing into her mouth. It swished around, jangling my nerves with its cool slap. I raised my head up as the liquor – a mojito – broke over my face, swept along to the other side of the mouth, and then returned, dumping over me once more.

It was so cold my bones panged. I wriggled my toes and squeezed my fingers to frantically warm them.

Without warning something like an orca whale leapt out of the darkness and landed on top of me. My face squashed painfully as I was held against the cheek wall by the hot heavy weight of what could only be her tongue, so firmly that for a second I felt like packaged meat pressed under cling wrap.

The reason for this became apparent with the wet gurgling sound of liquor draining down her throat. She was holding me in place so I did not get sucked down the esophagus as well.

As soon as the mouthful had been taken care of, the weight sitting on my shoulders lifted; the tip of the tongue remained by me only so long to give my shoulder a quick reassuring rub. Then it returned to its usual position.

Unfortunately for me, this routine repeated several times as the drink was slowly imbibed. By the time the drink was finished, my skin was chilled and my teeth were chattering.

“Next time, make it a Bloody Mary,” I joked weakly. “I’m cold!”

Without hesitation, the tongue glided over, enfolding me in its muscular, rubbery surface, licking me up and down and back to front in firm, enthusiastic sweeps. I was even lifted a little off the floor of her mouth by its sheer brute force, slid a little up the side of her cheek. Meanwhile, her liquor flavored breath was once again beginning to provide a furnace of warmth.

Shoveling beneath me, the tongue bumped me over the row of molars back into the centre of the mouth, and then the tongue transformed into a platform again, and rising, pressed me firmly against the curved roof of her mouth, before rubbing back and forth over my belly vigorously to flip me over onto my back. As the rubbing carried on, I was flipped again and again, before I slipped out sideways and accidentally hit my shoulder on a bottom molar.

“Ow…” I groaned.

She must have heard me, because the tongue turned gentle, sweeping around me protectively before carefully maneuvering me back to my former position; slipping me into the pocket of her cheek. 'Pocket' was the operative word: I was squashed in against the outside of her molars, with her slimy cheek pulled around me like wet latex.

Meanwhile, the tip of her tongue collapsed onto my lap, driving between my legs to work my dick up into raging tumescence. When I was nearly overcome, it swished away again, leaving me unfulfilled.

Then there were the sounds of wet smacking and squishing as the lips began moving; sucking on something. The air pressure was oscillating, sometimes feeling like a big fan was pulling the air one way, then another.

To my alarm, the tongue swept me up again and delivered me promptly to the front of the mouth, rotating me head first and plunging my head forwards. Her lips passed around my head; for the barest moment I felt the cool outside air against my ears and the club bass boomed loud and clear before another pair of lips gulped around my head and pulled as whiskey fumes clouded my face.

The rough insistence of the lips and their lack of lipstick or gloss told me it was a man.

As I tried to wrench my head back into Jennifer’s mouth, the hard edges of her teeth clamped over my shoulder, not painfully, but effectively holding me down to allow the man’s tongue to leisurely explore my head.

It’s unclear what he thought I was – Jennifer’s tongue, piece of food, candy, toy, whatever – but he seemed to have no objection whatsoever. Once her eyes had made love to him from across the dance floor, he probably would’ve accepted a cyanide pill from her tongue without a second thought.

While the man’s lips tugged around my neck, the flat of his tongue pressed firmly against my face, roughly swishing back and forth over my features, before the tip of his tongue lodged deeply in under my jaw, as if taking my pulse, and painfully squashing my Adam’s apple in the process. He had identified the heartbeat in my carotid artery and was fascinated by it. I thrashed my head back and forth, terrified the pressure of his tongue against my artery would cause me to blackout – or worse. Luckily he could scarcely keep his tongue in the same place on my neck; his tongue continued to squirm against my throat as his lips mashed against Jennifer’s.

She was bouncing the tip of her tongue against my butt cheeks, causing me to buck forward and back as if I was simulating rough, balls-deep penetration.

I opened my mouth to yell out and got a mouthful of the guy’s bumpy tongue, which tasted like whiskey. Maybe Jennifer sensed my distress, she fluidly sucked me back inside her mouth as she continued to make out with the guy. She must have gotten sick of him; a moment later all sign of him had disappeared – at least from my vantage point.

I lay on my front on her tongue panting, placing my hands against my neck and stretching it until I heard vertebrae crackle softly. My dick was inconveniently hard, but I ignored it.

Anyway, next second she had selected another guy to make out with. Going by breath, this guy was a rum drinker and had stubble because it prickled me as my head was clumsily bumped against the ridge above his top lip, before he repositioned his rubbery lips around my skull and began to slurp it into his mouth. Jennifer’s teeth were once again shackling my shoulders to prevent me from leaving her mouth entirely.

I was getting pulled in two directions; her tongue was lavishly stroking my stiff dick as the random guy sucked on my head. I could no longer discern where one began and the other ended; their lips were pressed together so no single part of me was exposed to the outside. It felt like every inch of my body was being lathered up inside some swelteringly hot, pitch black car wash.

This guy’s tongue ignored my neck but soon became absorbed in trying to work out what my ears were. It kept rubbing them, flicking them back and forth, making my ear canals crackle wetly. I couldn’t fight him off because my hands were clamped on either side of me by the crushing pressure of the pairs of lips. I was resigned to shaking my head, but if the tongue couldn’t access one ear it just slid around to the other so there was no escaping it.

Then Jennifer got sick of this guy, too, and I was pulled back inside her mouth for a quick rest.

Dizzy, I started to crawl over her tongue, its meaty, bumpy texture against my palms and shins, feeling my way towards where I thought her inner cheek was. But then her tongue reared and forced me backwards towards her lips. My head burst free and passed partway into another mouth which contained the wheat tang of beer.

Just as quickly, the stranger’s lips pulled tight around my neck – enough to make me gag – before the grip slipped, and the thick rubbery lips smeared around my face, painting it in saliva as they attempted to re-capture the entirety of my head.

Finally, the lips closed around my neck again. Then, the guy clasped his incisors around my temples, not painfully, but enough to lock me into place. His teeth were very gently gnawing around my head, like a nut he was trying not to dent. As his teeth poked against different parts of my face, I scrunched up my eyelids, praying the points of his teeth did not gouge my eyes out. I had no defense if they did. My heart was thrumming like mad inside my ribcage. All throughout, Jennifer’s tongue was manipulating my penis to heights of ecstasy.

The guy continued to patiently work my head between his teeth, massaging my head rather than biting, which made the cartilage in my head groan. He must have deduced by now I wasn’t part of Jennifer’s tongue. Using the pressure of his teeth, he succeeded in prying apart my jaw, stretching it apart to a painful degree, and clamping his teeth to hold it like that. This guy was getting rough and Jennifer had no idea. This needed to end soon or I was seriously fearing he’d injure my head somehow.

I gave a yell but the club music swallowed my voice. An instant later the tip of his tongue passed in front of my mouth and noise, cutting off my air supply, beginning to smother me. My eyes bulged in panic, I yelled and thrashed as best I could – which was very little, as I was so constricted by teeth and lips.

There was a suctioning at my legs as Jennifer tried slurping me back inside her mouth. My head was still caught in the guy's teeth, causing my middle to stretch from the pull at both my ends. My stomach was flip-flopping.

Her tongue surged around my waist in an erratic fashion, flicking at me, delivering a series of nudges like violent blows against my legs and torso as it desperately tried to jimmy me loose from the man's teeth. The air pressure in her mouth rose and fell frantically with a sudden increase in her respiration –

For the barest instant I felt her lips loosen around me, then –

SMACK

I shot out from between the guy's teeth like a cannonball, saliva flecking off from my body, and plummeted down past massive dark shifting bodies, like a forest of huge swaying trees, blinking rapidly against the lasers burning a grid into my night vision.

Solid ground thumped up into my stomach and I went skittering wetly across the dancefloor, trailing a glistening rope of saliva like a snail’s slime.

All around, sneakers, sandals and high heels stamped up and down, like I was a tiny product unit on a factory conveyor belt about to be stamped by one of numerous hydraulic machine presses.

I had been almost certain that guy’s teeth would crack my head like a nut, but I was wrong. I was actually destined to be ground like a cigarette beneath a giant high heel.

Fuck, I'm gonna die!

Trying to stand, my hands and feet skidded uselessly in a film of saliva, as the heavy bass beat rumbled through me like shockwaves.

A pair of white platform heels leapt down as if from the sky, landing on either side of my body before I was snatched up and sealed away in a warm, sweating palm.

"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?" a male voice wavered through the loud music, as if underwater.

"NO TEETH, YOU CREEP!" Jennifer's voice shot back. She drew in her fist – with me inside – firmly against her solar plexus. The lasers flickered in at my face between the gaps of her fingers.

"TEASE," he scoffed. Maybe he saw her fist and mistakenly thought she was going to send it into his solar plexus. He weaved through the crowd and vanished.

I grimaced after him, but resenting my size even more. If a guy bothered her I could not do anything about it. If she got into even worse trouble I could not defend her. It was hands down the most humiliating feature of my size transformation, if anything was.

Then again, she had never relied on me to protect her, even at normal size. She would have laughed at the idea.

One time when we were previously dating, one of her female friends who was visiting was fascinated to learn Jennifer was a skilled martial artist, and asked for a demonstration. Jennifer called me into the living room, I innocently responded. Within a span of seconds, she delivered a spectacular flying kick at me to knock me down and quickly got me pinned on the floor beneath her thighs, with her hand on my throat, while the female friend clapped and laughed. I was more shocked than hurt: like the female friend it was my first time learning she was a martial artist, too.

The bass beat pumped the air as I caught strobe flashes of the room as it passed by in pieces; towering bodies rocking and shaking, seemingly disembodied arms and hands, hips grinding together, bouncing cleavage, hair flicking around, lips pressing against each other.

Totally different from the party with Samantha. Yet, not unpleasant. I was amongst the people here, but not in the spotlight. Unnoticed. I felt one of them. Just another head in a sea of bobbing bodies.

A door thumped shut behind us, dampening the music somewhat. We appeared to be in a small bathroom.

Jennifer stood in front of the mirror, holding me up and inspecting my slimy, reddened head. Actually, it was my middle that hurt, having impacted the dancefloor at speed. I pushed at her thumb, which was digging into my belly, nail and everything. She got the message and shifted her fingers around my sides.

She got some warm water running and held me under the sink a moment to wash the saliva off my body. Then, when her roaming eyes failed to identify any puncture wounds on my head, she expressed her relief by bringing my face up against her lips for a couple of brief, soft kisses.

With her lips no longer obscuring my vision, I was able to gaze around and notice the bathroom was surprisingly empty. Still, someone could come in at any moment.

I thought she would put me back into her mouth – to be honest, it was cold on the outside of her mouth and I actually longed to be huddled in there again. I felt safe in there, warm, with her tongue sweeping around me, spooning me and cuddling me every so often, even if it had a penchant for fondling my balls on the side.

But she instead placed me down on the sink counter, while she retrieved something from her handbag.

“Someone might come in,” I said, cupping my hands over my now flaccid groin.

“DOUBT IT. IT’S A STAFF BATHROOM.”

She leaned over the sink as she reapplied her lipstick in the mirror, and flashed me a brief sideways look of concern.

"SURE YOU’RE OKAY?"

“I think so.”

“I HAD TO SPANK THAT GUY’S FACE BEFORE HE BIT YOUR HEAD OFF.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Deep down I felt a perverse thrill of joy to just be alive, like I’d jumped out of a car wreck unharmed, nothing to be proud about but I couldn’t help it. Maybe the atmosphere had my nerves keyed up and floating.

“GOD,” Jennifer mumbled, after finishing her lipstick. “AFTER THAT, I NEED ANOTHER DRINK.”

“Oh no…” I moaned, already able to feel the rush of cool fluid surging around my skin, freezing up my insides all over again, “…you’re going to give me hypothermia.”

“SO, I’LL PUT YOU SOMEWHERE ELSE FOR A LITTLE WHILE.”

She reached for me again and I was lifted up, coming to a stop at her chest level as she pulled out the bust of her dress with one hand, and slipped me into her bra cup with the other. She turned me so I was facing into her, the soles of my bare feet touched down on the surface of her lightly sweat-coated breast and slid over the bump, but then, as her fingers released me, I found myself continuing to slide down the bra, getting quickly swallowed up into the heavy underside of the breast.

“No! Not good!” I yelped, as the weighty mammary began to press down, feeling like someone sitting on my head.

Scooping a couple of fingers in, she caught my head and fished me out, repositioning me in the space directly between her breasts, wedging me securely in her cleavage, and hiking the bust of the dress up to cover me.

Now insulated by the warmth of her chest, with the fabric securing my back, I breathed deeply, her scent sweeping into my lungs.

Her voice resonated against my face through her chest wall:

“LOOKS LIKE WE NEED TO COME UP WITH A NEW SYSTEM OF COMMUNICATION. HOW ABOUT IF YOU WANT TO GET MY ATTENTION, YOU MASSAGE MY NIPPLE WITH BOTH HANDS?”

“Ha ha,” I mumbled. Then I groaned. “Actually, my head hurts. I think I’m going to try and take a nap. If that’s possible.”

“WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE SOON. I PROMISE. JUST ONE DRINK AND I’M DONE.”

We left the bathroom again, coming back out into the pounding club.

She passed the bar and ordered a drink.

I couldn’t sleep with the noise, but managed to fall into a trancelike state with my eyes closed and my body still. The throbbing music relaxed all my muscles like some deep-tissue massage.

She finished her drink and ventured back onto the dance floor. Because I was no longer in her mouth, it was palpable to me now when she was dancing compared to when she wasn’t. When she was dancing I was jiggled and rocked around in her bra and her pulse rate – pattering against my face and chest – began to climb.

Unlike when I was in her mouth, I now had no way of talking to her. Occasionally she would gently fold her arms against me, squishing me more tightly between her boobs. I guessed this was a sign of protection; a response to the crowd hemming in too close or something. Or maybe it was just a hug.

After she finished dancing I was vaguely aware of bouncing along with her rocking footsteps. Then a pair of fingertips plucked me out of the bra and before I’d even had time to open my eyes, I was thrust back into the moist black cavern of her mouth and pushed into the side of her cheek. Without a beat, I huddled up and relaxed again, enjoying the warm sweeping draught of her breath gently suctioning and tickling my lungs.

*

We were downtown from the club, past a 24 hour pizza place. Jennifer complained of needing to eat something or she was going to die and I’d have to drag her home. Not that she needed to convince me, as I reminded her; I was only the passenger inside the great spacecraft of her body.

She kept me packed into her cheek again so she could enjoy a slice of Margherita pizza. I could smell the aroma entering via her inhalation and it smelled amazing. It suddenly occurred to me how tired and hungry I was.

She sighed, which sounded like a swoon.

"I LOVE THREE A.M. PIZZA."

Someone must have passed by, because she went quiet for a moment. She was being careful not to talk around passersby. Even still, she had her phone out to make it look like she was having a phone call, in case someone did overhear. But there was hardly anyone around at this hour, so we were mostly safe.

Once the person must have left, she went on:

"IT'S THE FACT THAT I SHOULDN'T BE EATING IT THAT MAKES IT TASTE SO GOOD."

Then, sounding slightly surprised:

"YOU KNOW, YOU'VE BASICALLY BEEN IN THERE FOR FOUR HOURS. FEEL WEIRD?"

"Well, I’m turning into a prune. But no weirder than usual, I guess."

"HOW'S YOUR COCK? IS IT SORE?"

"Like a rhinoceros ran over it."

Her voice got low:

"THOSE GUYS DIDN'T BITE YOU, DID THEY?"

"No," I cringed, not liking to remember.

"GOOD."

She paused to take another bite of pizza. I watched as the façade of her teeth separated and then ripped into and tore through the bread like it was paper. Everything went black again as she began to chew. The pizza had gone over to the other side of her mouth, which was now producing a combination of wet smacks and grating crunches as the pizza was slowly atomized into digestible bits.

Then, with each swallow, there was a palpable decrease in air pressure which gave me a rapid tension headache, like a pounding sensation through my nasal cavities. Luckily this only lasted a second – the length of each swallow – before the feeling relieved again.

"THIS IS SO CRAZY," I could tell by the sound of her voice she was smiling. "I JUST HEAR YOUR VOICE INSIDE MY HEAD. LIKE I'M TALKING TO AN IMAGINARY FRIEND OR SOMETHING."

"Yeah..." I started, looking around in the dark as her disembodied voice finished bouncing around in the dark. "I guess I feel like that, too. Except – no offence – but your voice makes you sound like the monster under the bed, or something."

Outside streetlamp light flickered in at me as she laughed. She seemed about to say something, but then just went:

"MMM HM." She said this in a 'is that so?' kind of way.

"What?"

"I'M INTRIGUED BY YOUR COMMENT. THAT'S ALL."

"Intrigued?"

"THERE'S SOMETHING I NEVER TOLD YOU."

"Oh no."

"IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL. I HAVE THIS...KINK."

"I'm pretty sure I know all your kinks. You're not very subtle."

"NOT THIS ONE. IT'S VERY PERSONAL. I'VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE."

"Well, I'm listening."

"BASICALLY, FOR AS LONG AS I REMEMBER HAVING SEXUAL THOUGHTS, I'VE HAD THIS FANTASY ABOUT EATING."

"'Eating' as in...? – Like, food, or eating someone out?"

I couldn't help but think either of those were pretty tame for Jennifer's tastes (no pun intended), not the type of thing for her to get bashful or secretive about.

"LIKE...SOMEONE IS JUST WALKING ALONG MINDING THEIR OWN BUSINESS, AND I GRAB THEM AND EAT THEM."

I laughed. Not really my thing, but it was so vivid and bizarre it was hard to be put off by it.

"Different strokes." I shrugged, even though she couldn't see me. Too bad my sexual permissiveness often led to my undoing in bedroom matters with her.

"Some girls like vampires."

"OH GOD," she scoffed. "TOTALLY DIFFERENT. LET'S NOT GO THERE."

"I thought you meant, like, bite someone's neck."

“MMM. NOT QUITE.”

After swallowing another mouthful of pizza, her tongue – still half coated in a bubbly soup of tomato paste, melted cheese and herbs – drifted over and began to lazily investigate me. She had done this a lot during the course of the night, and half the time probably wasn’t even aware she was even doing it.

“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t bother me in the slight—!”

I gasped as the weight of the tongue curled over the wall of molars and slipped between my legs. As soon as it identified my penis, it began to flip it back and forth in a clumsy attempt to balance my shaft on its tip. My aching dick started to harden again.

“I think I need a rest or I’m going to burst a blood vessel,” I said, pushing against her tongue.

The heavy weight retreated again before Jennifer’s voice came back:

JERRY…” she began patiently, “PRETEND YOU’VE GOT A TOOTHACHE. YOU SHOULD PROBABLY LEAVE IT ALONE BUT YOU HAVE TO KEEP WORKING AWAY AT IT EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE MAKING IT HURT MORE. YOU KNOW?”

“Ah, you don't have to tell me...”

“PLUS I CAN FEEL YOUR HEARTBEAT AND IT TELLS ME IF YOU’RE AFRAID OR IF YOU’RE MELLOW. IT’S JUST MY WAY OF FIGURING OUT HOW YOU’RE GOING IN THERE…AND MAKING SURE YOU’RE NOT AFRAID.”

She reconsidered.

“SCRATCH THAT. BAD COMPARISON: NO ONE LIKES HAVING A TOOTHACHE.” She thought for a moment. “THINK OF A MINIATURE ÉCLAIR – WITH CREAM INSIDE—”

“Very poetic metaphor, Shakespeare.”

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHERE THIS IS GOING?” she said seriously, as if I wasn’t very bright. To be fair, I didn’t feel very bright then, but the past hours my sleep-deprived body had been bounced around by liquor and bass beats, I think I deserved a break.

“I get the picture.”

Finishing her pizza she rinsed me with some gulps of bottled water, but not too much at one time, to avoid chilling me.

Still, the cold water woke my brain up. Maybe because it was the witching hour but what she said – the kink and the éclair – took a moment for me to process.

Then it all clicked.

My heart galloped as the walls of her mouth seemed to close in on me. All of a sudden, it felt too hot, cramped and dark.

In an instant I jumped onto my feet and was clambering over the sharp edges of the molars.

“Oh fuck no!” I swore. “No, no, no – Oh God – FUCK!”

I slipped and stumbled over the slick bumpy tongue towards the dark slit of the inside of her mouth, wrapped around the neck of the water bottle, but even as I drew closer the water bottle slipped away, the lips clamped together, shutting me in darkness. 

The walls seem to shift as the monstrous tongue surged up and glommed into me like a bodyguard, throwing me onto my face against the sticky oral floor.

Then, straddling my shoulders, it held me down, like a cop kneeing me in the back to arrest me, my face mashed into the mouth floor. I whipped my head sideways, trying to spit out mouthfuls of her runny saliva.

Not saliva.

Drool.

“Jennifer –” I panted, “—get off me! You can’t do this! It’s mwwthth—” I spat up a hunk of gooey, pizza flavored spit before it could roll down my windpipe and sealed up my lungs “—It’s murder! I’m a living person!”

A sound made me stop. She was snorting with half stifled laughter through her nose.

This only made me struggle harder. I had that uncanny feeling again – like the time I’d clipped her toenails – that I wasn’t with the real Jennifer, but some leviathan doppelgänger, a gigantic ‘Pod Person’ version of her whose mind and intentions were totally alien to me.

Now I was coughing so much that the underside of her tongue began to rub and push forcefully against my back. Once I had stilled, the pressure of her tongue lifted, before it bumped me back over against the cheek and then swept back into its normal position.

“Don’t eat me!”

I couldn’t believe the words even as they left my mouth; that I was actually saying this to someone in earnest, let alone my girlfriend. Not only that but I didn’t recognize the sound of my own voice, a pathetic, breathless squeak.

“JERRY, CHILL. YOUR HEART IS GOING WAY TOO FAST.”

I grabbed the edge of the molars to pull myself up, an instant later – with visions of her teeth crashing together – I shrunk back down into the pouch of her cheek.

“YOU REALLY THINK I’D DO IT?”

She had begun walking again back towards her car. It was like the feeling of motion in an elevator; the sensation of movement in some direction, without knowing where or how fast.

“That depends. Are you on your period?” I always joked when I was nervous. I couldn’t help it.

Her tongue flicked me playfully in the head. Then she answered her own question.

“IF I WAS GOING TO DO IT, YOU’D BE IN MY LOWER INTESTINE BY NOW.”

The car door thumped shut. Then the ignition started. The drone of car and road noise played outside, against the sweeping tide of her breaths.

“Jesus. Remind me never to make you angry.”

*

She wanted to jump on me the moment we got in the door. Due to her kink, holding me in her mouth had pretty much put her in a state of continuously deferred arousal, and she wasn’t getting any sleep until it was satisfied. And that also meant I wouldn’t be getting any sleep until it was satisfied.

We were both naked, on the queen bed in the master bedroom, I was on my knees between her spread legs. She preferred to be sitting up rather than lying down, so that she could watch me. So naturally the light was on.

Pressing my palms against the spiky folds of her labia, I stretched the flesh back to access the clitoris, and moved my face in.

She moaned as I began to stroke my face against the red bulb of her clit, and plant forceful kisses on it. I had to keep her labial folds peeled back with my hands otherwise they would slide around my ears and start to enfold my head.

The rim of her slit began to glisten with moisture. Giving her clit a brief rest, I pushed my arms inside her vagina and scratched around the slimy, spongy walls, which were growing redder. Then I stretched my legs forward, slipping them inside her, scratching and digging my feet around while I carried on making out with her clit.

Over my head, she cupped her breasts and began to stroke them, while her breathing turned into panting.

Her vaginal tunnel was twitching around my legs; I banged my heels and kicked my legs against the soft flesh inside her vagina area, causing her tunnel to ripple with a surge of pleasure, and begin a series of rapid convulsions. I could tell she was building, but this was only a background thought; I was so immersed in juggling the different erogenous zones with my four limbs and head, plus the warmth and scent beaming out of her was making me heady and distractible.

As her vagina continued to clench around my legs, her lips brushed my rigid penis, sweeping back and forth over it with her movements, painting it in her sticky fluids. I began thrusting my lower end into her, into the convulsions. Her vaginal entrance was drawing incredibly tight around my waist with every spasm, capturing my penis and scrunching it in her warm throbbing flesh.

I willed myself to focus straight ahead on the fleshy red nub right in front of my face, to the exclusion of all else – difficult because her hips were bucking; sometimes delivering what felt like a punch into my head, but cushioned by her soft rubbery flesh. However, during one of these pelvic thrust punches, my face accidentally got jammed into her vaginal opening and was glued in place by the glut of honey-like fluid dribbling out of her. The muscular walls of her tunnel then scrunched, pushing my head down against my legs. Another set of rapid scrunches and I felt like my spine was going to snap, before my face became unstuck from the gluey fluids and, gripping a hand on each of her lips, I yanked myself out and back up into a sitting position, holding on tight to endure the rest of the ride.

Now her finger was tapping the top of my head so urgently it felt like she was trying to drill her fingernail into my brain. Grimacing, I slid myself out of her passage and leaned back on my haunches.

"JERRY," she moaned with urgency, "I'M READY – I’M ABOUT TO–!"

SPLAT

A climax pulsed through her hips like a shockwave, her pelvic muscles flexed so hard and fast that the copious buildup of female fluids filling her vagina was squeezed out through the flexed tight opening all at once, bursting out from her slit in a thick gluey stream – and splattering me square in the face.

The force of the emission was so great it slammed me onto my back as if I'd received a basketball straight to the face and I lay there for a second, dazed and confused.

Then the hot odor hit me; an inescapable suffusion of nauseatingly musky vagina. My chest spasmed with a cough as I tried to take a breath. Warm fluid seeped over the back of my throat. It was like a shroud was wrapped around my head. I rolled around on the mattress, clawing at it, but for someone my size it was so viscous and clingy it stretched and snapped back onto my face. Before I could stop them, thick strands of fluid had spread up my nose and down my throat like squid tentacles.

Above, the air rippled with her breathless laughter.

"BULLSEYE!" she said triumphantly, and that made her laugh even more.

I already said how difficult it could be to make Jennifer laugh. Partly because when she did laugh, it was often at something totally unexpected.

Rolling onto my stomach, I furiously rubbed my face back and forth against the bed sheet, slowly clearing it of the strands. Some fluid had to be swallowed to clear my airways, which couldn't be helped.

Then, able to see again, I looked up to catch her long nails spanning over my head before pinching my waist and plucking me up off the mattress, and lifting me up just above her face.

She had flopped her head back against some pillows and regarded me serenely, her cheeks slightly flushed, while her breath came out in long sweeping gusts.

She was coming down from the climax elation now, and her voice grew softer.

“LET ME SEE.”

The tip of her pinky finger magnified in my perception, the fingerpad tilting up to sweep back and forth over my face, clearing the remaining goo.

"What time is it?" I grunted. The lit bedroom made me feel totally disconnected from time of day.

"FOUR IN THE MORNING."

"That's weird. I've got too much energy."

A slow easy smile spread across her face.

"SO WHAT WE DID EARLIER EXCITED YOU?"

"Maybe not ‘excited’,” I said slowly. “But I wasn’t uncomfortable. It was kind of meditative. Like one of those sensory deprivation tanks. I felt…safe."

She switched the light off and then rolled over under the covers, pulling me against her chest.

In the dark, with me pressed into her plush, bare skin, sticking slightly to my flesh due to perspiration, she said:

“JERRY…?”

“Yeah?” came my half-muffled, sleepy reply.

“AS MUCH AS I LOVE GOING OUT…I’VE GOT OTHER THINGS ON MY MIND AS WELL.”

“Like what?”

“WELL, RIGHT NOW…I’M LIKE YOU, I FEEL SAFE…”

“Huh?” I turned my head to hear her better. “That’s good, I guess.”

Her chest swelled against me as she yawned. Then she murmured:

“DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT…UM…THE FUTURE?”

“I can think about eight minutes into the future, and that’s about it.”

Her hand rotated me so my back was against the mattress, as her thumb began kneading my stomach and chest.

“AND AFTER THAT?”

“Just taking it day by day.”

The pressure of her thumb against my chest became very soft and somewhat tentative. Her thumbnail halted beneath my jaw.

“…DO YOU SEE ME IN YOUR FUTURE?”

I wrapped my arms around her thumb and squeezed.

“Jen, you’re my past. You’re my present. I couldn’t keep away from you if I tried.”

Her hand collected me off the mattress again and pressed me against her breast, against her heart, and held me there, warmed by the intense heat radiating off her body, and stimulated by her rapid heartbeat, pulsating into my muscles.

She went to sleep quickly.

I took much longer. My head was buzzing, almost spinning. I felt charged up, big; a mile tall.

Someone was knocking at the door.

Jennifer went to see who it was.

Meanwhile, I was testing the remote to open the fridge electronically. Now I could get it to open and close with the push of a button. With Stuart gone, this was necessary for me when Jennifer was out of the house for long periods of time, such as for work. We were also working on getting something similar for the front and back door of the house, although Jennifer was digging her feet in a little more on that one. I was running ahead of myself with visions of piloting the car with some kind of electronic interface, but she was resolutely against that.

I returned to the living room as Jennifer reappeared from down the hallway. And she had someone with her. My eyes nearly shot out of my skull.

Remy stepped into the room. He was carrying the machine in his arms.

And he was normal sized again.

“HI, JERRY,” he said. “I THINK I FIXED HER!”

My mouth opened but, for a moment, no sound came out.

“Remy, you – you – ” I finally stuttered. “You’re big again!”

He laughed.

“NOT JUST ME, PAL. YOUR FRIEND STUART? HE’S BACK IN GIANT LAND, TOO. NOW IT’S YOUR TURN.”

“You can get me back to normal size – right now?”

“WAIT,” Jennifer cut in, “ARE YOU SURE THIS IS SAFE?”

She had a wary frown on her face as she surveyed the big gizmo in Remy's arms.

“Jen, please!” I cried, “It worked for them. I’m going to be big again! Can you imagine?”

She took this in but her expression didn’t change.

“I DON’T LIKE THIS,” she murmured, shaking her head.

Remy ignored her, looking back down at me with a toothy grin.

“LET ME TELL YOU, FRIEND: AT THIS SIZE, LIFE FEELS PRETTY NICE.”

He slapped the side of the machine.

“WHY DON’T I SHOW YOU?”

“Let’s go!”

“MADAM,” Remy said to Jennifer, flourishing an arm, “IF YOU WOULD KINDLY STEP AWAY FROM THE JOLT ZONE…”

With her lips still pursed in displeasure, Jennifer went over to the other side of the room.

I got down onto the living room carpet and stood a little away from Remy, who was now fiddling with switches and dials on the side of the machine, until it started emitting a static hum that I could feel crackling in my bones.

He began to instruct me in a solemn voice:

“YOU REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID WHEN YOU JOLTED THE SECOND TIME. NOW YOU MUST DO THE EXACT OPPOSITE, AND MY MACHINE WILL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING ELSE.”

I stared at him, wracking my brains.

“I-I don’t think I remember exactly what I did, Remy. It was a long time ago, and I was drug—” I avoided meeting Jennifer’s eyes, “—and I was drunk. I tripped and went through a tunnel that twisted right around.”

“SURE,” he carried on blithely. “YOU WENT THROUGH A TWISTY HOLE. SO NOW YOU GO THROUGH A STRAIGHT HOLE.”

“But I went through a straight hole the first time and that didn’t make me grow

“WE ARE NOT TRYING TO MAKE YOU ENLARGE, JERRY. WE ARE TRYING TO MAKE YOU UN-SHRINK.”

The back of my neck was cool with sweat; I was starting to feel like Remy’s obsessive fealty to his machine mathematics was bordering mad professor levels.

“NOT BIG. NORMAL. UNDERSTOOD?”

“No, not really. Look, just do whatever you guys did.”

Remy looked away, his brow vexed.

“THERE IS, UH, A MINOR COMPLICATION THERE. I KNOW WHAT WENT WRONG WHEN I USED THE MACHINE WITH STUART. SO I JUST DID THE OPPOSITE. BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU DID WHEN IT WENT WRONG FOR YOU.”

I bit my lip, thinking for a moment.

“I’ll figure it out. Straight hole, right?”

“JERRY, LISTEN,” Jennifer said from the side of the room, “YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS FOR ME.”

“I want this!” I exclaimed. “For both of us!”

She was running her hands through her hair nervously.

“LOOK…YOU’RE GOING TO THINK I’M CRAZY, BUT YOUR HEIGHT; I ACTUALLY—”

“I’M SORRY TO INTERRUPT,” Remy said, and then looked across at me, “JERRY, IF YOU ARE READY WE MUST PROCEED NOW,” he hefted the machine up like a gun, “SHE IS CHARGED UP AND ALL SET TO FIRE!”

“I’m ready, Remy! Fire away!”

He pulled the trigger.

As if Moses had parted the red sea, reality parted down the middle, giving me access to a tall tunnel through spacetime where all the surrounding color of reality was blurred and streaked, like street lights through rainy glass. This main tunnel branched into other tunnels; straight, curving, cornering at a right angle, wiggling back and forth, and one corkscrewing right around in a loop.

I identified the straightest path and began to follow it, thinking to myself: anhedral…dihedral…

I had looked these terms up since last time I’d seen Remy. They referred to the slight angle created by plane wings as against the fuselage.

But if I was like the fuselage, and the branching paths were like the wings…

Oh fuck! Not the straight path! The diagonal path! The diagonal pa—!

There was a brief sensation of falling, a small jolt in my stomach, like when you almost trip but manage to catch yourself. Then the walls of the warp tunnel collapsed in on me. I shut my eyes instinctively. When I opened them, I found myself standing on the carpet. But that nauseating feeling was still there.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

I didn’t know how I knew this immediately, but I did.

“OH…THAT IS…UH…NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE HAPPENED…”

The staccato voice was like cracks of thunder right overhead.

I flinched and began to tremble.

“I TOLD YOU! I FUCKING TOLD YOU!”

The ground then quaked, over and over, like bolts of lightning were striking close by, and each one whipping up the air in cool powerful draughts. My legs shuddered out from under me and I fell over onto my front, my face pressed against carpet fibers like a sea of thick ropes. There were clumps of dirt and lint buried amidst the strands that were bigger than my head.

“YOU BRING HIM BACK RIGHT NOW!”

Four massive titanic skyscrapers were moving down on me. I screamed, convinced I was about to be crushed. But they miraculously stopped short. The closest skyscrapers ended in a pair of sneakers; each as big as a multi-storey house.

Remy’s shoes.

Another couple of objects were a similar sized pair of feminine sandals. Jennifer’s shoes.

“PLEASE, MADAM, LET ME THINK. HE CAN’T HAVE DISAPPEARED, HE WAS RIGHT…OH…”

The nausea in my stomach came to a head and I violently threw up on the ground. I was smaller…

Much smaller.

I couldn’t be more than half a centimeter. I was the size of a grain of rice. Another way of putting it; if I was standing side by side with me at my previous size, I could’ve held my current size in the palm of my hand. And I had been the size of a mouse previously. This was really bad – positively insane. I could not live at this size. I could not exist at this size.

All of these thoughts were swirling around my head when I heard a huge voice rumble overhead:

“OH MY GOD…”

I craned my neck up to see Jennifer looking down right where I was. She was an Everest of human flesh and clothing, and a mountainous waterfall of ropeish hair. Her freakishly big form collapsed down onto her knees – like huge upside down hills in their own right – positively dwarfing my negligible form. I couldn’t imagine what I looked like to her. I must have been so small my face would have been a dot.

Her gargantuan face peered down at me with an expression of astonishment; how I imagined someone would look if an ant suddenly began talking to them.

“JERRY…?”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. A thrill of fear lashed through me. Rationality melted out of my brain until there was just pure animal panic left. Suddenly I was sprinting like I’d gotten an electric shock.

“HE’S TRYING TO RUN!” exclaimed Remy’s booming voice. “QUICK! BEFORE WE LOSE HIM!”

He’d only just finished speaking when a deep, dark shadow began spreading over the ground where I was. No matter how fast I ran, or where I headed, it was expanding out around me even faster, like an inkblot growing on a napkin. I flicked my gaze up to see what looked like a padded roof falling down on my head, but a roof comprising of a leathery expanse of wrinkles and creases. The shape divided into five long objects like heads of hydra, the flat faces of which were distinguished by swirling or concentric ridges, each capped on the opposite side with a huge plate of shiny armor. But it was not a foreign monster. It was flesh that I knew almost like my own body, except now it was leagues bigger than my body. I was so small that a single one of those fingerprints was over twice my height.

Those long pale hydra bowed their necks around me. Then the world went dark. I felt myself pressed between two padded, ridged surfaces and tried to scream, but there was no air in my lungs. I was completely entombed between the surfaces, with no part of me sticking out. I had an impression of rising a dizzying number of floors – more floors than accommodated by the tallest building in the world.

Then the surfaces peeled away, just enough to allow some light through. Now my face stuck out, while much of my body was still contained within.

Heat blasted in my face as if a furnace door had been opened in front of me. I blinked, my eyes burning, but I couldn’t even rub them because my arms were still trapped at my sides.

A pair of enormous green eyes were fixed on me; each close to the size of a car. I could see myself reflected in their gleaming convex surfaces, my terrified face hopelessly dwarfed, a mere speck – almost completely lost – between the humungous thumb and finger pad pressed in on either side of my face. Each time those gleaming orbs blinked, two fans of black spikes swatted the air rapidly.

There was another blast of heat like a powerful desert wind which caused a defensive sheen of sweat to instantly break out on my body. I winced. 

The vast empty space surrounding me echoed with the thunderous parody of Jennifer’s voice, in a mixture of triumph and relief:

“GOT HIM.”