She wasn't very tall, but she was lanky, with broad shoulders made to look wider by short, messy hair, and she was freckled all over, her face, arms, even legs, creating a chaotic, but not unpleasant, beige and brown halftone pattern from her eyes to at least her ankles. Her feet I wasn't sure of at first, since she trudged over in ratty tube socks and slide sandals, our initial meeting no greater than her flopping heavily on the couch next to me.

            I had been sitting in the dorm lounge, trying and failing to remember what assignments I had to complete, it being midway through my second semester in college, and my short-term memory inexorably tainted in a fog of skunky smoke, when her round butt in red dolphin shorts passed in front of the television, obliterated any possible train of thought I had, and found its way onto the neighboring cushion.

            “You into softball?” She asked, quiet in a way that I wasn't entirely sure if she was talking to me.

            “Uh, yeah.” I lied, immediately caught up in the pied pattern of her legs. I hadn't actually been watching the game, it was just flickering lights. At the time I'm not even sure if I knew the rules, who was playing, if our college even had a team.

            “Cool, me too. I'm on the junior team.” She said.

            “Cool.” I replied, trying not to be too obvious about my wandering eyes, but ultimately unable to look away from those ropy legs crossing, uncrossing, crossing back, strong ankles rolling, crotaline toes wriggling.

            “We just had practice,” She said, probably noticing my stare, and sliding off her sandal to lazily turn her darkened sock towards me, “I'm beat, and I bet my socks stink. Wanna check for me?”

            “What?” I looked at her incredulously.

            “Just kidding!” She smirked and shifted in her seat, allowing her shoulder to bump up against mine, “I'm Rachel, by the way.”

            “Ah, I'm Koji.” I said.

            “Nice to meet you, Koji.” She said, and I nodded, too confused to respond in kind. We watched the screen for a bit longer in a quiet dotted with occasional responses that I tried to mirror. Finally, a pitch, a swing, a celebration for the away team. She stood and turned.

            “If you're into softball, why don't you come out to our game Saturday?” She asked, adding, “It's part of our warmup tourney.”

            “Uh...” I wracked my addled mind for any plans I had made.

            “Sounds like you're free. You know where the field is, right?” She asked.

            “Yeah, I think so.” I said.

            “Awesome. Root for me, okay?” She smirked again, perhaps a telltale sign of her impishness, “I'll catch you around, I've gotta get started on my pre-calc work.”

            “Pre-calc? What are you majoring in?” I asked.

            “Oh, who cares?” She winked and walked off, leaving me beyond lost, my only lodestar that generous rear nearly waving goodbye as it trotted away. Wait, did I have math work to do? I should check my notebook, maybe I wrote it down, I thought. Instead, I walked outside, smoked until my brain was empty, and fell asleep reading the one book I had that wasn't required for a class.

            The metal bleachers were cold against my legs. It was early March and though the sun was beginning to tear through the cloudy, lagging grasp of winter, it wasn't quite spring just yet. Still, watching our college's heretofore unknown softball team filled me with a sort of warmth. School pride? No way. My diploma wouldn't currently be coffee stained and stashed in a storage locker if I ever felt anything akin to school pride. It was just nice to see lithe bodies swinging, running, diving, squatting at the knees, stretching their polyester over bubble shaped, athletic glutes. This wasn't pride, no, it was naked desire.

            But seeing Rachel get up to bat, knock a ball into the gap between outfielders, or dive for a catch from second base, impressed on me something different. A little jump felt in the center of my chest. 'Cheer? Fear? Who knows. Wait, is she wearing the same socks as yesterday? No, that can't be right. God, she looks good in those pants. Did she know I was here? Should I call out or something? I wonder if I can smoke here. Will they kick me out? Did I submit my essay? God damn, she looks good.'

            Racing thoughts, of course. Followed by the expected self-defacement, a guaranteed encore, putting myself back in my place, or so I figured. Nevertheless, as Rachel stood outside the batter's box at her next at-bat, she glanced through the crowd, gaze finally falling and stopping on me. She pointed at me and smiled that lopsided smirk. An accusation or a salutation? She stepped into the chalk square, tensed her muscles, slid her cleat through the dirt, and rocketed the lofted ball past the fences and into the parking lot: a walk-off home run.

            “Hey!” She caught me outside the stadium, where I'd ostensibly stopped to smoke, but where I'd really been hoping she'd appear and spot me loitering. The green pinstripes of her uniform, bulging slightly at her curves, made her look taller, but she was still the same height as me.

            “Hey.” I said, trying to act casual.

            “I'm so glad you came out. Did you see that hit? It was like I had jet fuel in my arms.” She said.

            “Yeah, that was incredible.” I said.

            “You have to come to the next one, now.” She said.

            “I do?” I asked.

            “Of course!” She flipped her arms up for emphasis, “You're good luck, obviously.”

            “I am?”

            “Well, you saw what happened.” She said, “And you don't let go of luck like that. You need to come Tuesday. It's a night game.”

            “Sure, why not?” I said, not at all knowing if I had a late class on Tuesdays. It didn't matter, it's not like I went anyway.

            “Awesome, I've needed a charm like you. I think I used up all the luck in these.” She stretched out her leg and motioned to her sock.

            “What?” I looked down and then back up to her.

            “My lucky socks. Won my first divisional in these. But at practice they've been doing nothing. Then you show up, and pow! I'm knocking them out of the park.”

            “Aha, I see...” I looked down again. They were definitely the same socks as last time.

            “Probably for the best, these could stand up on their own.” She smirked.

            “What does that mean?” I asked, taking the last drag on my cigarette.

            “It means they're dirty. You don't wash lucky socks, that's bad juju, duh.” She said.

            “Oh, ew.” I said without thinking, immediately regretting it, and dropping the yellowed filter on the ground.

            “Don't worry, you can still shower though.” She said, unfazed, before looking down to my litter, “Oh, let me get it.”

            She lifted her dirty cleat and managed to pin the butt under the toe, effortlessly twisting it into shreds of orange paper and spent tobacco. I watched, strangely captivated by the precision of her step, extinguishing my little funeral pyre beneath her shoe like a public execution. She caught me staring and playfully tapped the front of my shoe with hers.

            “Okay, Koji, let's go celebrate.” She said.

            “You don't do that with the team?” I asked.

            “Usually, yeah, but they're going to this restaurant I hate.” She said, “So, let's go get mozzarella sticks, I know a great place. Let me just run to the locker room and change, wait here, okay?”

            “S-sure.” I stuttered. Actually, I didn't want to go, I wanted to come up with an excuse, I wanted to run screaming and hide under a heated blanket. Not that I didn't want to spend time with Rachel, don't get the wrong idea, but I had not mentally prepared myself for something that felt awfully similar to a date. So why did I say yes? The answer is something that was true then and is true now: I am a complete pushover. And back then, especially then, particularly then, I was just driftwood to Rachel's ocean of confidence.

            So, we went out for mozzarella sticks.

            They were a lot better than the microwave kind I was usually stuck with. Rachel insisted on paying, which she said I had earned, but which I silently interpreted as her making clear her intentions. Can't be a date if the guy doesn't pay, right? Well, turns out that's not true, but I didn't learn that until later. Regardless, we ate our food, talked small talk, watched a bit of whatever on the tavern's television. Normal college kid stuff, probably.

            I learned that she was the middle twin of a big family out east, that she had a softball scholarship but didn't know what she wanted to do with her life yet, that she played tennis and took martial arts classes when she had time, and a dozen other factoids I eagerly memorized. She learned that I was an English major with a nicotine addiction, that I spent too much time alone, too much time high, and too much time not going to class. No point in not being honest, right? If I scared her off, then I wouldn't be able to mess it up later: a perfect game plan for the hopeless or resigned. Or depressed, a therapist would later suggest.

            We walked back to the dormitory afterward, me shivering from the cooling air and trying to hide it, and her not seeming to notice the temperature at all. I finished another cigarette just as we walked up to the door. There was a disposal post there, what I occasionally called a camel hump, but I didn't push my dog-end into it. Instead I flicked it to the ground, a little shower of embers, and watched.

            On cue, Rachel hovered her foot over it, thick soled skater shoes, all black, slower this time it seemed, or was that just my rising heartbeat, and squeezed it flat against the pavement, this time simultaneously scraping and kicking her foot back, leaving a smear of dark ash a few inches long, remainder of the filter pinwheeling away. I self-consciously snapped my attention up, hoping my fascination wasn't obvious again, but she was already looking at me, dark eyes probing my probably flushed face.

            We took the elevator up to our floor in silence. I was sure I had completely screwed up, so when she told me to come hang out in her room, I nearly choked.

            “Feel free to sit anywhere, my roommate is never here anyway.” She said, sitting on her desk chair. I gingerly took a seat on the edge of a bed, not sure whose, and glanced around not wanting to disturb anything. Cork board covered in random paper ephemera, small stacks of textbooks, a TV that was probably once white but was now ivory yellow, all and all, an entirely normal atmosphere that I hadn't entirely expected.

            If I had wanted to run away scared before, I was now past the point of fleeing terror. Fight? Flight? Please. I was on to the freeze portion of the four F's, and if something didn't change, I'd be fainting sometime soon.

            “Woo, that feels good.” She called, popping off one sneaker, then the other. The bottoms of her socks were nearly black now. She pulled those off too, flexing toes that were dirty with the orange dirt of the softball field. With a flourish she launched the long socks into the shadowy corner of her overflowing closet, “Don't need those anymore.”

            “Ah, right.” I said absently, having watched the entire act like it was a stage show.

            “Beer?” Rachel asked, popping open the mini-fridge and offering me a Pabst without looking.

            “Sure, thanks.” I said, grabbing it and cracking the tab. I actually didn't like beer all that much, especially not the cheap stuff, but I was now so far between the shores I had no choice but to paddle forward.

            “Nothing like a cold beer after a game.” She said, gulping a mouthful. She burped loudly, and I couldn't help but laugh. Who was this bizarre tomboy, and how did she end up like this? How did I even end up here?

            “You smoke?” I asked, and pulled something pre-rolled out of my pack of Marlboros.

            “Oh, hell yeah.” She grinned.

            Two more beers and a shared joint later, we were sprawled out on the ground, my legs up on her mattress, hands behind my head, her body spread out, left knee barely brushing my hair. Her tinny radio was playing a Bangles song, though we were hardly listening.

            “You've never been there?” She asked, incredulous.

            “I don't get out much.” I approximated a shrug.

            “Well, I'll have to take you, it's a real trip.” She said.

            “No complaints.” I smiled, feeling relaxed, maybe even confident, for the first time in a while. Underage drinking and smoking illicit substances: no better combination for courage. What, you knew I wasn't a D.A.R.E. officer already, right?

            “You have any weird skills?” She asked.

            “Weird skills? Like what?” I responded.

            “You know, being double jointed, doing a super loud whistle, that sorta thing.” She said.

            “Uh...” I thought hard, staring at the popcorn ceiling, “I can wiggle my ears, if I try hard enough.”

            “Really? Let me see.” She said.

            “Okie doke.” I swung around and sat up with my legs folded. Pushing my fluffy hair back a bit, I tried to engage muscles I hadn't thought of since grade school, feeling eventually the slight push and pull of my ears.

            “That's kind of cute, actually.” She said.

            “Thanks?” I wasn't sure how to take that comment, “What about you?”

            She didn't initially respond, but I watched her eyes look off somewhere distant, and I could swear she even blushed for a moment.

            “Well...” She said slowly, “It's pretty weird.”

            “Weirder than ear wiggling?” I asked.

            “Oh, a hundred times weirder than that.” She said.

            “So? What is it?” I asked.

            “You sure you want to know?” She retorted.

            “I've been pretty clear, I think.” I said.

            “Fine.” She said, “I can shrink people.”

            “Fuck off, you cannot.” I shot, “Seriously, what's your weird talent?”

            “I'm not kidding.” She sat up, leaning back on extended arms.

            “Oh, come on, like in that movie?” I asked. Was she not kidding?

            “I guess, but I don't need a machine.” She said.

            “I don't believe it.” I said.

            “I'll prove it.” She said, sitting up further.

            “How? Who are you going to shrink?” I asked.

            “You.” She smirked. That moment, her messy blonde hair, her twisted up lips, her dark eyes gleaming, her hand reaching forward, her legs, long, shifting somewhere behind me, her freckles everywhere at once, all of it was burned into my memory like a bas relief in glittering bronze. You could smash my head open with a broadsword and blend my brain matter into wine; you'd still see that image staring back at you.

            “Shrink,” She said.

            And I did.

            If you've never been through it, I probably can't explain the process of shrinking in any meaningful way. Everything gets bigger around you, but you initially don't, or maybe even can't, perceive yourself as the thing that's changing. The room just explodes out like a stadium, the gravity makes your stomach leap up to your eyeballs, even the air seems to change to something thicker, harder to inhale, though perhaps that's just the adrenaline. It feels like falling, to the point that I immediately kicked back and tried to catch myself, but you can't stop yourself from slamming into the ground if you're already on it.

            And if someone else is there with you? Holy shit.

            I watched Rachel stretch out into a titan, deforming like a cartoon. Her legs, so close before, skewed, flew away, raised up like roof beams made of cypress, over my head, casting a shadow like night falling on fast-forward. Her hips, her torso, those amazingly broad shoulders, all skipped off into the distance, that quirky, gold haircut becoming a strange, fuzzy halo. It was the purest depiction of awe, in the biblical sense of the word, awe that impressed both reverence and dread. 'Be not afraid' said the angel to Zachariah, and all that.

            I stood and stared, for what felt like an hour, after the process had slowed to a halt. I stared at the room. I stared at Rachel. I stared at my hands. I sat back down, unable to process any of it.

            “Is this real?” I muttered.

            “It's real alright. Told you.” Rachel's voice was like a klaxon. I looked up at that massive, distant face, all sarcasm and superiority, and pulled my knees to my chest.

            “How.” It wasn't a question, so I didn't say it like one.

            “Who knows?” Rachel said, “I'm going to move, okay? Don't freak out.”

            Yeah, right. Have the Statue of Liberty or Big Ben suddenly start moving around next to you and then you can tell me not to freak out. Regardless, Rachel leaned forward and pulled her legs back and, perhaps mirroring my movements, wrapped her arms around her knees which were now pressed into her chest. She hovered over me now, looking down, that gleam in her eyes still visible despite the contre-jour lighting.

            “This can't be real.” I said. Rachel was too big to look at all at once. I could pan up to her celestial head or down to her dirty, earthbound toes, now not far from me and wiggling like dancing boulders, but I could not see both at once.

            “Wanna check?” Rachel said, sliding one foot forward, her massive toes now suddenly in front of me. Her big toe was as tall as I was, maybe an inch taller. Well, not an inch, but you know what I mean. I reach out a hand and pressed it into her skin. Incredible. Soft, but firm, an unripened avocado with a slick, smooth peel. Her toe bobbed a little in response to my touch and I stepped back reflexively. All five drummed a quick beat. A heavy wave of their smell washed over me, the spoor of thrashing feet and athletic prowess.

            “Convinced?” She asked, peeking over her knees.

            “Yeah.” I said.

            “God, my feet are so dirty.” She said, scrunching her toes again. Thick pieces of orange dirt, pressed into pebbles by her sweat and her weight, fell to the carpet. Could she even see specks that small? What did they look like? What did I look like, from all the way up there on Mount Olympus?

            “They are.” I said, not knowing what else to do but agree.

            “You could fit right into those gaps.” She laughed, spreading her toes, “Want to do me a favor and clean in there?”

            Her foot skidded forward again, surrounding me with thick walls of dirty flesh. I knew she was kidding, I knew it was a joke, or at least I was reasonably sure, but while the normal response would have been to back away, I ended up stepping forward. My motivations, as obscure and mysterious as a distant planet, drove me further into the crease until I was standing immediately in front of her interdigital fold. I reached my hand out again: soft, moist rubber with a patina of dirt. I heard Rachel titter as she pulled her foot back to its initial position, leaving me stranded in the vast expanse of the floor again.

            “Wow, dude. Wow.” I looked up to see her face framed by splayed knees, “I used to force my brother in between my toes, and you just walked right in. I was kidding, you dork.”

            I shrugged in response, wanting to ask about her brother, but honestly, I was a little scared to do so.

            “So, what, you really want to clean between my toes?” She asked, crossing her legs under her.

            “No, no...” I said lamely.

            “Hm.” Rachel didn't sound convinced, “Well, whatever. Hey, you getting tired?”

            “A bit.” I said, though the entire bizarre experience had actually left me exhausted.

            Rachel stretched back, craning her neck to look at something, legs suddenly shooting over my head so quickly I ducked like I was being shot at.

            “Ugh, it's late. I didn't realize how much time we spent talking.” She said.

            “Is it?” I asked.

            “It's almost 2.” She said, her legs flying back over me, “Guess I should let you go.”

            She stood up, but when you're an inch tall it isn't nearly as simple as that. Her body unfolded, great moving parts the envy of mechanical engineers, a Bagger 288 with no oil, no electricity, just mozzarella sticks and willpower. She shot into the sky and stayed on the ground at the same time, her head a blue tinted mirage, miles away, barely even visible behind the rest of her body, and her legs sequoias, thick and rooted and terrifyingly close. She put her hands on her hips and bent forward slightly, an inverted bascule bridge, stared down from space, and smirked that suggestive smirk.

            Her foot lifted over me, probably no big deal for her, but for me it was a semitrailer, twice as wide, being dangled over my head. She wriggled her toes, showering me in flecks of dirt, and then began to step, reddened sole, soft with sweat, bearing down on me like a breaching sperm whale. I wanted to run, but my legs were locked tight, my sympathetic nervous system choosing freeze over flight yet again. Even if I could run, I'd never be able to make it out from the shadow of this god-like tomboy, and yes, I mean that both literally and figuratively. I felt my whole body flush, my breath become a whisper, my knees buckle, leaving me prone and spread, the perfect observer to my own demise.

            And then she stepped next to me: a magnitude two earthquake, half a ton of dynamite going off in my face, heavy shift of her scent falling over me like a wet blanket.

            “Kidding!” She said.

            I couldn't even begin to form a response.

            “Okay, time to grow up.” She said, and before I knew what was happening my body was stretching out, the room shrinking, Rachel quickly shifting back into a size and shape more familiar, but not necessarily more desired. I shakily stood up, not entirely sure of myself or my surroundings. Rachel's eyes met mine, same height again.

            “Jeez.” was all I could sputter out.

            “It's crazy, right?” She said.

            “Yeah.” I said.

            “So, I'll see you Tuesday?” She asked, adding jokingly, “Mr. Lucky Charm.”

            “Tuesday, yeah.” I said.

            “Wanna meet up beforehand?” She asked, opening the door for me.

            “Okay, sure.” I said.

            “Cool, swing by at like 5, we can go together.” She said.

            “Sounds great.” I said.

            “Awesome. G'night Koji.” She said through the closing door.

            “Night.”

            I should have just gone to bed, and I was definitely tired enough to do so, but instead I sat outside and chain smoked until I didn't have any cigarettes left, replaying the events of the night over and over and over and over. Rachel's face, Rachel's legs, Rachel's feet, Rachel's freckles, all on a nonstop loop, brain surrounded by a thick fog now, the excessive smoke and nicotine making me feel like I was spinning in a teacup.

            Dry hacking and drained to my limit, I flopped into bed not bothering to take off my clothes. In the twilight before I fell asleep, those odd motivations had their say more clearly: I needed to have Rachel shrink me again.

            The following days were torture: boredom, procrastination, empty headed conversations, class ignored, bus stops missed, meals uneaten, sleep useless and ruthless and toothless. The world felt like a copy made three times over, thin, insubstantial. Nothing seemed to compare with my experience that night, nothing even seemed real. I folded my thoughts back onto themselves, worrying about obsessing too much, being too entangled, succumbing too early to a one-date crush. Still though, I could not stop thinking about her.

            Tuesday at five o'clock exactly, I stood in front of Rachel's door, feeling again that instinctual desire to hit the eject button. Not this time though, not after Saturday. I rapped with my knuckles and she quickly appeared in the threshold.

            “Hey!” She smiled, immediately putting me at peace, that easy grin both the infecting agent and the antibiotic.

            “Hey.” I tried to play it cool, but I was probably blushing.

            “Come on in, I'm just watching TV.” She led me inside.

            “Cool, cool. Do you do stretches or warmups or anything before a game?” I asked.

            “Usually when I get there, with the rest of the team.” She sat in her chair and put her feet up on the desk, dusty this time, but not muddy like the last.

            “Ah, makes sense.” I said, finding my previous spot on the corner of her bed. The television was chattering away with some syndicated sitcom I couldn't be bothered to place.

            “Sometimes I roll a tennis ball under my arches before I go, though. It's like a little massage, gets blood flowing early so my shoes don't tighten up over the game.” She explained.

            “Interesting.” I tried to not imagine those long feet gently deforming a ball, rolling it back and forth, coating it in whatever she'd picked up or sweat out that day, but I was clearly never any good with mental discipline.

            “It kinda sucks with this night game, I'm gonna miss Jeopardy.” She said.

            “You like Jeopardy?” I asked, honestly a little surprised.

            “Sort of?” She shrugged, looking over to me, “Like, I'm not good at answering the questions or anything, but I used to watch it with my sister all the time. She was a trivia pro, especially the history stuff, so I guess it just reminds me of her.”

            “That's sweet.” I said.

            “Yeah, that's me, sweet as honey.” Rachel rolled her eyes, “Sweet as vinegar, more like.”

            “Could your sister...you know, the thing?”  I asked, ignoring what, in retrospect, may have been Rachel seeking a compliment, punctuating my question by pinching my index finger and thumb together.

            “Yeah, she could, my little sister could, even my mom could.” Rachel said.

            “Wow.” I replied, “So you've been small before too?”

            “We couldn't do it to each other, just to other people.” Rachel said, “Chelsea once described it like...something about magnetic poles? And a guy named Kucher or Kircher? I wasn't paying attention, honestly.”

            “So only your brother...” I trailed off.

            “Couldn't shrink people?” She finished for me, “Or would get shrunk?”

            “Both?” I asked.

            “Yeah, both. Sometimes punishment, sometimes we were just bored.” She said, nostalgic chuckle following, “We were probably too hard on him back then. But we were kids, you know? Maybe we were just working through our own shit.”

            “Hm.” I tried to imagine that situation, three sisters who could shrink me with a thought, but it was too much for my enfeebled brain.

            “Well, whatever, the past is in the past.” She said. I nodded in dumb concurrence.

            We watched a bit more of the show, making fun of it occasionally, while I tried not to stare at her flicking toes.

            “Alright, let's get moving. Just need to make sure I have everything.” She said, riffling through her gym bag, “Cleats, check, pants, check, top, check, glove, check, compression shorts, check...what else?”

            “Socks?” I said helpfully, but probably too quickly.

            “Right, new socks.” She said, opening a drawer and moving a handful of fabric into the bag, “There, that should do it. Let's go!”

            We hopped the campus bus to the field, pleasantly chatting like we'd known each other forever. Some connections are just like that, and when I wasn't being distracted by her body, she was really quite easy to talk to. Upon arriving, Rachel left for the locker room. I waited outside for a while, smoking, thinking, obsessing, but I was soon enough in the stands, same cold bleachers, same fans, same athletes. Only big difference I could see was Rachel's two-toned socks, white and green, stripe up the side.

            The visitors, a local team who played a yearly scrimmage tournament with our school, knocked out a homerun early, bringing three runners home. Slowly but surely, through small ball, sacrifice flies, strategic bunts, Rachel and her teammates bridged the gap, getting one over on their opponents by the end of the sixth inning. Final chance to breach the surface, the away team put two runners on, one out, full count, and then launched a fireball line drive towards center field. It never made it there, however. Rachel, like an acrobat, like a seasoned cat, lunged, caught the bounce, jumped and twirled, flung the ball to first and managed to back-pedal enough to catch the return throw: a double play to win the game.

            Two games, two wins, both derived from Rachel's incredible athletic skill. If she wasn't on the way to being the MVP, then the fix was absolutely in.

            As for me, I clapped when it seemed appropriate throughout the game, even stood during some tense moments, but overall felt too embarrassed to take part in the chants, the songs, and the waves. Despite my reluctance, however, after that incredible, final play, I was on my feet, hands up, cheering with the rest of the throng. Jumping up and down, surrounded by her team, Rachel's shining eyes still managed to pick me out of the crowd.

             “Did you see that?!” Rachel shouted, finding me outside. Deja vu.

            “I saw that! It was amazing! You're amazing!” I was uncharacteristically enthusiastic, though I wonder now if it's even characteristic if the trait is actually a mask.

            “And you're good luck!” She said, “Come on, I've gotta introduce you to the team.”

            “Wait, what?” I said, but it was too late. She had grabbed my wrist and was dragging me towards the locker room. I tried to pull away briefly, but Rachel was insistent, and irrevocably strong. Past the stares of crowd goers and workers alike, I was pulled to a pair of big double doors, one of which my drover kicked open.

            “Yo crew, this is the guy! The lucky one!” Rachel called to the team, none of whom, I was simultaneously comforted and disappointed, were yet undressed. A few said hello, some just waved, most seemed friendly, but I distinctly heard someone mumble 'Kind of dorky, huh?'

            “His name is Koji, he's cool, so be nice.” Rachel scolded.

            “Okay, no going out tonight, some of you have class tomorrow, and if you're grades slip, you're done! But...let's have one for the road!” Their pitcher and captain, a tall senior with long brown hair, shouted, holding up a half-full thirty-rack of Miller High Life. Champagne of beers? Not very likely, that stuff tasted like bubbly piss, but I still joined in on a group toast. Oh, what we do to feel included.

            They chanted the spirit chant, fight song, whatever you call it, stomped their cleats practically clean, leaving a pile of dirt clods strewn all over the floor, smashed cans together, and downed them like water. Several belches erupted from the team, the loudest, of course, Rachel's, arms splayed out like she was sending the sound straight up to god.

            We all giggled like kids, and Rachel tugged on my arm, motioning with her chin that it was time to go.

            “Aren't you going to...?” I signaled towards the lockers.

            “I'll just change when I get back to the dorm. C'mon, let's catch the bus.” She said, and so we did.

            She got a few looks, all decked out in her uniform, and the occasional compliment or 'good game,' from our fellow passengers. By the time we made it back home it was a hair past midnight. I figured I'd be heading back to my room, but Rachel pulled me by the arm again, getting quite effective at leading me like a horse, and we were quickly through her door.

            She stretched, looking a bit tired, but I figured she had me in here for a reason, so I didn't remark on it. With no ceremony at all she unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her pants, and let them both drop to the floor.

            “Whoa!” I near shouted, jumping back as though she just revealed a gun. In reality, she had only revealed compression shorts, dark with sweat, “Oh. Uh, never mind.”

            “Real smooth.” She snarked, stepping out of her clothes, rolling her eyes, and taking a seat at her desk, lifting her legs directly in my line of sight. Now her undressing was slow, like a ritual, but it wasn't her shorts or her shirt that went off. The toe of one cleat pulled off the heel of its partner, and then vice versa. Smoothly, Rachel slid both off, leather softly clattering to the floor, revealing what she had apparently been hiding the entire time.

            Her socks weren't socks at all: stirrups over leg warmers, giving the perfect illusion of long athletic socks from the ankles up, but masking the fact that Rachel had basically played the entire game discalceate. Her feet were wet, toes coated in the diamond's dirt again, the smell was noticeable at a distance, and she flexed them roughly and purposefully. Staring at them like a holy relic, for a moment too long, and finally passing my gaze along to her cheery, flushed face, I knew I had to tell her.

            “Iwanttoyoushrinktoshrinkyoumeagain.” Which is how it sounded when both of us spoke simultaneously. Allow me to translate:

            “I want you to shrink me again.” I said.

            “I want to shrink you again.” She said, at exactly the same moment.

            You couldn't get a better pair on The Dating Game.

            “You, I, what? Why?” I barely stuttered out.

            “Um, duh, why wouldn't I want to shrink you?” Rachel shrugged, pulled her legs off the table, and stood, stepping closer so that we were face-to-face, “But why do you want to be shrunk?”

            “I have...no idea.” I turned my head away slightly, uncomfortable in her direct gaze, “But I know I want to be.”

            “Hm...” Rachel mused, “But, what if you don't like it?”

            “I think I will.” I said, as confident as I could muster.

            “Okay, but tell me if you don't. You have to. I don't want to actually hurt you.” She said.

            “Should we have a, you know, what do you call it...?” I trailed off.

            “A safeword?” She said.

            “Yeah, that.” I said.

            “How about the safeword is armadillo.” She smiled, “No way that'll come up otherwise.”

            “Sounds good.” I laughed, but it was a little trill, betraying my excited anxiety (or was it anxious excitement).

            “One last thing before we do this...” She said.

            “Uh, sure.” I said.

            “Kiss me.” She reached her long arms around me.

            I did. Electric, like licking a nine-volt battery, explosion of tingles down my body and through my legs, skin immediately flush and clammy. It wasn't my first kiss, but it was the first kiss that felt like this. Rachel's strong hands grabbing at my back, mine grabbing at hers, over that big shoulder, up and tousling that pixie cut just above the neck. She pulled back a second and her head brushed past mine, eyelashes tickling my cheek, as she buried her face in my neck and bit down. Hard. My fingernails left a line down her back, I'm sure, and I moaned in an idiot's tongue. My hand found its way to her ribs, sliding up, just barely grazing her breast before her hand pulled mine away, her face now rising to meet me again.

            “Not just yet,” She cooed.

            “Okay, sorry.” I said.

            “Don't be sorry...” She licked my ear, before whispering into it, “Just shrink for me.”

            It was easier the second time, less confusion, fewer surprises, but the sheer magnitude of the change, the way she stretched over me like a fairy tale beanstalk, the way my neck craned further and further just trying to keep her head in focus, and the way it absolutely could not keep up past a certain point; it all left me breathless. I stared at those spotty legs, polka dots in chaos, and couldn't even begin to speak.

            “Well hey there, Koji-bug.” Rachel said in one long breath, bending to get a better look, “Glad to be tiny again?”

            I nodded, not knowing if she could see the motion.

            “Bet you regret it now.” She smirked, wiggling her toes in my face. I hadn't even noticed at first, but they were right there, taller than last time maybe. Had she made me even smaller? Could she make me smaller?

            “N-no...” I said, breathing in that deep, aching scent.

            “Prove it.” She said, “Kiss 'em.”

            I pressed my lips to her big toe, salty and hot, and in response it flicked me backwards, like getting hit by a plush dump truck.

            “Oops!” She peeped facetiously.

            “Hey.” I said, as though I were upset, which I definitely was not, just playing along.

            “Hey what.” She responded, taking the tiniest of steps forward, still a marvel of nature in the macro scale, “What are you gonna do about it?”

            “I, uh...” Hadn't thought that far ahead, had I?

            “That's what I thought.” She said, lifting her foot on its heel, scooting it forward so the shadow of her dirty sole fell over me, “Maybe I'll just squish you for getting smart.”

            She waited for a moment. Probably, I thought, for me to start screaming armadillo at the top of my lungs. I didn't do that though, seeing the sweaty wrinkles of her feet hover over me, maybe hungry to step down and splatter my guts on the carpet, but then her playful visage barely visible between her toes; I knew that I, for whatever esoteric reason, trusted her. The bottom of her foot grew closer, slowly, deliberately, and didn't veer off this time. It pressed directly down onto my body, immediately knocking the air out of my lungs, only to have them greedily inflate with Rachel's odor, a tincture of sweat and earth, of her tenacity and strength.

            “You lied to me.” She said, pressing down harder, seemingly flattening my tiny body under the soft ball of her foot. Now I couldn't breath and all, and my brain was moving at light speed trying to figure out what I'd lied about. Was she mad? Was this all a trick? Was I actually going to get ground to paste under this massive tomboy? Did she know that I knew that she knew that I didn't know a goddamn thing about sports? Oh, what a reason to die, but what a way, oh what a way!

            “You said you didn't want to clean between my toes, but I know you do.” She finished her thought. I actually laughed, or rather choked humorously, once she had lightened the pressure, at my own histrionics. Her enormous foot slid back and I was in the archway beneath her toes, a cave of wonders barely lit, “So, go ahead, clean them. Stick out your tongue and lick.”

            I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. I stood and threw myself into that crease, arms outstretched, crown of my head barely breaching the surface. I licked like a man possessed, and truly I was one, while Rachel's titanic digits occasionally flexed, squeezing me in the kind of tight embrace I'd only dreamed of. When my tongue dried up, minutes or hours later, I finally peeked up to her, the titan in whose shadow I crept, and saw her forearm deep in her shorts, fingers working overtime.

            “What, are- are you tired already?” Her voiced trembled, breaths heavy, “You're going to have to do better than that to keep up with me.”

            I could taste the humidity in the air, and I again I fell into my work, this time my erection peeling past my fly, rubbing along with my tongue in those tiny, sweat stained furrows. It was embarrassing, but everything about the insane situation coalesced in that moment, and I came like a hose. I fell back, Rachel's toes still twitching and clasping above me, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and over-satisfied.

            “Hey, I'm not done yet.” She crowed, pulling her foot away.

            “S-sorry.” My voice cracked.

            “Just come here.” She said, reaching down and grabbing me in rough fingers, swinging my body up like it was on a gravitron. Three steps in that carnival ride and I was sure that I was going to throw up, but I was quickly deposited at the foot of the bed. Rachel nearly tore off her shirt and shorts and rolled onto the mattress, giving me full view of the soaked panties she'd been working through, heather gray and sensible, like a monument on the horizon, before her bridge tower legs suddenly surrounded me, one shifting to press my unwitting face into the muddy sole of her foot.

            “Keep going.” She said, and I didn't hesitate. Now somewhere under the arch I licked and pressed and kissed and squirmed, mixing our sweat, some strange concoction that erased my refractory period. My bulge grazed her skin again, but she certainly recognized the risk this time and shifted her weight once more, pinning me hard underneath the heavy flesh, leaving me unable to do much but wiggle. These small motions, or perhaps just what they signified, were enough, however. I could feel her muscles contracting in waves, each pushing me deeper into the sheets, building up to a culminating alto high note which escaped from her lips and dwindled with a simultaneous decrescendo of pressure on my weary body. She mindlessly stretched out her leg, bulldozing me nearly off the bed with her rough heel. I laid there on my back, listening to her breath, before she finally recognized what she'd done.

            “Oh! Koji, where are you?” She said between gulps of air.

            “Here, by the corner, I'm okay.” I put up one little arm like I was waving a flag.

            “Jeez, good, sorry I kicked you.” She said.

            “Not the worst thing you did to me tonight.” I said.

            “Pssh, you loved it.” She said, and I could picture that smirk.

            “Shut up.” I said unconvincingly. She snickered in response, before clambering around, a feat which would have been worth recognizing had I not been too tired to look and, laying sideways, rested her blushing face near the end of the bed, like a sunset suddenly falling in front of me.

            “Hey.” She said, eyelids visibly heavy.

            “Hey.” I said.

            “Stay here tonight.” She said.

            “Yeah.” I said.

            She leaned over and kissed me, a full body experience leaving me sticky with her sweet saliva. I wiped from some my eye, and nearly made a sarcastic remark, but she'd somehow already fallen asleep. Moments later, I did too.

            I awoke the next morning full sized, genuinely scared for a moment that I'd dreamed or hallucinated the entire experience, but then there was Rachel, arm over me, head on my chest, drooling a puddle into my dirty t-shirt. I guessed she wanted something bigger to cuddle with during the night, or maybe the shrinking just wore off after a while, no way to know without asking. I laid there for a while, listening to her soft snores, feeling her warmth, her weight, that strong thigh creeping between my comparably skinny ones, and my aching morning wood pitching a tent under the thick duvet.

            Finally she woke up, a weird snort escaping her nose as she braced herself on one elbow, wiping the spit from her lips. I looked at the pool of saliva on my shirt, smiled wryly at her, and imagined for a moment if I hadn't grown back. I could have drowned in that.

            “Sorry, sorry, bad habit.” She mumbled.

            “Yeah?” I shrugged.

            “What time is it?” She asked.

            “Uh, 9.” I said, spying her digital clock.

            “Crap, I have to go to class.” She threw off the blanket and rolled out of bed.

            “I probably do too.” I said, having no idea if that was true.

            “Kay, later Koji.” She said without looking, gathering up toiletries for a shower.

            “Yeah.” I said, watching her for a moment longer before sliding out the door. I walked outside and lit up a cigarette, deep breath of smoke, exhaling a stream of it straight up. Had she seemed upset this morning? Did she regret what happened? Was she just not a morning person? Oh boy, here come the obsessive thoughts again. I took the elevator up, rolled something more relaxing, and came down again. I probably went a little further than necessary, because I soon stumbled to bed and found myself asleep for another three hours.

            Waking up again and now certain I'd missed whatever class I may have had, I showered, dressed, grabbed my notebook, and walked off to a cafe where I'd pretend to be a poet for a while. I must have scrawled out eighty different attempts at a love poem, but all of them hung hollow and trite. I just didn't have the words to describe Rachel. Cup after cup of acidic coffee, breath after breath of rank smoke, bite after bite of stale pastry, I decided finally to throw all of my attempts into the garbage and trudged back to the dormitory.

            Returning by evening, I caught sight of a post-it note on my desk. It read:

               'K,

            Come by after practice, around 7.

                                                -R'

            There was a large, seemingly meaningless blotch in the corner. I looked over at my roommate, who was messily devouring a snack cake, and held up the note.

            “That sporty chick dropped it off earlier.” He said, mouth full of chocolate and cream, eyebrows waggling knowingly, “Gettin' lucky, stud?”

            “Yeah, right.” I said sarcastically, knowing he didn't have a clue how lucky. I looked back at the paper, getting my eye close to that spot. It wasn't a drawn heart or anything like that, just an oblong blot, barely perceptible, uncolored swirl radiating from the center. Almost like a fingerprint...a thumb print...a toe print? Rachel, you goof, did you seriously toe print your note?

            I knocked at 7, and Rachel called me in. She was already undressed from practice, in a long t-shirt and loose athletic shorts. Smiling widely at my entrance, she waved her arm towards me.

            “Hey Koj', come sit down, Jeopardy's about to come on.” She said, desk chair pulled in front of the television.

            “Oh, nice.” I said, sitting on the corner of the mattress.

            “Not there, nerd.” She smirked, pointing to the ground between her legs, “Here.”

            “Uh, okay.” I shrugged, walking over and sitting between her feet. Her legs lifted and hung themselves over my shoulders, using me as kind of a weird ottoman. I quickly felt her long fingers making their way through my hair.

            “Ugh, finally. I've wanted to pet your hair since we met. It's as soft as it looks.” She basically moaned.

            “No complaints here,” I said, her nails working little circles on my scalp that sent tingles down my body.

            “Did you like my note?” She said, wiggling her big toe towards me, stain of permanent marker adorning its tip.

            “It was cute.” I said.

            “I thought so. Here, play with these.” She said, moving her feet closer together in my lap, her cool, soft thighs pressing gently against my ears.

            “You got it.” I smiled, trying to ignore the growing bulge under my jeans, grabbing each of her feet in a hand and rubbing deep with my thumbs. We watched Jeopardy for a while like that, her in her little throne, and me her royal footstool. She continued to run her hands through my hair, occasionally teasing with a little pull or brush against my ears. I worked my fingers around her soles, squeezed and pulled her toes lightly, and once my wrists were too tired to continue, gently caressed all the spots I'd probably licked the previous night.

            “Mmm, right there.” She purred when I hit a sensitive spot, “You are so good at this.”

            “Yeah? I've never done it before.” I said.

            “Guess you're just a natural.” She said.

            “A natural foot-rubber?” I asked.

            “Hey, you said it.” She laughed.

            “Blaaah.” I feigned annoyance.

            “You wanna watch Wheel?” She asked.

            “You just call it Wheel? What are you, forty?” I joked.

            “Oh, shut up, you squeeze toy.” She said, playfully pressing her thighs around my head, “What do you want to do then?”

            “No, no, Wheel is fine. Isn't it over though?” I asked.

            “What? No, it comes on after Jeopardy.” She said.

            “Did they change the schedule?” I asked.

            “No, it always comes on after Jeopardy.” She was incredulous.

            “No, it doesn't.” I said, scooting out from between her legs and turning to face her, “Wheel of Fortune comes on before Jeopardy. Are you crazy?”

            “What are you talking about? It's been this way for like eighty years!” She nearly shouted.

            “It has not!” I retorted.

            “How much you wanna bet?” She asked sharply. I probably should have known not to get the star athlete into a competitive mood, but even arguing with Rachel was fun.

            “I don't know!” The absurdity of that statement combined with the conviction I said it with did a bit to break the tension.

            “Alright...” She mused, sly smile starting at the corner of her mouth, “How about if you win, you get to second base tonight.”

            “Oh!” I didn't expect that, and I'm pretty sure my erection did a backflip.

            “Hmm, interested now, huh?” She asked.

            “What if you win though?” I asked.

            “If I win...” Her grin was nearing dangerously devious territory, “I'm gonna fart on you.”

            “Wh-what?!” my voice cracked. We'd been on a date and a half, how the hell was she already comfortable farting in front of me? On me? Ew, but also, kind of hot? Not the fart but the humiliation, this girl, my maybe girlfriend, was she my girlfriend actually, putting her round butt near me and...

            All of the emotions conveyed by that statement must have passed over my face, because Rachel leaned over to get a better look at me, asking, “Hey, uh, you okay?”

            “Yeah, fine.” I lied.

            “Good. Now, you in?” She flashed her teeth, “Or are you too scared?”

            “No way, let's do this.” I was in too deep to back out now anyway.

            “Shake on it.” She extended her hand down towards me.

            “Done deal.” I shook, hoping she couldn't tell how sweaty my palms were.

            “Great. Let's call the library, they'll know.” She said, picking up her room's phone, before staring at me expectantly, “Hey, uh...do you know their number?”

            “Me? No.” I said stupidly. It took us a few minutes to pore over the college paperwork until we found it.

            “Hello, hi. Yes, could you help me answer a question? Mmhmm, yeah, it's about TV schedules. Has Wheel of Fortune always come on after Jeopardy? No, this isn't for a class it's for a bet. Yeah, okay.” She spoke forcefully into the receiver, looking towards me to mouth that she was on hold.

            “How are they going to find out?” I whispered.

            “I don't know, they probably have every TV guide ever in there.” She whispered back.

            “Every single one, huh? Wonder where they keep them.” I said idly.

            “Oh, yes, I'm still here.” She said into the phone, “Mmhmm. Yeah. Oh? Oh. Oh really? That's...yeah, no, I get it. Okay, okay, thanks. Thank you, good night.”

            She hung up the phone and looked at me confusedly.

            “Uh, so...?” I prodded.

            “Okay, so, apparently it depends on where you live. In some places it comes on before and some places it comes on after.” She said.

            “So...nobody wins the bet?” I shrugged.

            “Somebody has to win....” She appeared to run through her argument in her head before continuing, “And since in some places it comes on before Wheel, that means technically it's always come on before, right? In those places, at least?”

            “That's your argument?” I raised my eyebrows.

            “Do you have a better one?” She asked.

            “Um...” I thought maybe I could counter, but those eldritch desires, distant and unknowable, pecked at my prefrontal cortex, stymieing the process.

            “Yeah?” She smirked, “Don't punk out now, you shook on it, remember? Do you concede?”

            I let out a long, dramatic sigh, “Yes, I concede.”

            “Boom, chalk it! Rachel one, Koji zero! Zip! Nada! Nothin!” She danced in her seat.

            “Wow.” I winced, “Do you have to do that?”

            “Winning isn't fun unless you can rub it in the loser's face.” Rachel said, “And speaking of, I'm going to be rubbing something else in your face pretty soon.”

            “Oh jeez, at least warn me beforehand, okay?” I said.

            “No problem,” She said, clever eyes darting between me and the bed, “But you know what would make it even more fun?”

            “I'm afraid to ask.” I said.

            “If the loser of our bet was actually a little loser.” She grinned.

            “What?” I fell back onto my arms, “N-no way, come on, you didn't say that before.”

            “Too baaa~aaad.” She sang, and I was once again swirling to the bottom of a massive drain, the room shooting up around me like a spike trap. Trickster queen that she was, Rachel stood and took a jaunty step towards me, beaming with competitive pride. Limber fingers snapped around me like a yielding vice, and then, flop, Rachel was laying prone on her bed, giant, freckled face grinning down triumphantly at my tiny body.

            “Might not be able to hear you once you're between my cheeks.” Those monolithic teeth snapped, “Anything you wanna say before your trip?”

            She was, I think, probing for our safe word again. Some part of me, of course, wanted to throw myself back and scream it like a warding invocation, and another part of me really, truly did want to be humiliated by this beautiful girl, but perhaps the strongest voice tugging at my vocal chords was the one that wanted to impress Rachel by proving I'd stick to my word. Call it dumb, and you'd be right to, but that's where I was. I shook my head 'no.'

            “Wow.” She said, “Alright then, get ready.”

            With that her hand closed around me, inverted so that I fell into pinched fingers, and transported me like an excavator clamp over her butt. I peeked past the crease of her finger and thumb and watched her wiggle off her shorts, revealing that perfectly round rear, barely constrained by black, cotton panties. Her other hand pulled at the elastic band, and I was lowered towards that soft surface like the moon lander. I actually laughed at that moment, knowing that to be doing this the way she was, Rachel would actually have her face pressed into the pillow, no arm support to speak of, struggling to maneuver all these moving parts blind.

            Finally, though, I was deposited in that massive intergluteal cleft, which may as well have been the lip of the Mariana Trench. The massive hand which had been my ship to this strange world transformed, now just one thick finger poking out, and dropped down again, mashing into my face and pushing me into the dark crevice.

            Pressure mounted as I was squeezed tighter and tighter, until finally I was where she wanted me, not that I knew where that was. The finger receded, there was the snap of the waistband, and then the whole landscape shifted as she, I assume, propped up her torso with her newly free arms. The change pushed me elsewhere, up or down who could ever say, but not too much farther in either direction, I thought.

            “There we go. Comfy?” She shook her butt left and right playfully.

            “N-no.” I barely croaked.

            She then shook in the perpendicular directions, back then forward, causing her titanic cheeks to momentarily separate before slapping back together, smashing my body between them.

            “Hm, yeah, can't hear you. It's probably pretty sweaty in there though, so I bet you're loving it.” She laughed, “Oh, I think I've got one coming!”

            I was still stunned from her clap attack, and had no idea how to prepare for the next assault on my senses.

            “Ready or not...” She strained.

            It was like an invisible atom bomb, loud, powerful, hot, and I swear I could feel the shape of the explosions caught on rapatropic cameras expand from Rachel's anus and pass over me in that first second. A hurricane merged with a chemical attack, a cyclone carrying only horror, and oh god the fallout, the reeking, breathless remains that curled around my coughing body like phantasmagorical tentacles from some deep-sea monster. My ears were ringing, my eyes were burning, and my lungs desperately gasped for something resembling breathable air. When I finally could hear again, the only sound echoing in that moist space was Rachel's raucous laughter.

            “Oh my god, I cannot believe I just did that.” She cackled. I felt more shifting, her cheeks bouncing back and forth like balls on a Newton's cradle, and then sudden pressure from above. I thought she was pulling me out, but instead her cotton covered finger pushed me deeper, towards the source of the previous explosion.

            “No, no, no, no, please no.” I moaned, wondering if I might actually die if I were at the epicenter of the next blast. I finally stopped moving, the pressure around my body now much heftier than it was a moment ago. I could feel the heat near my face, and I knew where I must have been.

            “Okay Koji, here's how this works.” Rachel's voice was low and distant, “I'm going to assume you want to stay back there for more unless you give me a signal.”

            I immediately began moving my arms, trying to bang on the walls of flesh, only to be reprimanded by a sharp tutting.

            “No, no,” She said laughing, “The signal that you want out is to give my butt a nice big kiss.”

            I grumbled. Was she really going to make me kiss the ass that had just dominated me entirely? Nothing but far away groans from her bowels answered my thoughts. I shrugged, or approximated one in my strange confinement, struggled to squeeze forward a bit and pushed out my lips, planting exactly one kiss on the slick, wrinkled, bitter sphincter which winked tightly in response.

            “Was that a kiss?” She smarmed, “I couldn't really tell from up here. Maybe use a little tongue.”

            “Oh, come on.” I coughed, but the only response was more greedy twitching from her sulfurous hole. I took a deep breath and stuck my head out again, this time kissing like I was kissing her lips. The coating of sweat and other unforgivable secretions stuck to my face, matting my hair to my forehead, both disgusting and exciting me in the strangest way.

            “Now that's a kiss.” She said, her body moving once again, “Hang on, I'll get you out of there.”

            More shifting, panties stretching, those UFO catcher fingers snagging me by the shirt collar and nearly choking me the whole roller coaster ride back. A sudden swing of inertia, my stomach flopping up to my throat and then down to my nuts, then light, blinding, needling, beautiful light, and Rachel, now on her back, shirt off and underwire-free bralette proudly bared, holding me up like the catch of the day.

            “Since you were such a good sport,” She smiled, not villainous this time, but earnest, “I decided you could maybe slide over to second. Even if you did lose.”

            “I...” Part of me wanted to be pissed, but that chest paint-splattered with spots and the two high beams poking through the cotton covering her perfect little boobs convinced me otherwise, “Okay.”

            “Mm, so come over already.” She snickered, knowing full well she was the only reason I wasn't there yet. Her arm pitched me easily onto her right breast, which had been bared by the opposite hand. A lovely brown nipple, dark like her freckles, and a bumpy areola the color of cream in coffee: a new island to explore on Planet Rachel. I tossed off my shirt and embraced the tightening mound of dense flesh which seemed to shiver in response to my touch. Rachel stretched her head back and sighed happily, her hand beginning similar work on the neighboring mountain.

            I ran my tongue up and down, slid my fingers where they'd fit, and inhaled deeply the soft smell of her sweat, less sharp and fatiguing than the other times she'd introduced me. My aching erection pressed awkwardly into her skin, but I was more careful this time not to get carried away, to prematurely exit this adventure.

            Rachel's sighs became moans as her hand found its way towards her panties. The reverberations from that symphony made their way to me, but I was dedicated to staying where I was and worshiping this new idol. Maybe she just wanted more pressure, maybe she just wanted more control, but in a moment a shadow fell over me, and an enormous pair of fingers pressed me deep into that erogenous zone, undulating my body around in lengthening waves.

            I couldn't help it at that point, now having no control over the stimulation. Rachel had trapped me between herself and herself, and was using me to rub her nipple, which incidentally rubbed me back. I spurted out a wad of milky semen somewhere on her breast, and moments later she climaxed along with a final, lip-biting groan.

            Her hand lifelessly flopped to her side and I laid there, spread eagle, face down, rising and falling with her breaths.

            “Hooo boy...” She said.

            “Mmhmm.” I responded.

            “Didn't plan on that happening tonight.” She said.

            “Yeah?” I asked.

            “Yeah. I was just messing around before, but honestly? Having you in my butt felt a lot better than I expected.” She said.

            “Oh no.” I said.

            “Oh yes.” She smiled, “And next time you're there? More licking.”

            “Can you at least not fart on me?” I said.

            A tinny squeak of a fart escaped from the other side of the bed.

            “No promises.” She tried to stifle her laugh, but couldn't, the shaking in her chest knocking me clear off her breast and onto the sheets. She lazily rolled over and rubbed my entire body with an idle finger, “You're the best toy, you know that?”

            I sighed in response. I wanted to say something, act annoyed, play along more, but Rachel's soft touch was so pleasant in the afterglow that I couldn't do anything but fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

            Since that time, I found myself spending almost every evening with Rachel. It would be repetitive to go over every time that I attended a game, or that we watched TV together, or that I found myself working diligently at her stuffy toes, small or large depending on her mood, but there are certain moments worth recounting.

            Once, I found myself tiny, crawling little ant lion swirls around her bare back, planting desultory kisses on whatever freckle happened to fall in front of me. Rachel sighed happily at each one while perusing a textbook, making sure she was prepared for an upcoming exam. Shimmy, shimmy, kiss, shimmy, shimmy, shimmy, kiss, kiss, shimmy, kiss, in rings from the small of her back to her shoulder blades.

            “Hey, there's a spot here that looks a little weird. You should get it checked out.” I said, coming across a slightly lopsided beauty mark.

            “Where?” She asked.

            “Here.” I jumped up and down.

            “Feels like...my left side, middle of my ribs?” She guessed.

            “More like your oblique.” I said.

            “Really?” She turned her head slightly, “Is it bigger than a pencil eraser?”

            “I...don't think so?” I said, not really sure the best way to measure in my current state.

            “I'll have my doc look at it at my next check-up.” She turned back to her book, “Thanks, Koj'.”

            “You know it.” I planted a kiss on the crooked freckle and kept moving along.

            “The next game we have is an away game.” Rachel said.

            “Oh, really?” I replied, “Where at?”

            She told me the name of the college, which I didn't recognize but pretended to. “It's a weekend game. Do you want to come?”

            “Duh.” I said, “Is there room for me on the bus?”

            “No.” I could hear the smile in her voice, “But there's room in my bag.”

            “A whole weekend tiny?” I asked.

            “Got a problem with that?” She retorted.

            “This isn't like Animorphs, right? I'm not going to get stuck that way?” I asked.

            “Like what?” She asked in return.

            “Animorphs. You never read Animorphs as a kid?” I asked.

            “No. I kind of wish I did read more back then, though.” She said.

            “Never too late to start reading.” I said, “I could lend you some stuff, if you want.”

            “Aw, that'd be great.” She said, “You can get me more into reading, and I can get you more into...I don't know, needlework?”

            “Needlework? You?” I laughed.

            “Hey, star athletes can be into sewing. I can make some killer embroidery designs, you know.” She said.

            “That...” I was going to take another playful jab, but decided against it, “...would actually be pretty cool. I don't even know how to sew a patch.”

            “Cool. And to answer your question, no, you won't get stuck that way.” She said, “Well, not unless I never grow you back.”

            “Okay, good. I think.” I said.

            “Practice soon.” She glanced at her clock, “And since you found me sewing so funny, you're gonna help me prep, c'mere.”

            Her arm twisted behind her back, blindly reaching for me but not coming particularly close.

            “Need help?” I asked.

            “No.” She lied.

            “Okay, I'll just...” I wandered my way over towards her upper spine, a spot I was sure she couldn't reach. Her other hand appeared from the opposite side, both feeling around for my little footsteps. I watched her head shake back and forth, face pushed into the soft mattress, as she continued to grope away.

            “Forget it.” She finally said, pushing herself up by her arms and swinging her legs under, making my floor suddenly become a steep hill. I slid and bounced and landed in a soft pile of sheets, dazed, but still giggling to myself. She turned and snatched me up, carrying me over to the desk, “Now you're really in for it.”

            She slid a drawer open and produced a dirty tennis ball, now more gray than yellow, and smirked down at me.

            “Oh, uh oh.” I peeped.

            “That's right, 'uh oh,'” she said, snagging the tape dispenser as well. Her thick finger pressed me against the furry covering of the ball, thumb pushing over and extending my left arm. I heard the tape rip and her other hand mashed a piece down, holding my arm in place. Her thumb shifted, another rip, another piece of tape, my right arm now incapacitated. Two more repetitions and I was completely restrained. I tugged at my plastic cuffs, but they didn't budge. Scotch tape never felt this tough when I was normal sized, but I supposed a lot of things were stronger than you when you were basically an insect.

            “Hmm...” Rachel admired her handiwork, before extending her finger again, nail scratching against my pants until they tore open, my genitals flopping out like they'd been waiting for this moment, “There, perfect.”

            “Okay, I know what you're thinking.” I tugged at my arms again, “But I feel like I should explain my actions.”

            “Nah, save it.” Rachel said, “In fact, maybe I should put tape over your mouth too.”

            “Uh...” I stammered.

            “Just kidding.” She said, “But the only sound I'd better hear out of you is sniffing. Otherwise you'll be in real trouble, Koji-bug.”

            “Y-yes, miss.” I hung my head dramatically, a quaint mirroring of the direction my penis was pointing.

            “Miss!” She said jovially, grabbing my ball prison and lowering it to the floor, “Now there's a title. Not sure if I like it though, maybe master would be better? Coach? Ooh, what about captain? Do you want to call me captain?”

            “I'd feel like a pirate.” I said.

            “Well, tongue out, matey, you're about to scrub the keel.” She said, and god she was quick witted, I had to give her that.

            “Aye, cap'n.” I said, no slouch myself.

            “Just be glad you're not swabbin' the poop deck.” And with that she lifted one of her barge sized feet and plopped it right on top of me. It was a novel sensation, to say the least, to be rolled around under Rachel's sole. She'd push forward, I'd roll backwards, out from under her toes; she'd pull back, I'd slip beneath her arch, all the while tongue flat like a sponge, dirt sticking whenever Rachel skillfully piloted me into new areas.

            I suppose all that was just the warmup, because then came the pressure. I could feel the tennis ball compressing under me as my own body began to deform, Rachel now greedily working loose her muscles while simultaneously teasing my throbbing member. And lest you think that relentless rubbing was just incidental, it's worth noting that every single time I quivered in preparation for a satisfying conclusion, my podalic warden would engage in a moment of plantar flexion, toes splayed, often right over my face, and heel raised, so no part of that sweating apparatus touched my shaft, which would twitch, beg for release. Once it had calmed down she'd begin again, a brilliant and utterly devastating act that drove me mad in the most nectarous way. She could have asked me to do anything at that moment, she could have asked me to break any taboo, I would have done it if it meant she'd let me come.

            She didn't, of course, ask me for anything. She switched to her other foot without comment, new sweat, new dirt, same unending undulations beneath her sole, toes wriggling over my mouth and nose, ball flattening me like paper, arches a respite in name only, rough heel scraping like sandpaper, all the while the occasional flex kept me in the throes of aching and unending anticipation.

            “Okay, nice and loose.” She said after what could have been an hour, my sense of time completely eroded by her powerful feet, “Time to get going.”

            She stood and began checking her gym bag for all the essentials, before slipping on her running shoes and walking towards the door.

            “Uh, hey! Are you just gonna leave me like this?” I desperately called after her, struggling again against my shackles.

            “Oh, right, I knew I forgot something.” She spun back around, knowing smile playing across her lips. She knelt down and picked up the tennis ball, which was now matted and damp, and gave me a villainous grin, “I know just where to keep you.”

            “W-wait, you're not-” I started.

            “Nope! You're just gonna hang out until I come back.” She said, grabbing something beyond my line of sight, “I don't want you to get bored though, so you can stay in here.”

            With that she turned me around and I found myself facing the gaping maw of an old skater shoe. I could see the imprint of her foot deep within, size and brand rubbed clean away from her steps, and could taste the salty air which seemed to emanate from that cavern. She lowered me and my modern pillory into the opening, the ball being just large enough to sit atop, leaving me suspended in darkness and thick, musky air, St. Andrew's crucifixion in tape, rubber, and sweat. I heard her happily hum to herself, a fading melody that ended with the close of the door and the click of the lock. Like it or not, I was her captive for the next few hours.

            My erection was actually beginning to hurt, but there was nothing I could do to calm it. I tried to do deep breath exercises, but every inhale was filled with the steamy scent of Rachel. If finding mental peace wouldn't help, perhaps mental rage would fill the gap. I pulled against the tape, again and again, struggling like a maniac, nearly snapping my arms in the thrashing, but only succeeded in exhausted myself until I could do nothing but hang limply, well, all except for one bit, I suppose.

            In my slowly relaxing breaths, the shape of Rachel's shoe began to fill with a soft roar, like the sound of the ocean inside a conch shell. Perhaps the shape of the sneaker worked as a natural amplifier of ambient noise, perhaps my mind was simply reacting to sensory deprivation, but in either case, the noise continued its crescendo until it was deafening, a phantom foghorn in my ears. By this time I'd adjusted to the smell, and the intensity of that sound coupled with my fatigue caused my precum stained penis to finally go flaccid. I closed my eyes and shook my head back and forth, trying to will away the growl in that humid air. How long had I been in here even? A minute? An hour? In the darkness behind my eyelids I saw her suggestive smirk. So crafty, so wily, my captain was.

            I must have dozed, dreams and thoughts milling like cattle in that twilight, because I was suddenly shocked to full consciousness by the slam of the door.

            “I'm hooo~oome.” Rachel sang. I heard her heavy, tired steps clomp over to my fashionable jail, and then I was rising, whirling around, and facing the glimmering eyes of my captor, “Have fun while I was gone?”

            “No.” I moaned, her presence being enough to reengage my rigid plumbing.

            “Aww, poor thing.” She said facetiously, “Practice was pretty hard today, and it's been getting warmer.”

            Rachel bent her wrist with a flourish, showing off her body. She was dressed just as she'd left, but was now soaked in a layer of sweat, some still dripping from the sides of her tank top and her forehead. Had she added a jog on the way back or something?

            “Looks like it.” I huffed.

            “I bet you're pretty thirsty.” She said.

            “Yeah.” I said.

            “Well here, take a sip.” She said, giggling and pulling me towards her opposite arm, which lifted, and stuffed me into that gap between her shirt and armpit. Drops of sweat slid down her glistening skin, bearing down on me like a pack of wolves. As one drew close to my face, I mindlessly opened my mouth, allowing the salty liquid to enter, and greedily gulped it down, before coughing and sputtering, too much to drink in at once.

            “Wow, I didn't expect you to try. And if you think my pits are bad...” She started, pulling the ball back to a neutral position. Her other hand rose, one finger wiggling its way under the tape on my legs, finally allowing them to lift and break free of confinement, before continuing beneath my back, pulling me up from the tennis ball, at long last. She dropped it to the floor, carefully peeling away the tape on my arms, a degree of attentive precision beyond what I'd expected, allowing her to remove it all without hurting me.

            “Th-thank you.” I gripped my hands and rolled my ankles, trying to recirculate some blood.

            “Oh, don't thank me yet.” She said, lowering me to the ground, placing me just in front of her running shoes. She took a seat and began to pop them off, the same slow strip tease she'd done so long ago. Underneath were thick, white socks, the soles now matted flat and stiff, the print of her feet outlined in dull gray. One foot lifted and approached me, toes gripping in anticipation, until they closed over my head. Darkness again, but now I couldn't breathe. The cotton had absorbed so much moisture it was like a soaked sponge, and each attempt at an inhale only brought in a mouthful of sweat. The word wasn't yet in my lexicon, but I'd later learn that I was essentially being waterboarded.

            It couldn't have been longer than fifteen or so seconds, but that was my limit. I thrashed in a panic, and Rachel recognized this immediately, letting go, pulling her foot away, and knocking the chair backwards so that she could crouch down low enough to get a better look at me.

            “Hey, hey, are you okay?” She said worriedly.

            “Y-yeah, yeah.” I spluttered, taking in rough breaths of clean air, “I couldn't breathe.”

            “Oh no, I'm sorry, Koji, I didn't realize...” She looked almost like she was on the edge of tears.

            “It's okay, it's okay.” I said firmly, “Hey, look at me. It's okay, you didn't know.”

            “Alright.” She sighed, perhaps not totally convinced, “Sorry. I guess I was feeling particularly mean tonight.”

            “I like it when you're mean.” I admitted, adding with a good-natured laugh “But not when I'm drowning.”

            “Maybe we should take a break.” She said.

            “Yeah, I could use a break in general.” I said.

            “It's 10. Want to watch a movie? I have a few tapes, or we could flip around and find something.” She said.

            “That sounds really nice.” I said.

            “Do you want to be big or small?” She asked.

            “Your call.” I said.

            “I think...” She pondered for a second, “I want the large teddy bear tonight.”

            “You got it.” I replied, already beginning to grow back. We were shortly standing eye to eye, and she threw her arms around me.

            “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She said, squeezing me.

            “It's okay!” I squeezed back, “It was a mistake, and now you know.”

            “And knowing is half the battle.” She said it like those old GI Joe bumpers, laughing so as not to cry.

            “What are we watching?” I asked, wanting to change the subject to something more benign.

            “Who cares, I just want to cuddle.” She said.

            We washed, changed into more comfortable clothes, and curled up in bed together, television tuned to a random channel. I was the small spoon this time around, and she gripped me close, breathing into the back of my neck, occasionally kissing it with little pecks. I held her arms in front of me, responding to each little kiss with one of my own on her wrists, palms, and fingers.

            “I think I owe you this, by the way.” She whispered into my ear after a while.

            One of her hands lowered, rubbing along my mid-line until it reached my penis, taking its stiffening shaft into a soft grip. One, two, three pumps and that was it, I came with one long spurt and a full body shiver, the mess caught by a frantically grabbed tissue.

            “Oh!” She said, surprised.

            “Er, yeah..” I bit my lip, “I'd been on the edge since you put me on the ball.”

            “Wow.” She said, “I'll have to tape you down more often.”

            “Mmhmm.” I replied.

            “Maybe right in my shoe. Then you could lick my toes all day long.” She laughed.

            “Mm.” I replied.

            “Or maybe...” She probably brainstormed for a while longer, but I was already asleep, my body drained of anything left to keep it awake.

            It was the day before the team's first away game, and I was sitting on Rachel's bed, reading aloud an essay from her required writing class while she shuffled around the room, packing anything she thought she'd need for the trip. I had tested out of the writing requirement, and I was glad I did, the passage being a dreary discussion on form versus function.

            “Jesus, who gives a crap?” I added a line of commentary, resulting in a laugh from Rachel.

            “Come on, it's not that bad.” She said.

            “Yeah, it is.” I said.

            “Yeah, it really is.” She admitted, “But it's required, so you're stuck reading it to me.”

            “I thought this was a favor.” I said.

            “And I thought it was done under threat of getting smushed like a bug.” She said.

            “Not a threat if I want it.” I said.

            “Just read, you dork.” She smiled, and I continued without further complaint.

            Nearing the end, Rachel stretched, arms tight above her head and feet going on tiptoes. I stopped reading and just watched her taut body.

            “Okay, that's almost everything, only one last thing.” She said.

            “What's that?” I asked.

            “My lucky charm.” She said, striding over to me and, tossing the book aside, and straddling my lap with her long legs. Her lips met mine and we kissed for a while, hands exploring each other's bodies, mine particularly fixated on her round buttocks and strong thighs. I flicked my tongue across her front teeth, which she used to take small bites around my collar bones. I nibbled on her ears and she responded with a deep scratch across my back and an unhidden hickey on my neck. Before things got more intense, however, she pulled herself away.

            “Alright, one of us is gonna end up pregnant if we keep going.” She joked, “Besides, we have to get to the bus.”

            “Right.” I said, “So I guess that means...?” I trailed off.

            “Yup, time to be micro-Koji.” She said, adding, “Or maybe Microji?”

            “Please don't call me that, it's dumb.” I said.

            “I'm gonna do it anyway.” She smirked, and the world expanded again, in what was becoming a fairly mundane miracle. Still, seeing Rachel herself grow, watching as I dwindled past her breasts, her midriff, her thighs, was a sight worth seeing. She bent down and cupped her hands next to me, making the kind of shushing noises you make when you're trying to pet a cat. I peeped out a poor approximation of a meow and hopped into those warm hands. Rachel brought me up to her face and nuzzled me with her nose through her bent fingers, before stepping over to her bag and lowering me towards it.

            “Now, don't forget, I can't really talk to you when the others are around. Too many questions, too much attention.” She said, “Besides, I want you all to myself.”

            “Got it. I should be fine on my own, I've got a book with me.” I gave a thumbs up and slipped into the gym bag.

            “If you're really bored in there, you can always lick my cleats clean.” She grinned.

            “Is that an order, captain?” I asked.

            “More like a friendly suggestion.” She winked.

            Zip! The zipper closed and I was in twilight darkness, ambient glow barely passing through the thin material. It was probably too dark to read in there, I realized too late. I began to climb around, passing a comb, a wrapped toothbrush, bits and pieces of Rachel's uniform, other clothes, hair clips, a tin of mints, finally finding my way to the cleats at the bottom of the bag. Did Rachel want me to clean the insides or the outsides? I had to start somewhere, so I pressed my tongue to the toe of one cleat and began my work.

            You never imagine developing a taste for dirt, but somehow, whatever strange transubstantiation took place between the ground, the soft leather, and the rubber soles, the dirt Rachel collected was finer, more palatable that your ordinary, garden variety soil. In any other circumstance I'd probably have retched at what I was consuming, but then, there, being swung around from her strong shoulder, lips on the surface of what she'd walked in, licking the muddied outside of her shoes, I found myself in reverie.

            “Hey, Kelly, when are we leaving?” I heard Rachel ask, muffled through her bag.

            “Not sure, but probably pretty soon.” Another voice answered.

            Pretty soon came pretty quickly, as the sound of shuffling and the throng of voices increased in volume. The team captain gave a brief rundown of what to expect: the game tomorrow, the planned dinners, and the unplanned downtime. Then, the roar of the diesel engine, the soft vibrations through the seats, and the unmistakable inertia of the bus pulling off.

            I continued my cleaning, listening to the idle chatter of Rachel and her teammates.

            “How do you think we're going to do without our good luck charm?” Kelly asked.

            “Oh, I think we'll be fine.” Rachel responded, “He's with us in spirit, or something like that.”

            “Speaking of 'with us,' what's the story there?” Kelly asked, “You guys together or something?”

            I actually stopped licking for a moment. How often do you get to hear gossip about yourself? At the same time, the zipper on Rachel's bag slid open, and I could see her face far above me, the bag being nestled on her lap.

            “Hmm...” Rachel mused, “Since when were you so nosy, Kel?”

            “Oh, don't fuck with me, give up the goods.” Kelly retorted, who I could now get a decent look at. She was around our age, maybe a grade above, and had sharp, black, geometric hair and bright green eyes.

            “Fiiiiine.” Rachel said dramatically. She glanced over the contents of her bag before spotting me sitting on her shoe and giving me a subtle wink, “We hooked up a few times.”

            “Really? That's it?” Kelly asked, “You're not dating?”

            “Kind of...” Rachel turned away from Kelly and licked her finger, coating the tip in a thick layer of spit. She slipped her hand into the bag, finger extended, and lowered it until it was pressing against my face, slick, stuffy surface prodding for a response, and for some reason I was reminded of a dolphin or a seal. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I kissed it.

            “Kind of what?” Kelly asked, none the wiser.

            “Kind of, I don't know, complicated, I guess.” Rachel said, rubbing her saliva covered fingertip in small circles around my face, before using it to poke around the rest of my body, now supine on her shoe.

            “Did he ask you out?” Kelly asked, “You know, to be like, exclusive or whatever?”

            “Not quite, but I think there's an understanding between us.” Rachel must have smirked, I could hear it in her voice, as her finger flicked at my pants, teasing my smaller self.

            “You should probably define the relationship.” Kelly said, “Guys will try and get away with anything when it's vague like that.”

            “Koji is just a little different than other guys,” Rachel said, giving me a brief squash on the word 'little,' “But maybe you're right. I'll talk to him later about it.”

            “Later?” Kelly asked.

            “Uh, Monday rather. Jeez, class has got me fried, you know?” Rachel retracted her finger, leaving me hard and alone.

            “Tell me about it!” Kelly emphatically agreed. Their conversation turned to class, to softball strategy, and to a hundred other little things I only partially listened to. I spent the next hour or two cleaning the outside of Rachel's muddy cleats, before leaning back and taking a break. I looked up and saw her quietly reading the Animorphs book I had lent her.

            I pulled out my own book and sat reading for a bit, but soon enough I had dozed off in the warm light of the sun stretching down into my vacation home.

            We must have been there, because when I woke up the zipper was closed and I was swaying back and forth in darkness, the chattering of the team like a low hum all around me. I listened to room assignments, and minutes later felt the sudden shudder as Rachel tossed her gym bag onto the hotel bed. There were a few moments of muffled speaking, the click and close of a door, and then the zipper shifting open, a lovely face appearing on the other side.

            “Hey.” Rachel whispered, “Kelly is in the bathroom, we're rooming together, so I only have a few minutes.”

            “Everything alright?” I asked.

            “Yeah, but you didn't tell me there was so much PTSD in these books!” She hissed.

            “Er, my bad, I guess they are pretty heavy for kids books.” I said.

            “Yeah, yeah, I bet you thought about morphing into an ant as a kid, didn't you?” She smirked.

            “No...” I lied.

            “By the way, do you have the next one? I'm almost finished.” She said.

            “Yeah, when we get back. I'm so gla-” I started, interrupted by the bathroom door unlocking.

            “We're getting dinner, I'llsneakyousomethingpromisebye!” Rachel whirled around and began talking with Kelly once more. In another moment they were gone.

            I sighed quietly, having figured I would have gone out with them in a pocket or something. Instead I was alone in the stuffy bag. Should I clean the inside of Rachel's shoes? Augh, I was already achy and dried out from doing the outsides. Was being somebody's toy supposed to be this boring? I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, praying that the tiny wisps of smoke wouldn't trigger the hotel's alarm, which they luckily didn't. Deep breath, nicotine in, stress out. I wondered if smoking when tiny made it more or less likely for me to get lung cancer. Null point, I supposed, I either would or I wouldn't, and that would be that.

            Sometime later, Rachel and Kelly reentered the room. The TV clicked on and the creaky springs of the opposite bed crunched under someone's weight. Rachel's hand slid into the bag, flat and palm up, an invitation to climb onto that fleshy dais. I did so, and her fist closed softly, effectively palming me like a magician.

            “Gonna sit on the balcony for a bit.” Rachel said, to which Kelly hummed in response.

            Step, step, swing, swing, I was getting used to being transported by human construction equipment. Out into the warm, sticky night air, Rachel sitting heavily on a plastic seat, her hand finally rising and blooming like a flower, revealing me to her and her to me.

            “Hey.” She said.

            “Hey.” I said.

            “You okay?” She asked.

            “Yeah, just bored.” I shrugged.

            “Fair, sorry.” She said.

            “Nah, nothing you could do.” I said.

            “Snuck you something.” She said, pulling a balled-up napkin from her pocket. She unfolded it in her lap and then placed me next to its contents: two gigantic spareribs and a pinch of rice.

            “Chinese buffet?” I asked.

            “Gosh, you must be psychic.” She rolled her eyes.

            “Thanks.” I said, taking a bite from the body temperature hunk of meat. She watched, pleased, as I ate my fill. Less than a hundredth of a rib and three grains of soft, salty rice. Rachel could solve world hunger if she wanted to, and if anyone on earth could be trusted to plan it effectively. The thought struck me then that Rachel's was a power so significant that it probably shouldn't exist, couldn't be trusted in the hands of any flawed human. And yet, here we were, sharing that forbidden fruit.

            “Done?” She asked.

            “Yeah, thirsty though.” I said.

            “Hm, I don't have any water or anything.” She said, “Oh, what about this?”

            “What?” I asked, watching as she began to form a ball of saliva on her lips. She pinched me up and pressed me to those monolithic pillows, forcing my face into the dank, acidic droplet. Without even thinking I took a deep draw, pants already bulging at how casually she was essentially spitting in my mouth.

            “There, better?” She sucked back in the remainder and pulled me away, dangling me by my waist over her lap.

            “God damn.” I said.

            “Hmm?” She smiled, satisfied.

            “You're just...so hot when you do stuff like that.” I admitted.

            “I know.” She placed me on her leg, “By the way, did you hear what Kelly and I were talking about before?”

            “Some stuff. Which do you mean?” I asked.

            “About whether or not we're dating.” Rachel said.

            “Ah, yeah, about that...” I trailed off. We sat in silence for a little while, perhaps both gathering our thoughts.

            “I'd like to.” I said, finally, “Be dating that is.”

            “Really?” She asked, “Even though I can be mean?”

            “Yes, really. Especially because you can be mean, not to mention you're fun, and beautiful, and I always want to spend time with you.” I said, “Do you want to do that? I mean, I know I'm not exactly, well, you know, amazing or anything.”

            “Oh, stop it.” Rachel said, “You're cute and smart and a great tutor and you make me laugh like eighty times a day. Of course I want to.”

            “I...” I had no idea how to respond. I had no idea how to react to a sincere compliment without sarcasm.

            “And you're the best little foot-rubber I've ever known.” She smirked.

            “I'll put that on my resume.” I said.

            “Be sure to put me down as a reference.” She laughed, the vibrations through her thigh causing me to shimmy inwards, knocking me past the point of balance, and roughly depositing me down that soft slope and onto the hard plastic of the chair, surrounded now by twin cyclopean structures, bulging out from the seam of just-too-tight shorts.

            “Oops!” She peeped.

            “Uh, hey, Rachel, are you like, talking to yourself out here?” I heard Kelly's voice after the creak of the door.

            “N-no!” Rachel said, swiftly bringing her thighs together, trapping me between the immensity of their plush weight, two blimps colliding without popping, hot loaves of soft bread enveloping me like a macrophage surrounds a bacterium.

            “Oookay. Hey, do you think I could smoke out here?” Kelly asked, which I could just barely hear.

            “If Toni catches you, you're dead, you know that, right?” Rachel said.

            “Ugh, you're probably right.” Kelly said.

            “So...” Rachel was clearly trying to hurry Kelly along, who didn't appear to be any rush. I tried to wiggle myself into a more tenable spot, but the colossal heft that surrounded me proved difficult to navigate, all the while the husky air grew more and more humid.

            “Whatever, I'll risk it.” Kelly said.

            “Your funeral.” Rachel sighed, defeated

            “Oh, shut up.” Kelly said, lighting up.

            They chatted for a while longer, and either I began to sweat, or Rachel's thighs did, or both, it was hard to tell. Regardless, the slippery coating made movement near impossible, and the seal it provided meant I could no longer eke out pockets of air. There was nothing I could do but allow this giant body to take me, to surround me, to consume me. Absorbed by those strong legs until there was no point of demarcation between us, just a spot, a region, an aspect of that chubby mass. Kinky Friedman supposedly said 'Find what you love and let it kill you,' but I don't think he ever meant it this literally.

            Finally, however, Rachel's thighs separated. I clung to one briefly, stuck by perspiration, before sliding back down to the plastic seat. The smell of clawing smoke hung in the air, but Kelly was nowhere to be seen.

            “Jeez, that was close.” Rachel said.

            “You're telling me.” I coughed.

            “Gotta be honest...” Rachel's fingers descended, one gently mussing my hair, “You feel pretty good no matter where I put you.”

            “That so?” I asked.

            “Yeah. Wanna add thigh-pet to your CV?” She asked, “'Cause I want to squeeze you between them more.”

            “Is that your way of asking me out?” I asked, jokingly but not actually joking.

            “What if it is?” She lifted her finger so that I could see her staring down at me between her legs.

            “I...well, yes, of course.” I said.

            “It's official then.” She said with a smile, her fingers grabbing me by the legs and lifting so that I was dangling upside down, rising up to her face. She pressed me to her lips, a full body kiss that ended with her tongue poking out and giving my face a playful lick. My tongue was there to meet it, a beat poet's version of a french kiss, cut and paste from such different sources it created some brilliant, new meaning.

            I slept in Rachel's bag that night, after a long time spent on the balcony, occasionally speaking in hushed tones, but mostly just sitting together and watching clouds pass over the stars. The next day was the game, and I was roughly awoken by the blaring of the alarm clock. There was a great deal of commotion in the hotel room, running around, finding lost socks, brushing teeth, and a whole lot of Kelly and Rachel getting each other pumped for the upcoming competition.

            “Ready?” Kelly asked.

            “Let's do it!” Rachel called, snapping up the bag.

            The rest of the morning was a bit of a blur, punctuated by a small spoonful of neon yellow, continental breakfast eggs being surreptitiously deposited near me, and then the wild rush of chants and cheers the entire bus ride to the field.

            Finally in the locker room, the zipper whipped open and I saw Rachel's face peering down. She gave a sly wink and pulled out her pants, shirt, and compression shorts, an action that caused a wave of chaos around me, bobbing me around like a cork on a cloth sea. Unfortunately, my particular angle prevented me from seeing her change, but soon enough her cheery visage returned, swiveling around to make sure nobody was looking or paying attention.

            “Hey.” She whispered.

            “Hey.” I responded, “Ready for the game?”

            “You know it.” She said, “Are you?”

            “What?” I asked.

            “If you're good luck in the stands, then you'll be great luck on the field.” She said.

            “Uh...” I hummed.

            “Better hope you cleaned the inside of those cleats, otherwise it's gonna be a rough day for you.” She smirked.

            “Oh.” I said, “Oh no.”

            “Get in there.” She looked around again, “All the way to the end, okay?”

            Had she forgotten how her socks nearly drowned me? What was her plan for avoiding that? I didn't have time to argue the point, and part of me, perhaps still high off of last night's confessions, didn't really want to. I clambered up the clean outside of Rachel's shoe and flopped my way into the insides, scampering up to the considerably more humid toe area. Deep impressions of her foot were pressed into the soft surface like moon craters, dark with sweat and dirt, reeking with a stale odor.

            Rachel's finger hooked inside the cleat and deposited it onto the floor, a swaying elevator ride that left me vaguely nauseous. I heard the squeaks and scuffs of the other shoe being put on, saw a flash of a two-toned tube sock, and then, like a miracle or a mirage, five bare toes appeared at the opening of my dewy prison. The stirrup and leg warmer trick: Rachel, you mad genius. Like a tidal wave, her toes overtook me, smashed me into the end of the shoe, demolished all light, and came to rest over me. I was beneath their arch, barely able to move. I heard the whizzing sound of her laces being tied, the soft crunch of the leather settling into place, and then there was nothing but her weight in the darkness.

            Whoosh! Like the worst part of every roller coaster, I felt my guts hit my brain case when she took that first step forward, and then slam! A whale fall or a building smashing into the ground all around me, but somehow not on me. Her mass spread out over her sole, just barely exposing me to the pressure before it all lifted at once and then whoosh! The ride started over.

            It didn't take long for Rachel's toes to start sweating, even before the game began. A glisten at first, a barely perceptible shift in the air saturation, but I knew it would soon drive up on a logarithmic scale. I couldn't quite make out the muffled speech of their captain, but very quickly all of the girls were clapping, cheering, and stomping their feet, an act which sent me bouncing like a pinball between the undersides of Rachel's toes and the spongy insole, kicking up a long buried miasma.

            The team ran to the dugout. There was probably a load of game opening pageantry, but down below and underfoot, I was none-the-wiser. Rachel's toes were now wiggling, rubbing against each other and all over my tiny body, smothering me for moments at a time and covering me in a layer of salty grime. I heard the crack of a ball being hit clearly through the shoe, and knew that in at least two more batters, we would be up.

            Swing, stomp, swing, stomp, swing, stomp: Rachel approached the batter's box, a near-deafening series of bangs pealed through my ears as she knocked the dirt out of her cleats with the end of her bat. As she got into position her toes slid forward, ball of her foot nearly sucking me underneath, and then a great whirling as she pivoted and swung.

            “Steeee-rike!” I heard the umpire's shrill cry.

            Rachel dug in, more weight on my fragile form, beads of sweat beginning to form on her toes and dribble down to me. Another turn, another swing, and I heard a sound like thunder. I kicked against the slippery insole and tried to brace myself beneath and between the aspine monoliths that surrounded me.

            Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! A sprint to first base which would surely have killed me if I'd not prepared myself beforehand. What in the world was I thinking climbing in here? Rachel was far above me, practically ignorant of my presence and the fact that she could easily annihilate me, and here I was, nothing but dirt in her shoe, trying not to get flattened by her apocalyptic steps.

            The thought of Rachel accidentally snuffing me out like some unseen insect nearly made me come in my pants. Regardless of that frankly Freudian revelation, however, I knew I had to keep myself alive. She'd never forgive either of us if something bad happened.

            I tried to climb over her toes to reach their tops, but the slick sides and tight gap made it impossible. I heard another crashing hit and we were off, my miniature form immediately squeezed with the clenching of her digits.

            I was nearly unconscious by the time she crossed home plate, but heard her voice distantly say something about the bathroom. Several ginger steps later, blinding light and the unmistakable scent of tile cleaner invaded my senses. Rachel's concerned countenance appeared in the halo of the collar.

            “Hey, you alright in there? I felt you moving around a lot.” She asked.

            I coughed in response, before peeling myself up, shaking my head, and falling right back down into a toe print. “I might not fit in here.”

            “Hmm...” Rachel mused, “What if I just made you smaller?”

            “You, what? You can...?” I sputtered.

            “Yeah, hang on.” She said, and suddenly I was shrinking again, the inside of the cleat expanding into a colosseum all its own, Rachel's face growing more distant by the second, now barely recognizable in this distorted, enormous world.

            “I gotta get back.” Her voice was thunder now, “Good luck!”

            Five dirty toes reappeared, but now they outsized me the way the Jupiter outsizes Mars. Adrenaline electrified my movements as I scrambled away, but it was with growing horror I realized, as her foot grew closer and the light dimmed, that no matter how much I ran, I wouldn't be able to make it out of the crater left on the insole from previous use. I was literally at ground zero for one of Rachel's toes, and there was nothing I could do about it.

            How can I describe the feeling of it landing on me? I could tell you to imagine the sky falling, or what a dinosaur experienced during the cretaceous extinction event, or how all those little pompeians must have felt looking up at that falling blanket of ash from Vesuvius, but I don't think any of that would really help. All I can tell you is it landed on me like a natural disaster. I was pressed down by that ruddy, clammy toe and practically pancaked as she took her first step, the weight winkling out drops of sweat from both the floor and ceiling of my soon-to-be tomb.

            I suppose she must have realized it, though, because she kicked her foot against the floor, toe lifted, and dislodged me up to the end of the shoe, causing me to bounce back, and slap hard against the front of her big toe, just below the nail. I stuck to it like a bug against a windshield, before pushing myself off, rolling away slightly, and finally collapsing into a heap in the now spacious area.

             If she hadn't noticed, I would have become a smear the first time she took off running. My iron-like erection slipped free of my pants, as if in recognition of this revelation, and I was too exhausted to tuck it back in.

            One benefit of my newfound, smaller size, outside of not being squeezed like a tube of toothpaste with each step, was its relatively lower mass which, I think, is what kept me stuck to the pungent insole more easily. Despite every alarm siren ringing through my amygdalan pathways, it was actually safer this way.

            I lay there in that inky, mephitic darkness for a while, helpfully cemented in place by the strange physics of being so small, wondering how I'd ended up there, what strange confluence of events had possibly led to this, if I hadn't decided to sit in the lounge that night would-

            Rachel must have dived for a catch, because I was suddenly upended, flipped around, temporarily levitating, and then slamming back down with a wet smack. In that abrupt application of g-forces I had managed to be transferred from my relatively safe position at the head of the shoe to the area just ahead of her second and third toes, where the edges bulged outward but did not touch the ground, equidistant from either one's presence, but still dangerously close to both.

            They bared down on me like twin monoliths, and in those moments when Rachel stepped forward or idly scrunched them, they would converge, mash together along the midline I inhabited, and just barely brush against my tiny erection as they intersected with one another. The first time it happened I immediately came, an unexpected orgasm which would have probably made me seize had I not been more-or-less stuck in place. Without being aware of it, just by walking on me, Rachel had extracted another ounce, and the thought of her ignorance and apathy at the moment was enough to obliterate my refractory period. Five or so meetings of flesh on flesh later, I erupted a second time.

            By the end of the seventh inning I had been milked dry, my pants had basically been disintegrated by the relentless groping of Rachel's toes, I was soaked in the great globes of sweat which had rained down on me during the height of the game, and my brain was probably in a state of rewiring so extreme it would have made Donald Hebb do cartwheels. Based on the cheers and leaps of my emancipator and incarcerator, it was probably safe to say they won.

            Back in the locker room, Rachel's foot slid free at last, and the dim light hurt my eyes. She glanced down the length of the shoe, but could not see me as of yet. Her tapping on the side of the cleat knocked me free from my sticky little pool of body fluids, hers and mine, and caused me to slide down to the heel, a carnival ride which ended with a great eclipse of Rachel's face before the flickering, fluorescent bulbs above us.

            “Oh, jeez, you look terrible.” She whispered.

            I coughed in response.

            “Once we get home, I'll clean you up.” She said, bringing her face closer, “But hey, we won. A total shutout. Best game of the season.”

            She placed her shoes in her bag, and then piled the rest of her uniform on top of them, my sensory world now no more than the spongy touch of the insole and the scent of sweat from all over Rachel's body, a global tour of her different aromas and tastes.

            When we eventually returned to the hotel room, she palmed me like a professional sleight-of-hand artist and carried me to the bathroom, locking the door, and turning on the fan, before depositing me gently on the sink’s edge.

            “Hey!” She said, quietly but not in a true whisper, “How was it?”

            I began to speak, but she shushed me almost immediately.

            “Hang on, let me grow you back a little bit, it's hard to hear you.” She said, and so I did, an order of magnitude larger and still only an inch or so tall, “Okay, try again.”

            I told her everything that happened, as best I could in my debilitated state.

            “Oh, wow...” She said, sitting on the closed toilet and clasping her fingers together, “So, what you're saying is you came like eighty times and I didn't even once? You're gonna owe me a lot of action once we get home.”

            I laughed, probably a little manic, and watched her shake her head side to side, a touch of sympathy in the movement.

            “Alright, let's get you cleaned up? Do you want to take a shower with me?” She asked.

            “Yes, please.” I said.

            “Alrighty, let's do it.” She smiled.

            I'd never actually seen Rachel completely naked, as odd as that might seem, but in a few smooth motions there she was, the colossus of Rhodes, Mangal Mahadev, Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, but all in motion, in flesh and blood and dirt, in soft, mottled skin, and with a sweat-darkened crown of hair. She looked down at me, balanced on one cocked leg, head tilted to question my expression; the closest thing I'd ever experienced to a religious awakening was staring at her body then, like a Catholic pilgrim stares at a philatory containing the remains of a saint.

            “Hey, seriously now, are you okay?” Rachel asked.

            “Yeah, yeah.” I took a deep breath and tried to clear my mind, “Just lost in thought.”

            “Big surprise,” Rachel rolled her eyes and extended her hand, “C'mon, Koji.”

            I removed what was left of my pants, tossed my shirt to the counter, and stepped into Rachel's warm palm. She turned on the water and tested it with her opposite wrist, before stepping in. Great balls of water began splashing over me not without a touch of pain, but they were hot, rejuvenating, and entirely welcome.

            “Here, hang on.” Rachel fiddled with the tiny hotel soap, trying to peel off the wax paper with one hand, before managing to scrape off a piece and deposit it next to me. I scrubbed lethargically, arms barely wanting to rise past my shoulders, while Rachel cupped her free hand to the one that contained me, creating a little pool of hot water for her to beam over as she watched me wash, “Dang, you are such a cutie.”

            “Oh, stop.” I said, but I really did appreciate the compliment.

            “No way, I'm gonna keep saying it.” She blew a cool stream of air at me, “Cutie.”

            “Fiiiine.” I said dramatically, “Well, you're cute too.”

            “Even when I'm a big scary monster, smushing you underfoot?” She asked.

            “Especially then.” I said, “Could you rinse me?”

            “You got it, Koji-bug.” Rachel said, allowing the shower's spray to fall on me, washing away the suds.

            “God, that feels good.” I sighed.

            “Here, why don't you chill here while I finish washing up?” Rachel asked, presenting me to a small shelf stocked with various travel-sized toiletries.

            “Yeah.” I said, sliding from her fingers and laying out between the cold tile and hot steam. I watched Rachel bathe, hands covered in soap bubbles sliding around her body with a degree of efficiency probably instilled by a decade of showering in locker rooms.

            “So, my toes really did a number on you today, huh?” Rachel smirked.

            “You have no idea.” I said.

            “Wish I could have seen your face when you thought I was gonna crush you.” She said.

            “I assure you, it was not very attractive.” I said.

            “Hm, I don't know about that...” She said, “Just the thought of it is hot as hell.”

            “Ooooh?” I said.

            “Want to pay me back some?” She asked. I didn't even respond, just stood up to the edge of the shelf and waited for her hand to come pick me up. She snapped me up in soapy, tree trunk fingers, tucked me snugly between two, and pressed me to her left breast. Undulating inwards, hot water cascading over both of us, Rachel rubbed me over her stiff nipple, and with each pass I'd lick at the bitter bubbles coating it. She quickly became bored of the old game, however, and without comment I was being lowered towards her dripping vulva.

            She roughly pressed me between her labia, immediately soaking me in her own excretions, lubrication for the upcoming journey, acidic and stinging, forcing me to close my eyes. I felt a rising, sliding sensation as I was moved up to her hard, little clitoris. I stuck out my tongue, but I knew that it probably wasn't even perceptible among the broad oscillations of her hand, swirling around, concentric path to her passionate moans, a spiral signifying the direct experience of this moment.

            The next time that hard button pressed into me, however, I hooked my arms around it, broke free of the frothy grip of Rachel's fingers, and began to worship properly, kissing like I'd kissed her neck. Each circuit of her hand threatened to push me off, a threat which should have been more concerning considering the open drain below, but I was too lost in the throes, the struggle of that moment, to care. The tips of her fingers moved faster as the entire world seemed to tilt, Rachel bracing herself against the wall. I worked faster too, contractions within that great wall of flesh tightening their frequency until finally her voice cracked and she half-sang, half-blurted blasphemies.

            “Haaah...okay, okay...” She said, snaking me from her sensitive spaces, “That was...wow.”

            “Y-yeah.” I gasped, “Wow.”

            “I...uh...I need to lay down.” She said.

            “Yeah.” I agreed.

            “Wait, I didn't wash my hair. Fuck.” She said.

            “Me either.” I said.

            “Forget it, who cares.” She said, using her other hand to turn off the water, and stepped out into the steamy bathroom, “Here, you can dry off here.”

            She deposited me near the corner of a hand towel. I grabbed at the cloth and pulled it up, so that I could effectively turn myself into a little burrito, rolling myself dry. I looked over to my tattered clothes from earlier and shrugged. I guessed I'd be going au naturale for the remainder of the trip.

            Now wrapped in a towel, Rachel picked me up again, and peeked out into the hotel room from behind the door.

            “Looks like Kelly isn't here. Probably went to dinner with the others.”

            “God, I'm starving.” I said, just now realizing the void in my stomach.

            “Want to order a pizza?” Rachel asked.

            “Oh, hell yeah.” I said.

            We spent the night eating pizza, chatting, and watching the fuzzy television. Kelly eventually returned, admonishing Rachel for taking too long in the shower, to which Rachel only smiled knowingly. I fell asleep stuck beneath a corner of a pillow, kissing the long fingers that were hidden there with me, fingers which had groped me and controlled me, which had pleasured me and been pleased at my touch. In that twilight, I wondered if I should tell Rachel that I probably loved her.

            Some weeks later, a warm rain was falling, and Rachel and I were sitting in two separate chairs, knee to knee.

            “So, you just push it through here, and then down again, and then up and through...” She explained the basic process of cross stitch patiently, as my clumsy fingers tried their best to keep up and mirror her movements.

            “I think I get it, but, jeez, why is this so hard?” I asked, staring back and forth between our hoops.

            “Oh, stop complaining.” She laughed, waiting a beat before adding, “So, book twenty-four, huh?”

            “Ugh, I knew you'd get to that one eventually.” I said.

            “Sorta like a crystal ball into that weird brain of yours.” She said.

            “Listen, it's not like I knew this was going to even be possible.” I said.

            “Guess you just lucked out then, huh?” She smiled.

            “Yeah, I really did.” I said into my lap.

            “I did too.” She said, “Speaking of, since it's raining, I'm thinking maybe being in my shoe for the game tonight isn't the best idea.”

            “Good call, I'd really prefer not to drown in mud.” I said.

            “You'd look cute stuck in some, though.” She said, “Little legs all caught up, can't really move well, and then boom! My big boots come stomping through.”

            “Wow, now that's a thought.” I said.

            “Here, let me see how you're doing.” She extended her hand and I placed my poor imitation in it, “Oof, kind of...loose, isn't it? See all these little loops you left?”

            “Uh, yeah. Is that not right?” I asked.

            “No, you want these to be tight. I mean, not unless you're doing french knots, but you're not, so, no.” She said, sucking air through her teeth, “I bet I can fix it though. Here, do your magic on these while I work.”

            She lifted her legs and set her feet into my lap. I lifted one with no small degree of reverence and began to work my thumbs into the firm flesh, paying extra attention to the spot where the ball of her foot and arch met, an area Rachel often complained about needing to be loosened up. I eagerly pinched each toe between my thumb and finger, tugging gently, squeezing, rolling, even lightly caressing the gaps therein. I switched to the other foot and repeated my process, before gently rubbing the tips of my fingers around in circles all over both of her soles.

            “Here, see the difference?” Rachel finally said, handing me back my frame.

            “Yeah...” I inspected the linen, spying two spots she appeared to have missed, “Hey, what about these little loops?”

            “Well...I was thinking maybe your little hands could fit in those before I tighten them...” She said, flexing her toes in my lap, “But you did such a good job on that massage, I don't think you need to be punished.”

            “Ah, I see...” I bit my lip, before whispering, “What if I wanted-”

            “What was that?” She smirked, cutting me off.

            “Uh, you know, just that maybe I wouldn't mind if you did that.” I mumbled. It's not like I was particularly embarrassed at this point by my bizarre desires, if nothing else Rachel's equal and opposite predilections did much to edify mine, but I still got a little bashful when she teased me like this.

            “Yeah? You want to get sewed into a design?” She moved her feet to the floor and leaned forward.

            “Well, I mean...” I looked into her eyes, but then immediately looked away.

            “Even if, say, I put you under my desk and used you as a little footrest?” She asked, “Or maybe I could take you out of the hoop and put you on my chair? You could be a teeny little part of a cushion for me.”

            “Both sound pretty nice...” I said softly.

            “So, go ahead, ask me to do it.” She replied.

            “What?” I asked.

            “Ask me to do it.” She said again, “Ask me to shrink you, tie you up, and use you. I want to hear you say it out loud.”

            “Um, okay.” I cleared my throat, “Rachel, could you please shrink me, sew me into that cross stitch pattern, and then use me as a footstool and/or seat?”

            “I dunno...” She shrugged, “I mean, I am pretty busy.”

            “Hey, c'mon...” I pouted.

            “Maybe if you begged for it.” She crossed her legs and looked at me with a playful haughtiness that brought goosebumps up.

            “Please?” I said lamely.

            “You call that begging?” She said with a facetious sneer.

            I slid down to my knees, and then bent forward more, forehead touching the carpet, completely prostrate, “Please, my captain, turn me into something for you to use.”

            “Fiiiiiine.” She theatrically sighed, “But you'd better appreciate how much I do for you.”

            Just like that, I was suddenly watching the carpet pattern shoot up at me like I was skydiving into it. I could feel the growing sphere of heat cast from Rachel's long feet as I dwindled between them, quickly becoming just another exiguous spot on the rug, and could hear her toes crunching the fibers, wriggling excitedly at my new, prey-like size. Before I could admire the view, however, I was hooked by Rachel's fingers and plopped onto the fabric pulled taut in the plastic loop.

            “Hm, what should we call this piece?” She asked rhetorically, “What about The Stitch Bitch? Or maybe Bitches Get Stitches?”

            “Ha, ha, and might I add, ha.” I groaned.

            “Hey, when you sign up for the objectification, you're also signing up for the puns.” Rachel laughed, “It's just one of my many methods of torture.”

            “I immediately regret this decision.” I said.

            “Too bad, dork, get your arms in those shackles.” She said.

            I laid on my back and stuck my hands through the two loops, noticing that Rachel had done a pretty good job of eyeballing the proper distance needed for this to work. One of her hands held the hoop level, and the other poked around the back, finding the right threads to pull. First my left, then my right, both wrists tied down snugly to the foundation fabric. I was once again a prisoner.

            “There, perfect!” She sang.

            “Am I fine art now?” I asked.

            “No, but you're fine-ally good for something.” She smirked, sitting up and carrying my prison and I over to her desk.

            “Hey, that's hurtful.” I said.

            “You love it.” She replied, placing the cross-stitch face-up, beneath her desk.

            “Shut up.” I retorted.

            “Say it to my feet.” She said, sitting and lifting both of them over me. They lowered slowly, deliberately, so that the space beneath and between her big toes touched my face first. Her digits flexed, scrunching against the plastic circle of the cross stitch, before spreading out dramatically.

            “I wore yesterday's socks to class today. Can you tell?” She asked.

            “Um, kind of?” I lied.

            “Well, why don't you see if you can taste the difference?” She pressed one toe into me, wiggling it as if to get me started. I stuck out my tongue and began to lick her soft, sticky skin. Truthfully, I couldn't tell the difference much, just a slight increase in intensity, but it seemed by the time I figured it out, Rachel had lost interest in that conversation and had begun looking through her notebooks.

            I continued to lap at whatever was in front of me, Rachel maneuvering her soles over me like mirrored tiltrotors, hovering at just the right distance to allow me to keep going. When she grew bored of that, she pressed me lightly with each foot, alternating both the side and the area she would deplane, left toes, right toes, left ball, right ball, left arch, right arch, left heel, right heel, ad nauseam. Finally, she just decided to bury me, placing both feet heavily on top of me and leaving them there, basically smothering me if not for the brief gasps of stuffy air I could eke out.

            “Okay! I'm done with this.” Rachel said, muffled through the thick, soft walls that laid askew atop my miniature frame, “How 'bout you, want a change of scenery?”

            I couldn't really respond, so I nodded hoping she'd feel it.

            “Feels like a yes to me.” She said, removing her feet and reaching down to lift me up. With a twist and a pull, the stitching hoop came undone and the fabric suddenly sagged from my added weight. Rachel's hand deftly slid it away and placed it on her chair, before turning around, back to me, primed to sit directly on me, “Ready for round two?”

            “Uh....” I looked up in awe at that truly meteoric butt and then further, at Rachel's smirking face turned to peek over her shoulder. One clever finger hooked into her waistband and she shimmied out of her tight shorts, dropping them to the floor, revealing a hitherto unseen thong.

            Phoom! Her ass crashed just in front of me, so that the enormous, twin globes of her cheeks sat just beyond my legs. She slowly began scooting backwards, a mobile mountain tunnel dragging itself over my helpless body. The thick scent of her washed over me like a heavy rain.

            “Hey, don't forget, more licking this time.” Rachel said, and then I was in total darkness, gently squeezed from all sides by the supple planes of her rear. I licked at her salty skin, and she wiggled her butt in response, adding extra pressure, distorting both the scenery and my form, twisting everything out of shape. My shoulder popped, my ribs sang, my hips creaked, and my erection raged hot and hard; three-hundred feet away Rachel hummed happily to herself, possibly not fully aware of how her minutest of movements completely dictated the fundamental principles of my insignificant world.

            I briefly wished she would shift, so that the full circumference of one cheek would fall on me, bringing darkness and silence, peace only known in the hereafter, and splatter me like an unworthy insect. For one fleeting second, I truly longed for oblivion, aspired to annihilation, but like a leaf in a stream that desire passed by, and I wondered for what reason I could possibly have to be praying for death. Freud’s pupils would call it the thanatos drive, but I wouldn't trust any of them to explain it further.

            Soon enough, however, Rachel lifted herself, stretching up to her tiptoes, and I watched through eyes vibrating with conflicting thoughts and emotions. She turned and smiled, lowering her fingertip and poking me in the face.

            “Boop!” She chirped.

            “Is it time to go already?” I asked.

            “Yeah,” She responded, riffling through her desk and pulling out a floss cutter. She gingerly hooked it through my bonds, careful not to cut me in the process, and sliced me free, the sensation of growing immediately following, “Go get dressed, I'll pack, and then we can grab the bus.”

            I did, and she did, and we did.

            Back in the stands again, towel tucked beneath my butt to keep me dry, I clapped as our team got up to bat. The opposition looked pretty good in the field, I had to admit, but I wasn't worried. They were called the Armadillos, which I thought was particularly funny, though I couldn't exactly tell my neighbors in the crowd why. Just imagine what that conversation would end up like.

            Despite my confidence, however, by the bottom of the seventh, our team was down by two, one on, and one out. Rachel was standing at the dugout's fence, gripping the steel bar so hard I'm surprised it didn't bend. Since she was the team's cleanup batter, the order now sitting at the top, and the opposing team's relief pitcher throwing absolute fire, it was not looking good for Rachel to even get a chance to take a spot in the box. However, the next batter managed to wallop a base hit into right field, and the following one bunted a sacrifice to bring the runners to second and third.

            And then she was there, helmet gleaming, bat tapping her cleats, eyes narrowed and fierce: my knight in regulation play armor. The first pitch whirled in, a drop curve that just caught the corner of the strike-zone. The second, a rise ball that Rachel knowingly let fly by. The third, a wicked fastball that must have caught her by surprise. The fourth hit the dirt. Two and two, the fans on their feet, Rachel pounded the plate with her bat and gritted her teeth. The fifth pitch hurtled like a shooting star and the bat shattered the air with its shout.

            And silence hung like a body; mighty Rachel had struck out.

            Less than an hour later, the entire team, myself included, huddled together around a table in the restaurant, doing our best to cheer Rachel up, who was scarfing mozzarella sticks like they were water in the desert of her apathy. Back slaps, shoulder pats, and cliched platitudes greeted her, but she barely acknowledged them. Only Toni, the pitcher and team captain, seemed as upset as Rachel, and I could understand why. A perfect season, albeit only half over, is a terrible thing to see slip through your fingers.

            “Another order.” Rachel snorted.

            “Y-yeah.” Kelly said warily.

            “And fries, too.” Toni said.

            “You got it captain.” Said another teammate.

            I watched impotently as Rachel drowned her sorrows in melted cheese and fried breading. There wasn't anything I could have done to avoid this, right? Would it have been different if I'd risked sitting in her cleat during the mud-slick game? Should I have pushed the issue? I was almost entirely sure luck didn't actually exist, but what if my presence gave Rachel the extra confidence she needed? It wasn't fair to anyone to blame myself entirely for the loss, but somehow my brain kept orbiting back to the idea.

            It was late when we left, later still when Rachel and I arrived at our dorm, but nonetheless she still grabbed my arm and pulled me into her room. She basically threw me on the bed, mounting my body and going directly for the neck, leaving bites along inches from my trapezius to my pectorals.

            “Hey, hey, wait, slow down, are you okay?” I asked.

            “I...” Rachel heaved heavily before burying her face in my chest, arms wrapping around my torso, “Yeah, I'm okay, I'm just angry, and sad, and disappointed in myself.”

            “Disappointed? Come on, you played an awesome game. That double play in the third? That triple in the fifth? You were incredible out there.” I said.

            “Ugh, I guess, but I couldn't do it when it was needed.” Rachel sighed, “I thought I was such a clutch player, and instead I choked.”

            “It's okay, it's okay,” I said rubbing her back, before adding, “How long have you been playing softball?”

            “Since I was a kid. Like, since tee-ball age.” She said.

            “And how many times have you come through when you were needed?” I asked.

            “I dunno...like, most times?” She said.

            “So that's, what? Like, fifteen years of being a clutch player?” I asked, “That's a pretty good ratio. I don't think you're going to lose the MVP spot for one loss.”

            There was a brief silence.

            “I hadn't really thought of it like that.” Rachel said finally, before lifting herself up slightly to look at me, “Do you really think I'm the MVP?”

            “Of course I do.” I said, “And no matter what your numbers are in the end, you'll always be my captain.”

            “Oh, cut it out you dork, you're actually making me feel better.” She dramatically flopped down again.

            “Say, those other times, when you didn't live up to your, might I add, god-like expectations, how did you deal with it?” I asked.

            “Er...” Rachel winced, “My brother got the worst of it, I think.”

            “Ah.” I said, “Wanna do that now? Shrink me down and kick me around the room or something?”

            “No, just keep holding me, okay?” She said.

            “Yeah.” I replied and gave her a little squeeze.

            There was another pause as we laid there together.

            “By the way, you don't think...” I started, wondering if it was appropriate to bring up my own unreasonable concerns, but it was too late to stop at that point, “You don't think this happened because I wasn't out there with you, do you?”

            “No way.” She said immediately, “This isn't your fault.”

            “It's not yours either.” I replied, “Seriously.”

            “I guess...” She said, “But next time we're gonna totally demolish them.”

            “Hell yeah, we are.” I said.

            “Rematch is two days from now.” She said, “Clear weather, too.”

            “Then you know where I'll be.” I said.

            “Under my toes?” She asked.

            “With bells on.” I responded.

            “With bells on?” She asked, “What are you, my grandpa?”

            “I don't want to hear it, Miss Wheel.” I said.

            “Oh, shut up.” She laughed, crawling up to kiss me again.

            Two days later I was laid out, tiny and prone, on Rachel's belly, listening to the deep bubbling of her stomach, a sound which traveled through tight abdominals and a thin, insulating layer of fat to become a soft echo in my ears. Her fingers tapped next to me, little waves of force rocking me up and down. Buddy Holly played through her tinny, plastic radio. I had already given her a thorough foot massage, and had been summarily shrunk down both as a reward for my hard work and for the ease of our pre-game relaxation.

            “Why is your tum so cute?” I planted a kiss on a freckle.

            “I do a lot of crunches.” She said sarcastically.

            “Hm.” I rubbed my face into her smooth skin.

            “Ah!” She twitched, “Careful, that tickles!”

            “Oh yeah? Then how about this!” I blew a raspberry into her peach fuzz.

            “Stop!” She said, her massive hand slapping down on me instinctively, like a sudden, freak storm, a thunderclap of skin on skin that left me seeing stars.

            “Okay, you convinced me, jeez.” I moaned.

            “Sorry, sorry, I just don't like being tickled.” She leaned up on her elbows, causing me to tumble slightly.

            “Duly noted.” I said, head still spinning a bit, “By the way, are you doing any special preparations for the game?”

            “Nothing too different, but I think I have an idea about how to turn my luck around.” She said, sly smile creeping over her lips.

            “Yeah, what's that?” I asked.

            “Oh, you'll see.” She said, “Speaking of, we should probably start getting ready. You want to have a cig before we go?”

            “Yes, please.” I peeped.

            Rachel picked me up between two fingers and sat me on her sill, leaning to crack open the window an inch. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, dragging deeply and exhaling towards the outside, watching as she opened her gym bag and pulled out her cleats. She waved them towards me like a cat toy, before putting them down and taking the rest of the bag into the bathroom. Minutes later I finished my smoke and tossed the tiny filter out the window, wondering briefly if anyone ever found those, just as Rachel emerged fully dressed. Like a predator sneaking on its prey, she slinked towards me, bare toes dragging on the carpet, before snatching up my tiny body.

            “Ready, Microji??” She smirked.

            “You know I am.” I said, peering down into the cleats which steadily came closer, “But only if you stop calling me that.”

            “Never.” She said, dropping me onto the spongy insole, “By the way, you'll never guess what I found hiding in my closet.”

            “Hm?” I turned and looked back up at her.

            “Check it out!” She reached off somewhere I couldn't see and then held up a pair of socks triumphantly. They were ordinary tube socks, I thought at first, but as they slowly rotated from her movement's inertia, I saw the dirty undersides, nearly black, pressed thin in places, worn dozens of times without washing: the lucky socks.

            “Oh!” Was all I could manage to say.  

            “See? If you're lucky, and they're lucky, then we'll have double luck for the game.” She said, sitting on the edge of the bed. I watched as she pulled one sock over her foot and leg, grimy soles flexing, releasing motes of dust only visible in the sunbeam cutting through the window. Had Rachel forgotten what happened the last time she covered me with her socks? Or did she just not care? Had her competitive nature, her desire to make up for that lost game, given her some sort of selective amnesia?

            “Ah, it's like an old friend.” She cooed, using her toes to grip the back of the cleat I was in. The other sock went on, and I imagined what it would be like to be caught up in those fibers dense with dirt and old sweat, not just today's exudation, though that too would soak the fabric and inevitably leave me gasping for air. Despite the perverse excitement brought on by that clearly fatal possibility, I found myself windmilling my arms in a blind panic.

            “Armadillo!” I shouted, invoking, for the first and only time in our relationship, the safeword. This was a supremely ironic gesture, as it turned out, for at exactly the same time I said it, someone else did as well.

            “Fucking Armadillos!” Kelly yelled as she kicked open Rachel's door, her rendition of the word completely overshadowing mine so that Rachel was none the wiser, “We're gonna kick their asses!”

            “Hell yeah, we are!” Rachel rejoined, using her toes to lift the cleat, rolling me to the tip. Before I knew it, I was shrinking again, the inside of the shoe zooming out into a wasteland of dank leather, craterous toe prints, and petrified fossils of mud. Now, even if I managed to yell the word again, she wouldn't even be able to hear me.

            “You ready?” Kelly asked.

            “Just getting my cleats on.” Rachel said, her gargantuan foot now entering the shoe. Faster than I could have imagined, it bulldozed towards me, evaporating the remaining light, and crashed into my puny body so that I careened backwards and landed in a heap. I heard the laces being tied, and her toes wiggled in concurrence, five impossibly huge figures drumming into their respective divots, digging them just a few microns deeper with each beat, “Alright, let's go!”

            Each step was an explosion of heat, sound, and odor. Those stuffy toes encased in the vintage, overused fabric began perspiring at an alarming rate, creating a veritable cloud of stale, musky air. I felt a sudden tingling run down my back, my body starting to sweat in reaction to the sudden shift in the climate. There was a strange shift in the landscape, her foot caught on uneven sidewalk, perhaps, and those toes suddenly battered me again, but this time I clung to the tacky fabric, reeled in like a carp, and was quickly buried underneath the cotton webbing between two digits. Rachel and Kelly were far away now, chatting in indiscernible tones, walking to the bus, one unaware of me, the other walking on top me.

            I scrambled and pulled and tugged and thrashed, finally managing to pull my head free, the rest of my body still trapped in the damp, dingy cloth. I was literally sock lint, and probably would be for the remainder of the day.

            By the time the game started, I was already in a sorry state, clothes in complete disarray, body beaten and bruised, hair matted and stuck to my face. I huffed heavy breaths in the thinning air, barely able to hear the crack of the bat or the cheer of the crowd beyond the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. Beyond the obvious issues in play, I hadn't even considered that Rachel would not be able to feel my body nearly as well through her old, crunchy socks as she could with her bare soles. She probably wasn't even aware I was stuck where I was.

            Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! She must have taken off running, each mammoth step creating chaos, tossing my body up and down, and shifting the heavy, wet fabric closer and closer to my face. My arms were now strangely bent, legs askew, shoulders pinned, in whole, a body unable to defend itself from the rising tide of sweat-blackened cotton. This was going to be it. Just a little more and that inky, soaked blanket was going to cover my mouth and nose and kill me. More thunderous steps exploded around me like dynamite and suddenly my mouth was gagged. I took deep, unsteady breaths through my nose, but I could already feel the moisture beading on my upper lip.

            One more step, and along with the muffled cheers from the audience, Rachel's sock slid again and blocked up my face entirely. Suffocated. I was going to be suffocated beneath the socks of the girl I loved, a sentiment I hadn't even expressed to her. It was almost beautiful in a strange way, a kind of apropos return to when we'd met in that crowded little lounge, her dirty sole turned towards me, like a psychopomp sending a message. I was about to die, or maybe I wasn't, but there was truly nothing I could do about it. So, I let go. I inhaled. No air there, just sweat.

            I could say that it was long buried survival instincts, or the nagging voice of Camus in my ear, or even just an unintentional spasm near-death, but my next action was motivated by none of these. In that moment, when it was no longer theoretical, when death was actually grabbing at my throat, I saw Rachel's smile, and I knew, beyond a doubt, that I'd never see it again if I did nothing. It was then that I suddenly found the strength to pull my arms free, to bury my fingers in between the strings of fabric, and to pull, pull, pull, until the corroded fibers frayed apart, torn asunder at first by my desperation, and then fully and finally by an errant wriggle of the big toe contained within. That enormous digit popped free, sheering the fabric away, giving me delicious, musty air to greedily drink in again. I scraped myself up and backed away, barely able to see the massive figures wiggling in the dark, and tucked myself into the seam by the tip of the insole.

            I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the game, perhaps a side effect of the adrenaline, the heat, the dehydration, or all of these and more. While awake I was dimly aware of some noises, could infer certain plays, but mostly, in those brief moments of lucidity, I filled the space with my laughter, a strange, guttural cachinnation, a celebration of survival, an aural love letter to continued existence.

            At last there was a great roar from the throng on onlookers. Rachel jumped up and down, dislodging me from my little crease and sending me bouncing. I somehow managed to land on top of her foot, and I gripped it tightly with my tiny fingers, planting unnoticed kisses on unpalatable tufts of fuzz. She marched back to the locker room with her compatriots, and after some unintelligible discussion with her teammates, eventually pulled off her cleat, peering into it to find me.

            “H-heyyy...” I barely slurred. She couldn't hear me, and stuck her hand into her cleat feeling for my body. There was a sudden flash of panic across her face as she wildly scanned the ground, tipped over her cleat, batted it against her hand, until she finally spied me clinging to the far end of her sock.

            “Oh wow, you look...” She whispered.

            “Terrible?” I asked.

            “Adorable clinging to me like that.” She smirked, extending her hand, “Hop on, let's go home. I'm going to skip the celebration, that same restaurant again.”

            I let go and fell limply into her palm, breathing in the cool, unsullied air. Rachel cradled me, gently turning her hand so that I fell into the crook of her curled fingers, a perfect spot to lay for someone my size.

I must have passed out again, because I was awoken by the sound of rushing water and the soft warmth of steam surrounding me. I was no longer extremely small either, just the normal sort of small. Rachel was standing near me, arm extended into the sink, filling a plastic cup with water, otherwise naked body covered by an old towel. She had clearly just showered.

            “Here, drink something.” She said softly, carefully pouring out a few drops onto the countertop. I approached them, filled my hands, and sucked up the water like a vacuum.

            “Whoo, god, thanks.” I said between mouthfuls.

            “No problem. You okay? It looks like you had a rough time in there. Did you rip my sock?” She asked.

            “Yeah, and yeah, sorry.” I said, falling back onto my butt, “I think I almost died.”

            “Really?” She asked, worried.

            “Maybe.” I puffed, “But I didn't. Seriously though, no more socks.”

            “Alright, I can do that.” She said, “You're going to have to deal with my sweaty bare feet then. You sure you're cool with that?”

            “Yeah, yeah, that I can deal with.” I said.

            “Well good, because you don't have a choice.” She laughed, “I'm going to grow you back, and you can take a shower, okay?”

            “Sounds like a plan.” I responded. She picked me up, put me on the floor, and I was quickly back to normal size.

            “Okay, don't be too long, I've got a surprise for you.” She kissed my cheek and cracked open the door to slip out.

            “Surprise?” I echoed, pulling off my shirt and stepping out of my destroyed pants, balling up the latter and tossing them in the trash, wondering stupidly if that was my last functional pair. I glanced in the mirror for a moment, but the image that stared back looked like a manic coal miner. Tap on, I lurched into the tub and just let the hot water run over my body for a while. Eventually, though, I took the bar soap, cleaned off the dirt and the sweat, grabbed Rachel's fruity shampoo, washed away the oils that had been left behind, and finally twisted the spigot and toweled off.

            Rachel had left me an over-sized t-shirt and some fluffy pajama bottoms, which I eagerly stepped into. They were more girlish than anything I'd ever seen her in, which is probably why they seemed brand new. Still, they were soft and comfortable, and I wasn't going to complain. I walked out into the cool room and turned the corner to find Rachel sitting at her desk, now dressed in her own comfortable clothes.

            “Hey.” I said.

            “Hey.” She replied, “Feeling better?”

            “So much better.” I stretched.

            “Think you're up for your reward?” She asked.

            “Reward? For what?” I asked.

            “For being such a great good luck charm, duh.” She rolled her eyes, “Didn't I tell you we won?”

            “Er, you might have.” I couldn't remember, “But I think I'm up for a reward.”

            “Good, get on the bed.” She said with a grin.

            I obeyed and she was quickly on top of me, legs around my waist, lips pressed hard into mine. My hands traced down her back, one sliding further to pinch her butt. She began taking little nibbles at my neck, her arms hooked under mine, strong hands gripping my shoulders. Her hips rhythmically thrust, rubbing against my thigh, and my erection tented those soft pants, pushing roughly into her leg. She pushed herself up on her arms and my hands instinctively found her breasts, cupping with fingers, rubbing gently with thumbs, a tease she could only stand for so long.

            “Stay right there, don't move.” She commanded, hopping off of my body, pulling off her shirt and shorts, revealing a matching sports bra and thong, both cherry red. Her underwear dropped to the floor as well and I tossed my shirt off, watching in wonder and amazement as she jumped back on the bed, kneeling backwards over my body, pinning my arms, her perfect, round ass initially hovering over my chest, but quickly moving towards my face, cheeks spread, a perfect view of everything on display.

            “Go~” She chirped, sitting on my face, causing precum to leak and probably stain the terrycloth. I obediently began to kiss her vulva the way I'd kiss the rest of her, each press of my lips on hers lasting a bit longer, containing a bit more passion, tongue finding more places to taste. She licked her hands and then pulled down my pants, my penis springing up like a flagpole. Her moist fingers took it, one holding the base, the other rubbing over the tip like a reversed pestle, causing my hips to twitch and jump. I almost lost track of my work, distracted by Rachel's adroit movements.

            “Here too.” She said, shifting her weight, placing her freckle-colored anus directly beyond my tongue. I licked that too, broad swipes with a flattened tongue, lapping like a hound at the sweaty, winking hole. Not too long ago I did this essentially at gunpoint, but now it was like I'd been waiting my entire life for the opportunity. Rachel began to hold my member with one hand, halfway up and teasing the edge of my glans with her thumb, while her other hand began to rub her clitoris in spirals. She moaned, and I moaned, a strange achromatic harmony for our ears only.

            “Wait, wait, wait.” She said nearly falling forward.

            “You okay?” I breathed heavily.

            “Yeah, but I want to...” She huffed, “I want to do it.”

            “I, uh, I don't have...” I said.

            “I'm on the pill.” She said.

            “Oh, well, then...” I stammered.

            “Are you okay with this?” She lifted her leg over me, turned, and remounted so that my shaft was pressed horizontally into her sopping lips, “If you're not ready-”

            “I'm ready, I'm ready.” I heaved, already close to the point of no return.

            “Okay, good.” She smiled and used her hand to guide me in. I nearly came on the spot, but managed kept it together, not allowing myself to be premature another time. She worked me deeper slowly, my arrhythmic spasms as unhelpful as they were unintentional. I tried to reach and grab for some part of her, but she collapsed forward and pinned my wrists, looking me directly in the eyes before kissing me hard, our teeth clumsily colliding.

            “Ah jeez, ouch.” She pulled back, hand to mouth.

            “It's okay, it's okay, keep going.” I begged.

            She did, riding me harder, head thrown back, eyes closed, each throe a melting embrace which seemed to suck me in like a black hole. Or, was it really just an apparent engulfment, I wondered, for without warning, Rachel began to grow larger on top of me, stretching out and over, as I was reduced more and more, my anchored point seeming to sit just between my legs. Did she even realize she was doing this?

            By the time she was a redwood, looming but not menacing, she finally took notice of my minuscule body, still hugging and thrusting desperately into her womanhood. Her hand reached down, and her thick fingers pressed me forward, past the event horizon, directly into the clenching, shuddering muscles of her internal world. I closed my eyes tight and continued to rub against her, though between those walls I doubted I would have had any choice otherwise. She must have continued working herself on the outside as well, for the rhythmic movements of that chamber increased in intensity, a crescendo of convulsions and sticky lubricant, peaking with a sudden spray, a crowing note, and my own orgasm exploding out like a fire hose as I slid backwards and landed with a wet slap onto Rachel's soaked sheets.

             “Oof.” Rachel rumbled, lying down next to my position and, using a moist hand, slid me up towards the pillows. Her hot breath washed over me as she laid there, heaving heavily, eyes fixed on me, staring as I stared back, a half-lidded, off-sized mirror of attention.

            “Hey.” I said quietly.

            “Hey.” She responded in a whisper.

            “I, uh.” My throat got tight, “I love you.”

            She smiled, but did not immediately respond. I watched apprehensively as her shining eyes bored deep into mine.

            “I love you, too.” She said finally.

            “Y-yeah?” I stuttered.

            “Yeah.” She leaned over and kissed my entire body, before pulling up the blanket, and reaching her arm out to turn off the lamp.

Epilogue

            So, that was the long and short of how our relationship began. We're currently in our sophomore year, still together. I've had to do a lot of work to get off of academic probation, my grades from last year being unsurprisingly, but understandably, poor. Rachel earned the most valuable player award after leading the team to the finals, and she's now the youngest captain in the league. She's considering focusing on sports medicine, but hasn't entirely made up her mind yet. I'm, if it's not obvious, trying to be a writer. I suppose this strange little memoir is proof of that.

            It's a strange dynamic between us, in case you hadn't noticed by now. She lets me give up control, and I happily hand it over. She steps on me and I beg for more. She's my captain and I'm her charm. I don't know if it will last forever, few things do, but for now, right here, in the cute little apartment we rented off-campus, I can't help but be optimistic for the future, which is, if I'm being entirely honest, a new feeling. Rachel is here right now, actually, she's reading over my shoulder. Yes, you dork, I can see you in the window reflection.

            Welp, that has definitely earned me some “punishment.” If I can leave you with anything, dear reader, it’s this: Love often and love openly. You are not alone.

            Cheers!

-Koji

Personne pure, ombre divine,

Qu'ils sont doux, tes pas retenus!

Dieux! ...tous les dons que je devine

Viennent à moi sur ces pieds nus!

-Paul Valéry