It wasn't a tight-fitting skirt that Elise chose that day, it was more a blossom of khaki and linen with shallow billows-pockets on either side. Nick found plenty of room to stretch out as he shared the driver's seat with her in the mid-90s model VW Jetta. A brighter red than her burgundy blouse, it rolled out of the driveway and took off for the highway as Elise headed off to work.

Nick again took stock of his surroundings, a sensory inventory to calm his mind and help him to focus. If he let his mind wander he either became unreasonably horny or frantic with the realization of how much his life had changed and how powerless he was to recover it. Paradoxically, there also lingered the thought that this was perhaps a temporary condition, hope against hope, and he should burn these images and senses into his mind while he may observe them from this vantage point. He knelt upon the seat, from within the cargo pocket, and splayed his fingers upon the fabric beneath him. The linen was of a very loose weave, at his size, but the fibers were plenty strong and unyielding. He could just barely sense the contours of the driver's seat, the rough weave upholstering and plastic seams. All around him the roar of the engine vibrated the air, accelerating and dwindling away like a valley of angry dragons just on the other side of the mountain. . .

The mountain, the warm ridge of female flesh beside him. Heat radiated off of Elise's thigh like a sun-baked side of a building. He felt it was such a different sense of heat, as well, since it burned from her muscles and exuded through her sweet, sweet skin. If you could feel the quality of scent in a perfume, if scent were a tactile stimulation, the heat off her thigh would be it. He smiled, closed his eyes, and let it soak into him.

From without layers of fabric enshrouding the tiny man, Elise said, "Hold on, Nick, tight turn..." Gravity abruptly shifted and threw him against his girlfriend's thigh as she swung the vehicle hard to the left. The car settled back in its lane and her massive log of leg rolled gently upon Nick, overpowering him mindlessly, effortlessly. He found himself half-pinned beneath her thigh as she adjusted herself in the seat. Not wishing to jinx this magic moment, as the blood drained from his legs yet his erection rose beneath the huge monolith of flesh, Nick held his breath and said not a word. "Sorry about that, honey. Crazy drivers today. You okay?" she spoke to him.

He carefully released his breath and called up, "Oh, sure, not a problem," as casually as possible. She seemed satisfied with the answer as she made no move to pick herself up off of her boyfriend. For the rest of the trip to the bookstore, Nick enjoyed every pothole, speed bump, and thank-you-ma'am in the road for the tremendous shockwave they sent through dear Elise's thigh, rippling and rumbling over his tiny body excitingly. He knew there wasn't enough gas in the world to keep this car going long enough for him to tire of this wonderful situation, and all too soon they pulled into the parking lot.

Gathering her things, Elise saw her cargo pocket was caught beneath her leg and hastily yanked it out from beneath her seat. "Oh my God!" she cried. "Are you okay, Nick? Did I crush you?" She extracted him cautiously from the pocket and held him up to her face to examine the tiny nude man.

His legs tingled pleasantly from the ride, as well as the circulation restoring to them, and he could only smile back up at her concerned expression. He attempted to reassure her: "I'm perfectly fine, honey, really. It was a snug fit, but it wasn't unpleasant at all! I hardly noticed." He waved amiably up at her to accentuate his claim.

She seemed satisfied with his answer. Hesitantly, she raised him to her face - which beautiful visage swelled and grew in his vision - and placed as gentle a kiss upon his forehead as possible. To him, this translated into two beautiful lips the size of a small sleeping bag puckering up, hovering tantalizingly above him, and somewhat roughly mashing into his face. Again, a delightful sensation, as his vision, scent, taste, hearing, and tactile capacities were overwhelmed with her soft, sweet lips and anxious breathing. He pressed his face into her kiss, his heart pounding, and placed both hands modestly over his raging hard-on.

"It's time for me to go to work, I'm almost late," she noted, slipping him back into her cargo pocket. "I'll try to be more careful throughout the day. You be sure and let me know if anything's wrong, okay?" She tilted her head as her hiking boots clomped across the asphalt. Not hearing anything from him, she added, "How about you just tug on my skirt or poke at my leg once for yes and twice for no. . . " That provoked one soft little fist, smaller than a pencil eraser, nudging at her leg. Again satisfied, she strode through the huge doors of the bookstore and made a beeline for the back room, to punch in for her workday.

Nick's thoughts were racing as he lay nestled in her pocket. The view never changed, except for patches of light and shadow sailing over the fabric, but the noise was a cacophony of activity that suddenly sent a shiver of panic up his spine. When normal-sized, he'd never been a fan of crowds in particular but could manage his way through one with minimal effort. Now, however, the noises were overwhelming and he knew they were coming from giants several dozen times his own size. If the pocket were somehow to give and he tumbled onto the floor. . . would anyone even see him before he was crushed beneath some huge sole? Would his last image of Elise be that of her voluminous skirt sailing away like a perambulatory mountain of khaki, just before a dirty white Converse sole descended upon his frail frame? His heart started racing and his fists clutched handfuls of fabric. He told himself logically there was no way he could produce enough weight to test the strain of the fabric and fall to the floor, he knew this was true. It was simply a train of thought his mind, once engaged, found difficult to leave. He took small consolation in being so close to his girlfriend, since she was wrapped up in her own world and he only idly bounced against her thigh.

It took him a few minutes to calm himself down; it helped that Elise stopped for some coffee before going to work. Sitting in the café she reached down to gently stroke what she hoped would be Nick's back. It felt right, the concave bend in the middle of tiny tangled limbs. "How are you doing down there, honey?" she whispered, staring into her coffee.

Nick gathered his breath and called up to her as gently as he could, "I'm fine, sweetheart. I just had a panic attack, I'm fine now." After a moment he added, "Promise me if you suddenly feel your pocket go a couple grams lighter or you don't feel me banging off your thigh, you'll stop and look around for me. . . "

She wondered where that came from but agreed to it promptly.

Soon coffee was over and she had to attend to her duties in the store. It was a game for Nick to try to pick out one sound out of the ocean of noises and identify it. Sometimes it was easy: the shrill cry of an angry child; two matrons gabbering about cooking recipies; the plaintive whine of some loser looking for the self-help section (Nick suspected there was an oxymoron in there somewhere). Sometimes it was more difficult, when all voices were raised to a similar volume, or when the speaker could have been a young boy or a small woman, or someone of either gender with a dire smoker's rasp. Venturing within his pocket, he slowly raised himself to his feet, gripping the pleats of the cargo pocket very tightly, and extended his legs until his head just came up to the seam of the pocket. He dared to grip the seam and pull just a little downwards. . .

And the entire world was opened up to him, albeit from a dramatically altered perspective. Much of the world was a blurry rush of book spines, colors and textures, as Elise skirted the aisles and led customers to their destinations, but once in a while she stood still and he could peer about. He was about eye-level with baby strollers and toddlers; he was merely knee-high to the rest of the population. As fearful as he'd been before, trepidation slowly gave way to amazement as he studied the once-familiar landscape around him. Jeans strode by powerfully; skirts fluttered past; hips rumbled and asses shook, and shoes and boots engaged in thunderous collision with the floor non-stop. He was surprised to imagine that everyone's spines didn't just shatter with the terrible impact of heel upon floor, time and time again! Yet there they were, tall and strong and proud, going about their business.

Nick began to wish he could steer Elise around rather than jostle about only as far as she stood or walked, because there were a couple interesting straits he would have liked to pursue. Two teenaged girls were sitting in the café talking to each other rapidly, their smooth hands fluttering in the air, fingertips twitching and twirling like the antennae of butterfly in communication with each other. Their part of the café happened to be next to the foreign history section, and Elise's customer proved to be quite dull, requiring several explanations to get across exactly what this section offered in terms of history and other countries. Keep talking, keep asking questions, you idiot, Nick thought to himself. He was staring transfixedly at the girls in their seats, being maybe a few yards away from them (his scale). They both wore jeans that were nicely faded and clung snugly to their developing hips. The girl on the right tended to shift in her seat with some frequency, as if never comfortable with how she were arranged. Full within his gaze, her ass shifted and slid over the wooden chair, rising gently and then lowering, plumping out with the ponderous weight of the young woman squooshing down upon it. More talking, more rocking back and forth - she seemed to enjoy rolling back and forth on her buttocks, her pelvis never touching the chair as she floated on layers of muscle, fat, and young firm skin - all accentuated by the lines and creases in her jeans. Nick felt himself get a little aroused, and cupped his hand over his genitalia to keep from poking into the fabric of her pocket (as if anyone could notice).

Then she did an unconscious, sexy thing: she shucked her sandals off, gripping each back with her toes and pushing them off, and tucked her right foot beneath her left thigh. So situated, she leaned forward to talk conspiratorily to her friend, as if imagining anyone in the café could possibly care what two teenage girls have to confide in each other. Nick cared, however, for her new position: she had a darling row of pink-orangey toes that twitched reflexively before a broad pad of soft instep. All her skin seemed to glow with youth, and the enormous log of thigh that pressed upon it resisted spreading all over by virtue of the strong young skin encasing it. Her toes twitched and he caught a glint of burnished silver - she was wearing a toe ring! Nick never thought much of them before, but now, seeing that band of carved metal around one slender, darling toe, waggling seductively beneath a huge wave of faded denim painted onto a long, strong thigh. . .

Abruptly, Elise spun on her heel and marched over to the information desk. Her customer had evidently found what he was looking for and was fine to leave on his own for a while. Nick bit his lip to keep from howling with disappointment and longing, as the flap above the pocket bore down upon his head: Elise rubbed his head gently with one fingertip to make sure he was okay and to remind him she was thinking about him. She didn't find it so unpleasant to keep her boyfriend around with her: even if he couldn't talk to her, he still kept her company and it made work a little more bearable.

"Yes, yes, I love you too," he muttered darkly, reaching out of the pocket to stroke her fingertip. For a moment he felt bad, what with his girlfriend being right there; indeed, her thigh being the mighty redwood that stood behind him scant inches away. But only for a moment for, as Elise turned, he saw something that froze his blood and turned his heart to stone.

A young girl, maybe six years old, was bending over just slightly to stare at him with huge blue eyes. Her thick brown hair fell like a waterfall around the sides of her round face, and her pink mouth was hanging agape as she studied the tiny little man in the woman's pocket. One of her arms was pulled idly back by her mother, only making a token gesture of restraining the girl; her other arm lifted, trancelike, and her young, stubby fingers extended and reached straight for Nick's tiny head.