What is it about curiosity that gets me into so much trouble? I really could not say. For one thing, it does lead to thoughtless decision making. Then again, so does cockiness. And that ridiculous sense of purpose - one that does not belong. Oh, it gets me into trouble, and this one time more so than the rest. However, curiosity is the root of my trouble, where it starts.

I am, or rather, was an up-and-coming journalist, newly hired by a firm in the biggest commercially run city in all of New America, Fuchor. I made the decision to become a journalist based on my appetite for knowledge in a more profound, insightful sense. I had a need to know about people and the happenings of lives other than my own.

So, I find myself with my first solo operation, an opportunity to delve into my own interests in hopes of making a good story, and in turn, good money. Now, being in Fuchor meant I was in the city of celebrity and wealth. In the past, Hollywood was the haven for the powerful and the famous, the place to prove you are among the best. But, this is the future and Hollywood is in the past.

And, the type of people who would read what I write would be very curious to see into the life of someone who has everything, as, at a basic human level, that is what people want for themselves – everything.

So, this is where my decision making was affected by cockiness. I had a number of connections and had yet to make a name for myself as a bothersome teller of tales. No celebrity would know to turn me away. I had an advantage that I thought might get me the best story, make a name for myself in the world of journalism.

And the biggest challenge about was none other than Blake Morn, an actor and model with a way of avoiding press. He does not do interviews and he does not make scenes. There is nothing known about him beyond his talent, looks, and considerable fortune, while a true number cannot even be put on that.

I thought I could be the first, the one to get the untold story. I was cocky.

I was stupid.

Blake Morn has house parties, never the place he actually resides, but in houses that he owns. Few are invited and little is known about the happenings at house parties. They are exclusively for the ‘in’ crowd. Those who go already know what it is to be of the upper class. Plus ones are allowed, but most remain of wealth or status. You need clout to get in. Or, in my case, a friend.

Julian made sure to take me shopping prior to attending. Never before had I felt so pristine. A limo escorted us to the evening’s house. At the door, we were greeted by security, who nodded to Julian upon arrival. I was handed a glass of champagne just before Julian apologized and said he could not stay due to commitments elsewhere. He had held up his end, got me in, but that was all he could do for me.

The house was spectacular, with its grandiose nature, an open hall where the guests were mingling, and an old-fashioned staircase leading to the upper floor. In the center and very much out of place among the more old-fashioned décor, was the entertainment, a wildly dramatic scene that played out on a stage. Some of the guests watched, some ignored it. I was fascinated by the way bodies moved, masked beings depicting scenes of romance and passion in a variety of different artful forms.

I was so entranced that I did not notice the approach of a less enthralled person. “Enjoying the show?” a smooth voice asked from my right. He was forced to ask again as I mumbled an uninterested “Hm?”

When I finally looked to my side and found myself talking to Blake Morn, I had nearly choked on the drink I had not even touched. “Uhm, yes, it is quite nice,” I offered.

He gave me a curious smile. “I am not sure I am familiar with your face,” he voiced.

I put the drink to my lips finally, taking a big draught, hoping to give my mind time to function. “I came with a friend,” I declared, upon swallowing. “I am from out of town.”

“Ah,” he intoned, but his eyes sparkled with this knowing look. It was in that moment that a woman, clearly his date for the evening showed up to drag him elsewhere.

I cursed my luck, having the man of my story in my midst and letting him slip away. I downed my glass, frustrated. However, another thing I have learned – never drink on the job.

Within minutes it had hit me, hard. The drink was so smooth that I had not realized that it had more alcohol than I was used to. My vision began to spin and I realized I needed a bathroom. I went to the security that guarded the stair and they pointed me up the stairs and the door at the end of the hall. It took all I had to get myself to that door, but I opened it to find a bedroom, not a bathroom. In my head, I wondered if I got the instructions wrong. As I pondered, the bed became more inviting to my all of a sudden sleepy self.

My inebriated-self stumbled to the bed and fell into the silky grey sheets and then into a deep slumber.

~*~

Waking is hard enough when sober, but drunk is even harder. My head sloshed about, but slowly I began to put things back together. And, then came my rude awakening. Where I lay, the thick weave of grey below me, was not a place I recognized. At least, not right away. Panic came from not being able to tell where I was, the landscape stretching out seemingly endlessly. It took me a while to allow my eyes to look further, beyond the grey plane, to the colossally huge room that I was in. And then came the realization, and it did not compute right in my head.

The door, once just twenty feet away, was not miles away. Where I sat was the bed, where I had collapsed. I was beginning to sober, quick, and I was really not enjoying it. Questions started bombarding my head. How had this happened? Where were my clothes? How was I going to fix this? Was I dreaming?

I did not have time to even think before my situation began to change. Noise confronted me first. Their approach was apparent by their footfalls. And then the door, so impossible to reach, was flung open, allowing entry to two shapes. They quickly registered as Blake Morn and his date. The door was closed not a moment later, the sound jarring to my ears.

I was frozen, instinct initially telling me not to move. The scene did not pause, not for me. The woman tugged the zipper of her red dress down and let the huge garment drop, leaving her clad only in a bra, panties, and heels. At the same time, Blake removed his shirt, dropping it out of my view. I watched the woman drop to her knees and unzip his pants. Pulling his pants down around his thighs, she revealed his not yet hard member. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the distance and size changes and I could put together that he was rather well endowed.

The woman took his cock in her hand and dropped her face to give it an encouraging lick. Its attention was growing, as it responded to her touch. I had to shake my head, clear my thoughts and remember where I was. I needed to get their attention. I got to my feet and started forward, at a run. I told myself that if I could get their attention, I could fix my problem.

I had gotten nowhere when things began to move again, a swift blur in front of me. They were both naked and he was fully erect. And there was only one place for them to go.

The bed. Where I was. Tiny me.