I spent dark hours adrift in a sea of nightmare. Most were quickly forgotten, retreating quickly back into whatever dark recess of the mind they slithered from. The rest were a broken collage of images that I could not make any sense of. Chalk on a floor. A girl on a swing. Heather standing over me. Heather… she seemed to be a recurring character. I was no dream expert but even I could sort that out. I wanted her. Bad.

As for the rest? A bunch of shitty dreams that kept waking me up. It was Saturday and I was determined to get better sleep. After nearly an hour lounging in bed I didn’t seem to be making any progress.

Someone knocked.

I ignored it, I didn’t want to deal with anyone. Three times I had measured myself and three times the tape read 5’4”. That shrinking was absurd and impossible didn’t seem to matter. The only silver lining was that for some miraculous reason my clothes fit again. In comparison to the loss of height that seemed minor magic at best. Was it magic? After Heather and Crystal left I spent most of the evening scouring the web for clues. Rare diseases were out. They could impact height but not so quickly. That left two options.

The first was that I had lost my mind. I didn’t feel crazy, but isn’t that what all crazy people think? Still, I’d never heard of a crazy person with insanity limited to such a narrow scope. My life was still my life, nothing else had changed except for my height. I only had a few pictures of myself growing up with friends and I was shorter in all of them than seemed right, but the harder I tried to remember details the fuzzier the memories got. I couldn’t rule out some sort of psychotic break because I couldn’t remember what had happened last week after the study group. Must have been pretty terrible if it caused me to invent some alternate reality for myself. That line of thinking was downright depressing which left me with option number two.

Magic.

Granted, calling a thing magic was a catch-all for things humans don’t understand, but if the shoe fits… The only problem with blaming magic was that wasn’t much different from blaming God or the Giant Spaghetti Monster or Cthulhu. It left me with more questions than answers, and google’s resources on the arcane were sketchy at best. In the end I decided to ignore it. I would pretend that life was continuing normally. Like a death in the family, coming to terms with shrinking would have to wait its turn in the emotional processing facility, probably right behind my newfound infatuation with Heather.

Someone knocked again. Why were they still there? Should I tell them to go away? No, it was better to pretend to be out.

“I know you’re in there, Mike. Open the door.” It was Heather. “Come on, you can’t mope around in bed all day it’s almost noon.” Noon? Ugh, no wonder I couldn’t get back to sleep.

“Hang on,” I yelled grumpily.

By the time I got over to the door Heather had begun to impatiently knock again. “WHAT?” I nearly shouted, wrenching open the door.

Seeing Heather’s voluptuous body poured into a sporty black jumpsuit that hugged her every curve sapped most of my anger.  She, however, did not look happy. “Huh,” she said, pushing the door open to walk past me into the room. “Is that how you treat someone who came over to cheer you up?”

“Who says I need cheering up?” I said defensively. She arched an eyebrow at me. A contentious moment passed before I threw up my hands. “Fine, whatever. Cheer away.”

Heather looked around with mild disgust. “You need to get out of this room. It smells like old socks.”

“You were here literally last night.”

“Yeah and it smelled then too, I was being nice.”

“How gracious of you. Remind me not to find out what your idea of ‘mean’ is.”

Heather’s smile could have frozen water. “Don’t tempt me, Mikey.”

Ignoring the sudden drop in temperature I said, “Please don’t call me that.”

Heather sucked in a deep, calming breath that caused her breasts to expand impressively against the shiny material of her jumpsuit. Despite my irritation I felt myself becoming slowly aroused. While she complained of socks, all I could smell was her; a deep, earthy sandalwood scent. Her body was so big now and my eyes were uncomfortably level with her huge rack. “Okay,” Heather said. “Let’s try this again. I want you to take me out.”

“Uhh,” I stalled, trying to recall how to speak english. “Like a date?”

Heather shrugged, “If you want to call it that.”

Yes. Yes I would. Oh shit, right. Gotta use words. “Yeah, that sounds alright,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Heather brightened immediately.“Great! Because I really need to go shopping for new clothes. I’m, like, having a growth spurt or something.”

I had mixed feelings about Heather getting bigger. On one hand I’m a firm believer that there is no such thing as ‘too big’ when it comes to tits and ass. Even bigger girls, when they carried the weight well, could be sexy. The problem was that Heather wasn’t ‘big’ in the fat sense, she was plain big. Her stomach was taut, flat and... nearly as wide as my shoulders. Her overdeveloped boobs and thick, heart-shaped ass were downright drool inducing, but they were attached to a girl that made me feel kid-sized. How big was she now? 6’3”? 6’4”?

She was easily the tallest girl I had ever seen save for this one girl that played basketball for a rival high school, but that was apples to oranges. The basketball girl was thin as a rail and gangly in the way many tall people were. Heather, on the other hand, was big all over. Like her body had been magnified rather than stretched by growth.

Meanwhile, ignoring the possibility of insanity, I had shrunk. That she was having a ‘growth spurt’ seemed grossly unfair. Why did some people- I stowed that line of thought. Too depressing. “Can’t we, I dunno, go bowling or something?” I suggested.

Heather huffed, “Bowling is for people that don’t pay sixty dollars for a mani.”

“A Mani?”

“Duh. Manicure?” Heather tossed her hair back. “Besides, don’t you want to help me pick out some new outfits?”

My libido kicked into high gear. “I... I guess I could use some new clothes too.”

Heather was exuberant, doing a little hop that bounced her tits and left them quaking. “So you’ll treat me!”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” I said, raising my hands in the universal sign for stop. “I didn’t say I was going to buy you a new wardrobe. I’m a broke college student, not a bank.”

A pout settled on Heather’s face. “Come on, Mike. Please? I really need your help.”

“The only money I have is a credit card, Heather. I really am broke.”

“Then use your credit!”

“I’ll buy you something at the food court.”

Heather’s pout deepened. “I don’t think you understand, Mike. I’m really suffering here.”

“Yeah, you’ll probably shrivel and die without another injection of Louis Vuitton.”

Heather stomped her foot, “I mean it. Do I have to show you?”

I gave her an incredulous look. “Show me what?”

She turned so that her back was to me and quickly wriggled out of the top half of her jumpsuit. My mouth opened in shock. A thick black bra band was the only thing keeping her from being naked from the waist up. Her skin was pooched out above and below the band that was clearly biting into her. “Can you see?” Heather said over her shoulder.

“Ah.. It l-looks tight,” I stuttered.         

Heather shook her head. “It’s not just tight. Come closer.” I moved forward. “Don’t peek,” she demanded. “I’m only showing you so you’ll understand. Don’t get any ideas, okay?”

She was nearly topless and fiddling with her bra; I would have said yes to anything. “Yeah.” I was close enough now to see the red irritated skin around the band of the bra. Heather twisted her back and the broad side of her left bra-clad boob became visible. There was a crescent of breastmeat bulging out right in front of her armpit. Her fingers were fiddling with the bottom edge of the band, right where the stitching for the cup started.

Almost painfully slowly she began to lift the band. Centimeter by centimeter she revealed the bottom curve of her breast and the angry red line that was indented into it. What looked like a small bruise was forming along that line. Even with the bruise her firm, milky tit was exhilarating because the small portion she was showing me was enough to fill an average girl’s bra, but it was a mere fraction of what remained hidden in the huge cup of her obviously inadequate bra. “Do you see?” Heather asked.

My lips were dry and something caught in my throat. “Uhh,” I said as blood rushed to my dick. “Does it hurt?”      

“Yes it hurts,” I could hear Heather’s eyes roll even if I was unable to tear my gaze away from her chest. She gently let the lacy black bra snap back to her body.

“That… sucks,” I managed to say, finally tearing my gaze away.

“I know. So are you going to help?”

I spoke hesitantly, “I guess if all you need is a new bra...”

“A few new bras. I can’t wear the same bra every day.”

That made sense. Plus buying a girl underwear was like a one way ticket to pound town, right? If she lets you put her in it, you get to take her out of it. I’d never heard that before but it sure did sound good. “Okay fine,” I said.

“Yay!” Heather exclaimed, struggling back into the top half of her jumpsuit before embracing me in a hug that lifted me off the ground. Her breasts squashed against me, and the firm pegs of her nipples briefly dug into my chest. I prayed a certain part of me didn’t dig into her as well. The hug ended far too soon. Heather stepped back and favored me with a broad smile. “This is gonna be so much fun.”