Hurt people hurt people, a succinct truism that falls on the deaf ears of the Forthright High student body. Perhaps if the expression was scribbled on a whiteboard in homeroom, or if it had been used in any of the episodes of Euphoria or Attack on Titan, or if family vlog youtubers had any ounce of remotely philosophical output, it would have been heard by those that need it most, dampening the pain of Elyse's school life with some clarity. 

She would have no idea that her curly hair (being the only one of three total mixed students at the school) was not really as despised as she perceived it to be. She had no idea that the kids who often ridiculed it only did so out of envy. She had no one to tell her how beautiful it really was. 

She also had no idea that Jeremy, a vulgar, idle-looking classmate that put her down every opportunity he could, was only doing so out of a lust-driven confusion, subconsciously manifesting the relationship between his trailerbound parents. Elyse did not know, because how could she? No one in her classes would have the psychological insight to soothe her mind. Perhaps her father would, but she dared not mention a single word about school. God forbid she dragged any ounce of misery from there into her home. She wouldn't have friends over, and didn't even like doing homework at home, always staying after in the library to finish any worksheets. Walking past the detention kids after staying several hours to get a week's worth of study papers done and feeling that sweet, chilly breeze through the front door as the sun warmed her face was the one thing she looked forward to every day. In her trance, a question;

"Ellie, did you fall in mud?" 

Flattered that an unknown voice was showing her concern, she turned around with some pep, only to disappointedly reveal Jeremy.

"Oh, wait... no, sorry, that's just your face." He flashed a ratty smile with dry rosy cheeks, his short brown hair had a cowlick in the back. He exhaled air in a nervous laugh before turning away, gripping his backpack straps with an unnecessarily aggressive amount of tightness. 

She rolled her eyes, turned away and continued walking the other direction. She always wanted to deliver an insult that would level his ego. She'd dwell about it the entire thirty minutes walking home. It would occupy her mind randomly throughout the rest of the day, especially during showers, brooding beneath lathered soap and steam, until finally, something substantial to respond with. She'd pray for him to be unoriginal and slip up one day, and while off guard, she'd level him. But he was always too quick. As soon as she was prepared, he'd throw a curveball. 

She hated him. He exemplified everything wrong with the school system, with people, with the world. In her darkest fantasies, she'd scare herself with how great of detail the gruesome acts appeared; his swollen face, encrusted with snot, sweat, and spit, mouth extruding blood and teeth onto the pavement as she delivered debilitating blows to his torso and face. She imagined his shaky hand lifting up in a meager attempt to block a blow, before snapping his arm bone with a football punt. 

She felt twisted. Snapping out of the fantasy revealed her room, dim lit by cascading sunset, smelling of faux berries and autumn from a flickering candle. The track switched from Drake to SZA on her portable speaker. Cool nostalgic gusts gently flipped the floral curtains up. Outside the window, an excellent view of a busy district from half a mile down the hill. She loved the lights and cars from this apartment floor. She dragged over a novelty plush chair that she imagined people would sit in when she had them over, but it was utilized very rarely. It was angled toward the window. She sat and had a view of the sun disappearing beneath the horizon, the stars making their appearance above the soothing dusk breeze. A local pizza chain was just close enough for her to barely catch a whiff of greasy cheese from time to time. 

A bedside lamp illuminated the rough pages of a tattered paperback on the mythology of Greek Goddesses. Their aesthetic perfection haunted her. They would never tolerate a Jeremy, smiting any who dared not bow before them. Elyse was at an impressionable age where she truly believed that a mystical feminine presence would guide her someday; desperate for a super power, a trip to a wizard school, or getting caught between a vampire and werewolf's love, her imagination was too big for the cold practicality of mundane existence. 

She dozed off with visions of beauty in her mind; close friends, idyllic hillside towns, a community, a water park on the fourth of July, fireworks and screams occupy the senses as she would make her way through crowds of Hawaiian shirts and bikinis. Sleep. 

A dark forest illuminated by the moon. Stone pillars stretching in impossible loops, in worship of something of grave significance. Between them, a warm light. A silhouette of arms outstretched, long hair. Elyse paced slowly, crackling twigs with each barefoot step. A hum grew as she approached, at first industrial, then angelic. 

Light backlit the mysterious being. From what features Elyse could make out, she resembled a model; everything from her skin to her proportions seemed unreal, as if her aura had never been observed before. Elyse had met a lot of people, but no other being gave off this energy; dark, yet beautiful. She felt understood in her presence. Words came through and pierced the heavenly ambience of hums. 

"I know you. You ache. Your soul is burning." 

Elyse stood paralyzed before the now obvious beauty of the woman before her, tears streaming down, light intensifying with warmth, awestruck. 

An apple, impossibly as bright as the sun, blinded her as it manifested in the palm of the woman. 

"Your foes are mirrors, your beauty is internal, yet you are blind. A gift. You will awake, and your shadow will become clear." 

Elyse felt that these words were of immense poignance, yet failed to understand it. All that was clear was that she should embrace the apple. Lightning seemed to burst from the apple as her hand met it. She was blind again, convulsing orgasmically, a fever, a seizure, birth, Heaven. 

And in spite of the intensity, her eyes gently opened with a calm heart, the ethereal strings of Radiohead pierced through the tinny speakers of her phone as it flashed 6:00 AM. She breathed cool morning air with a newfound peace, an unfamiliar sense of preparedness, confidence. The alarm and dread of school often stressed her heartbeats, oftentimes her chest felt sunken, head tiredly sore, brows furrowed,  but today's beginning was inexplicably different. 

In the midst of her morning routine somewhere between the pantry raid for fruit or careful shirt selection, an esoteric byproduct of the newfound determination induced by the dream, a strange feeling, as if a neural pathway had been unblocked after years of dormancy. She stared at herself in her body length bedroom mirror only donning undergarments. She stretched and posed confidently. For the first time, she knew she was perfect. 

Brushing her teeth, something in her screamed for itself to manifest. She stopped brushing. What is this intrusive thought? It's nothing like a typical, self-deprecative one. It's seemingly alien in origin. She looked at the Basil and Lemon handsoap and concentrated, not sure what about at first. It took ten seconds for the light to switch, the neural pathway to activate, the manifestation process begun. The handsoap, inexplicably, miraculously, dwindled in size to a quarter of what it was. 

Elyse jumped in terror and bruised her ass on the cigarette stained tile floor, desperately slipping around to get her footing to sprint as fast as possible to her bedroom. 

She breathed and kept her cool, toothbrush still in mouth. Her heart settled down. Had to be fake. She walked back brushing it off as a tired hallucination. First look at the sink indicated it wasn't. 

A random scientific occurrence? Stranger things have happened. She considered it to be a fluke, before conducting the same experiment on a hair brush, cardboard toilet paper roll, and Q-tip. Her panic evolved into excitement before hiding all of the now dollhouse sized objects under her bed before skipping gleefully out the door. 

Elyse strutted through the halls with grace. She felt noticed by the universe, her life's story had begun, her meaning finally present. She could be a superhero, a goddess, executing tasks only possible with her new talent. 

In the midst of the crowded halls, a familiar locker was jutted open, coated in various stickers; a pot leaf, band names scraggled in incomprehensible font, Tom Brady. The locker closed revealing Jeremy, confused upon seeing this new uppity aura surrounding Elyse.

"What's yer deal? Caught'cher first dick?" 

Despite Elyse's positive outlook, the comment made her retreat inwards. It was a personal attack, but instead of sinking away, she forced a menacing smile. 

"There's a girl waiting for you, Jessica something, janitor's closet in the 150s hallway. I think she wants to catch yours." 

The disarmed Jeremy stood speechless, cheeks even rosier and eyes agape. 

"...Jessica Wells?" 

Elyse remembered her. A dull yet extremely attractive girl. She remembered back in 6th grade she was the first of the girls that developed a mature set of breasts. 

"I think. Have fun." 

...

Jeremy regularly skipped classes by going out into the courtyard or behind the school in the thin patch of woods. He took pleasure in breaking sticks and kicking rocks while his classes went on. Anything was better than being home, except for school itself. Seeing what Elyse was talking about after classes had already started was no problem. 

He peered down the empty hall for potential teachers before making his way into the room. The door was usually locked but this time propped. He creaked it open before doing a double take behind, then entered. The darkness of the room was immediately concerning, and even moreso when he couldn't find the lightswitch. A feminine whisper interrupted his struggles; 

"Close the door." 

He jumped, and then tried really hard to hide the fact that he jumped, as if it was a natural body movement, to not make himself look weak. He closed the door. Darkness surrounded him for a couple seconds, along with an eerie silence. 

"Uh... what's with the light? Is this Jess?" 

Overhead tungsten bulbs switched on, Elyse was sitting on an upside down mop bucket. A great panic reeled down his spine, he felt dumber than ever. He immediately assumed this was a ploy to embarrass him, but part of him questioned whether or not it was Elyse that actually wanted to engage with him. In this uncomfortable confrontation, it was difficult to find words, and her stare was unusual, seemingly holding some subtext that he was unfamiliar with. Jeremy defaulted to pleasantries, strangely enough. 

"Hey, uh... y'know, not sure what yer doin', but I should tell ya, I'm sorry for..." 

The world blurred. The light blinded as he fell to the tile. Opening his eyes revealed nothing but overwhelming white light. He thought he had been shot in the chest. He thought he was experiencing death. 

It worked.

Elyse observed the tiny Jeremy from the mop bucket. This was even more exhilarating than the objects. She walked over to the miniature boy reeling on the floor. He was holding his stomach, eyes closed, like he got the wind knocked out of him. She planted her feet on either side of him, staring right down, so that the angle would be a surprise when he came to. 

The light no longer blinded him, his blood pressure stabilized as he looked to his side. The first thing he observed was an impossibly large Converse sneaker. He focused on it and nothing else, trying to make out what he was looking at. He blinked, looked at his hand, then back at the sneaker. What in the fuck. Mind racing, he could not figure it out, until slowly peering up at what the sneaker was connected to; a spot of brown skin beneath a tight jean leg, this was a... person? He shot his head up to see the face of the enormous being towering before him; a smug, confident Elyse. 

The boy did not often exude any sense of guilt or embarrassment. Throughout his entire social life, he has worked hard to hide any and all feelings of inferiority, and has resorted to any means necessary to appear stronger than he was. Obviously, his current situation is the direct result of this behavior; shrinking before a domineering woman, the sadistic look on Elyse's face allowed pressures and traumas to rise to the surface. The current predicament completely dismantled the wall that Jeremy worked so hard to build between him and the outside world. He shivered uncontrollably before drowning in tears. It was a mixture of fear and loathing that gripped him, a knowing of hopelessness, an imminent death, instinctual and primal. 

The sad thing about reality is that children are so oblivious to the psychological context in which others are thrown into moments of mania. Truthfully, Elyse felt a little bad for the guy. She refrained from squashing him like initially planned, instead using this moment of weakness the boy exhibited in a show of mockery. It was only fair. Elyse cared not for egalitarian caregiving, being purely motivated by spite in the moment. 

"You're so fucking pathetic." She snorted as she laughed. 

Unbeknownst to her, the verbal abuse withdrew more trauma from the recesses of Jeremy's mind. Vivid depictions of his wrist being choked by the grip of his mother as he is dragged into the closet. His small frame is thrown so hard that his head hits the back of the wall through the clothes. The floor is covered in miscellaneous garbage that has been hidden away, vacuum hoses, blocks he used to play with, winter jackets, trash bags; "I'm sorry, mommy, I'm sorry, mommy, I'm sorry" instinctively in a string of fear stricken wails, face soaked in snot, exasperated screams, torturous. Hungry, tired, thirsty, he'd cry himself unconscious in that room. 

Although Elyse had not been aware of the mental hell overtaking Jeremy, it seemed a bit... rough to watch, to say the least. Her sense of power melted to a strange sympathy. She tried to snap herself out of it. He was a wretch, he had tortured you your whole life, Elyse. She'd spark a bit of gratified anger, until a couple seconds of Jeremy's crying sobered her again. 

"Hey... relax, Jesus..." 

Jeremy tried to quiet himself, unable to control the tears.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Elyse. Please... please don't tell anyone, Elyse, I'm sorry..." 

"Would you knock it off?" 

Truthfully, Elyse hated to see him like this. It was like seeing the villain in a TV show commit suicide... the realness of the situation removed any hostility. Villains are fun to hate. Jeremy was fun to vilify, fun to torture in her mind, but this was just... not the same. It wasn't right. She decided she still wanted to put him in his place, but in a justified way that wouldn't be overkill. 

He sniffled in a puddle. Elyse gently grabbed him. Soft skin covered Jeremy's body. 

"Don't hurt me, Elyse, I'm sorry..." 

"I'm not gonna fuckin' hurt you, okay? Christ, chill the hell out." 

She tucked him in her pocket. It was an unconscious move for her, like tucking in a phone, but to Jeremy, it was surreal. He slid into the tight denim confines. It smelled very warm and comfortable, Gain dryer sheets, her warm thigh lulled him into a calm slumber. He was comfortable; hidden from the world, covered in what felt like a blanket. He calmed himself down, the tears and sweat dried up, his heartbeat steadied, bliss soothed his frightened heart. The merciful escape of sleep took him in.

The rest of the day, the entire vibe was off.

Elyse sat in Applied Algebra and Trig with a completely dumbstruck look, unable to follow the lecture of the tired teacher who didn't want to be there just as much as her. She demanded the confidence to reappear. "C'mon, what the hell happened?" She wanted to feel like she did this morning, but couldn't bring herself to sidestep the uncomfortable scenario she had been put through with Jeremy. 

The story was not supposed to end like this. Elyse had imagined slowly pressing her rubber sole down on him, rubbing it back and forth, scraping dirt and shoe gunk onto him as she told him exactly what was going to happen; payback for years of torment. She'd tell him right then and there how disgusted she was, how repulsive of a person he is, that he is the problem with society, his racism, narcissism, bigotry... and after educating him on everything he did wrong, she'd lift her sneaker, and with one last movement, permanently snuff Jeremy out with a gory squash. She thought she'd love to see him panic and apologize, but... not this way. 

The primal sadness that Jeremy exhibited stuck with her. She went to the bathroom and peeled the inside of her pocket back to reveal he was still comfortably asleep. What the hell was supposed to happen now? 

...

Elyse stopped at her front door; the first guest from school into her house was going to be... Jeremy? It revolted her. But look at the bright side; she could do whatever she wanted. No one would know he exists. Flush him down the toilet, stab him with pencils, stomp him like initially planned, these ideas gave her a sense of comfort as she creaked open the door and B-lined for her room. 

Without checking, she grasped his soft, flimsy body from her pocket and threw him into an empty strawberry Smucker's jar. His ass smacked the glass, he held the back of his head. 

"What the hell are ya doin', you crazy bitch..." 

Despite the mental breakdown and immense size difference, the boy still had the balls to complain. Elyse couldn't help but laugh. The boy was enraged, and took the time to really observe what was going on. 

He used to be a few inches taller than her, but her body was now a skyscraper; he didn't understand it. Her chest jiggled beneath her cotton crop top. Every part of her he looked at seemed magnified at this angle; her smooth, cappuccino skin layered with occasional goosebumps, her perky little breasts, the fibers on her clothes, every single strand of hair, there was something magnificent about it. He didn't realize he was staring. 

He had woke up at some point in the tight confines of her pocket with a deep sense of shame. He even punched her thigh as hard as he could, over and over, that went totally unnoticed by her. He'd punch himself exhausted, rest, then do it again, kicking and yelling, but it was barely the strength of a phone's vibration. 

He could tell he was in a girl's bedroom, he used what little mental capacity he had to conclude it was hers. He scanned the bookcase, walls, TV set, searching for something to make fun of her about, until he found it. 

"...Is that a Rocky Horror poster? Christ, you're fuckin' cringe." It was the only thing he could think of to retain any ounce of power he had.

Before he knew it, everything started shaking. She had lifted the glass jar and poured him onto a wooden end table. He landed right beside a condensation stain from a cup with no coaster, with a familiar ass slam and head scratch.

"I was about to kill you, literally, I was about to stomp on you, but your crying was so sad that it grossed me out, so I thought I'd wait to kill you when you weren't crying... maybe tomorrow." 

Jeremy, still hiding any and all signs of weakness, coughed to cover up the audible gulp in his throat, tried to steady his heartbeat, and unwiden his eyes that were propped open in total fear. He uncomfortably moved around with crossed arms, eyes up to the roof. 

"See if I care, cunt." 

The performance was a little too obvious at this point. Elyse decided to ego check him. Her hand came close to his body, her middle finger pressed against her thumb cocked with a flick. She angled it so that the flick would punt his head clean off. His shaky voice interrupted her. 

"Wha- I... you just said tomorrow! I thought you said tomorrow!" He cowered, backing up with his hands, unable to escape the radius of her potentially lethal  blow, following him. 

"I thought you didn't care? Dude, why are you acting like such a hard ass? I could literally flick your head off." 

Reality weighed down on Jeremy. He's gotten through worse situations with his forced bravado. 

For people like Jeremy, appearances take on much more significance than they do for others. He will walk to school cutting through old people's yards, leaving tracks while standing up straight, shoulders back, chest out, because if his persona were to collapse for a single moment, there would be questions. Any weakness at all, any moment a guard is let down, it could be used towards other people's advantage. He's tried vulnerability before with his parents. It hasn't worked out well. 

Jeremy has thought about what he would do if his classmates found out about his home life. What would happen if someone peered through the window to see his father holding a hunting knife to his mother's throat as she cries, demanding an apology for a betrayal that never actually happened (he got to school late today because this kept him awake until 2am), or if they saw him in the middle of playing Xbox get punched in the nose by a fully grown man, causing him to bleed and lock himself in the bathroom. He concluded suicide would be the only escape from such embarrassment. 

"We're gonna pretend like you didn't just have a mental breakdown on the floor of the janitor's closet? You even said 'sorry', it didn't sound like you at all." 

He stood up, fists cocked to his side, and proclaimed with more confidence than anything he's ever said, "Some people got fuckin' problems lady, what's yours, anyways? You got no friends, so instead of shooting up the school, you shrink 'em and step on 'em? You're a fuckin' freak, you know that? A cold hearted bitch. You're everythin' I hate about women. You don't even care what 'bout anyone but yourself." His voice wobbled and collapsed, the tears he was hiding during the entire rant helplessly ran loose. He bent down and covered his face. "Don’t look at me, look the other way!" he screamed. 

"See? See what I'm talking about? Quit acting so tough, you're just hurting yourself."

He sniffled and cleaned himself back up much faster than before. His head came back up with a furiously intense face, steaming dark red, seemingly prepared for death. Elyse sighed, rubbing her eyes. 

"You brought me back to kill me, so do it. I mean it this time. I couldn't care less." he demanded in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. He closed his eyes and sat criss cross, gentle tears forcing their way though, with a newfound sense of stoic strength. He knew he was born into this world to suffer. Life was a rigged game, nothing made sense, God was dead, fuck everything. An angry thought loop echoed through his mind as he quietly sat, welcoming death out of pure spite. 

Elyse thought for a moment. She could very easily and powerfully slam her fist down upon him. She could put him on the inside of her sneaker and suffocate him beneath her sole. She could chew and mangle his flimsy body into a bloody, gory mess. She considered all of these things. She sighed again, hard enough to breeze her breath gently past Jeremy's face. He opened his eyes to see her in thought. The both sat in a comfortable silence. Both emotionally conflicted, her sitting on her bed and him still criss cross. 

"Hey." Elyse broke the silence. The boy opened his eyes. "In the closet, before you shrank, what were you saying sorry for?" 

"What?"

"You said 'I'm sorry' before you shrank. What for?"

Jeremy recollected, and was hoping she wouldn't ask, but offered a potential excuse. "Just one of those things that comes out, I guess, like instinct, or somethin'." 

"No it wasn't. It seemed like you meant it." 

He had turned away without looking at her while he answered, prompting suspicion. She questioned him again. "Tell me." 

"I was... thinkin' bout how you probably don't like it when I say shit to you, like mean stuff or somethin', I felt like you were gonna tell on me or try to kill me or somethin', just felt lousy is all, not a big deal, Jeez." 

Elyse smiled. 

In Jeremy's meditative criss cross, he dozed off again for a mere 10 minutes and woke to the thumping bass of Roddy Ricch's track 'Ballin'", Elyse dancing in the body mirror while rapping along, "I put the new Forgis on the Jeep", her body contorted sexually in the mirror, she felt up her curves, "I TRAP UNTIL DA BLOODY BOTTOMS IS UNDERNEATH", she was taking full advantage of the fact that her mom wasn't home yet. Jeremy rubbed his eyes laughing to himself. She saw him in the mirror reflection and turned around with a slight embarrassed smile. 

She ran to the phone on a small table in front of the one Jeremy was sitting on. She didn't pick it up, instead bending over, jutting her ass outwards to type on it, seemingly in a show specifically for Jeremy. He felt guilty staring as her ass popped out, her thin workout shorts plush tight against her cheeks, a pink edge of laced floral panties ever so gently sticking out from the side. 

She paused the track and hopped down to sit in front of the end table. She laid her massive arms along the edge, startling the boy a bit. She rested her head on her arms, squishing her face a bit, staring curiously at the tiny Jeremy. The view of her face and arm up close stirred up something deep within him; the field of tiny hairs strewn across the top of her caramel brown arm, the plush lips glimmering with freshly applied chap stick, the recently groomed sharp eyebrows, it's like her beauty was multiplied by 100. 

He guiltily remembered why he was here. "So..." He sat in a fetal position, unconsciously vulnerable, powerless under her gaze, looking the other way. His voice was weak. 

"You're kinda cute when you're not a huge asshole." 

"I ain't cute, don't call me cute." 

"No, really, it's kinda adorable." 

Jeremy felt that he should be mad, but didn't necessarily bring it out. 

"...Whatever." 

She noticed herself smiling, then wiped it away, snapping herself out of it. Don't feel anything for him, Elyse. He's a pest, he's a piece of shit... right? 

Reality, at this point, was also weighing down on Elyse. She knew on a deep level that killing him wouldn't be a good idea. It wouldn't be good for her mental health, karma, or the possibility of imprisonment... then again, she could just shrink every cop that tried to get her... but a shrink rampage would be an even darker path... that part of her kinda liked... but she snapped out of it again. 

She decided to keep the boy on his toes. "It's entertaining to see the big and powerful menace of Forthright High at two inches tall." 

Jeremy got hard, but luckily his legs hid it. Why? He asked himself, his eyes danced around the table, his face still engulfed in a pink hue, why do I like this? He was at a loss for words, not even a witty response, so he sat quietly mysterious. A cool breeze from the window chilled his spine and forced out a noticeable shiver. Elyse stood up grabbing the Smuckers jar with her left hand and motioned towards her busy desk caked with papers, books, drawings, assignments, and miscellaneous mess eventually grabbing a wash cloth and stuffing it in the jar, bringing it back to reveal a little makeshift bedding. She cupped the shivering boy off the end table and placed him gently in the jar. 

He tried to wrap himself with the edges of the cloth; the red patterned fabric was frayed and scraggy and chafed his skin, but it was better than nothing. Elyse brought her eye to the opening of the jar; Jeremy peered up into it frighteningly unsure of the ideas she had in store. 

"My breath smells good, don't worry" she said before bringing her lips to the opening. Her mouth opened, a deep, humid exhale filled the glass. Condensation formed all around him as he sat bathing in her artificial spearmint scented warmth, recently having chewed a piece of gum. Jeremy looked up at her open mouth; there was something so graceful about it, her white teeth, her slimy tongue, and it scared him greatly that it was as big as his bedroom. Would she toss him in? She could, for all he knew. Jeremy bathed in the warmth as Elyse continued her deep exhales until the Smuckers jar became a greenhouse before she was called to dinner. 

"Sit tight." She smiled down into the opening before prancing away with loud thuds. 

Jeremy was washed inside of a new feeling; something inside him that's been dormant since he was an infant, something primordial, a universal good that he knew must be how normal people felt. He couldn't label it. He visualized that one pyramid in psychology class, he couldn't remember the name, but "Abraham Lincoln" came to his mind, obviously that wasn't it but who cares, what was on the pyramid? It was a hierarchy of needs for a person to be happy or something... then it clicked. For the longest time, he has stared at this pyramid confusedly, not sure what it meant, and after deep thought about this pyramid, came to the conclusion that he was unfamiliar with the content within the pyramid because the very bottom requirement for people was "safety". Safety... safety... I'm safe, right? In the middle of class? Technically, but he had realized that he had never felt truly safe, and that was exactly what the mysterious emotion was that overtook him. Here, in the bedroom of his victimized schoolmate that he's tormented so liberally, in this empty jam jar amidst a feminine mess of clothes and school supplies, lying in the residual humid air of her breath, a sense of true, honest safety.

He stared up at the ceiling through the opening, as it was the only thing to look at, in deep thought, asking himself questions, trying to figure out what these conflicted desires were, how to act on them, what to even do next.

Between thoughts, glass squeaked as the boy glided his fingers across the concave dome, at first an infinite line, then drawings of houses. He doodled a minimalist depiction of his face with slightly angered eyes and straight lips in the condensation. He backed away and looked at it. It did not spark joy. The doodle stuck in his stomach. He walked beside it and then doodled Elyse, slightly more emotive, eyes plump ovals, a gently angled smirk. He backed up and looked at it. It made him warm. The neurotic poison of home life melted at the sight of her. Back and forth in his thoughts, he kept visualizing the first dog he had, Paul, a Pitbull puppy that grew as big as him over the course of a couple years. Elyse brought back repressed moments of that dog, chasing a hacky sack through tall grass, miraculously bursting from the grass with the sack in his mouth every time, never discouraged by that relentless sun beaming down in early August, disappearing and reappearing from the grass, a black spot on his left eye, tail always rocking side to side with a big grin. 

Walking him wasn't an issue until he got older. The roles reversed to Paul walking Jeremy, dragging him through parks and woods, the countless amount of scratches and bruises he received from twigs and rocks grinding his knees and shins from the dog's beefy determined strut became so common that he started to bring bandages and neosporin on every trip. 

An elderly woman who resented herself and the world that went by Miss Angela would soon grow tired of the dog's excited barks upon the arrival of Jeremy from school and call animal control lying about a bite. Jeremy would watch his best friend get carried out by two men, both taller than him and his mother combined, in blue overalls. The dog was the friendliest on the block. He never put up a fight. He'd cry himself to sleep every night for a week. 

...

Grilled chicken in a balsamic mushroom glaze with a sweet potato was given to Elyse in a black plastic take out box by her mother, Jen. She was 38 but looked 28, lightskinned, busty curves. Her attractiveness was one of the many subjects Elyse had been teased about in school, especially from the boy that is now in a glass jar in her bedroom. Elyse imagined he'd be small enough to sneak into her mother's mashed potatoes while she ate. She imagined a red dye leaking onto the starchy white clouds from her mother's lips, assuming it to be from the steak. Another intrusive dark thought. 

"I'm glad you've been hanging in there so well, sweetheart." 

The good food a trophy for Elyse's infinite tolerance level. Forthright required patience more than any other place. 

"Thanks." 

Her mother smiled and held the side of Elyse's head, brushing her poofy curls out of her eyes, feeling her soft face as she caressed. 

"You're doing great. I'm so proud of you." 

The girl's stomach turned thinking about Jeremy, how her mother would react to what she did. 

Jen pecked her on the cheek and carried the brown paper bag containing her meal to an IKEA dining room table. She began the ritualistic movements of pouring a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and setting the table. 

"Want a glass tonight?" 

"It's a school night." 

"One glass won't kill you. I think you earned it." 

Elyse guiltily walked over and tried her best to exchange optimistic pleasantries as her mom poured two glasses, delivered more compliments, finishing with an outline of reminders, laundry must be done, another kiss on the cheek. Elyse begged to take the food in her room so she could eat while finishing homework. Jen only saw this as a feat of disciplined determination and agreed. 

In response to the thuds continuously growing louder as they approached, Jeremy sat up peering through the now clear glass, enviously watching Elyse as she came in with hands full of food and wine, bumping the door closed with her butt, setting everything on her desk. He sat quietly watching as she cleared papers out of the way, flicked on a lamp, and walked to his glass. She gripped the glass in her hand; a simple movement completely magnified through the boy's perspective. The view startled him, like a shark at an aquarium running into the viewer. Her entire hand pressed against the surface revealed every ridge, crevice, print, those lines that girls in middle school count to see how many kids you'll have. Her hands were very pretty to look at, both aesthetically as a feat of science, and strangely enough, sexually. Imagining her fingers holding and caressing him made him feel tingly again. 

Instead of dumping him out, she carefully tilted the glass with her soft hand at the end. Jeremy landed on his hands and knees into her palm, and stayed there for a moment to feel it; room temperature, slight moisture, incredibly soft. She noticed him feeling around. He looked up at her and stopped immediately, curling back into a ball. He was then gently placed beside the plastic box on top of a thick Spanish textbook. 

She flicked it open. He looked inside. 

"What'd you get?" 

"Chicken and potatoes." 

The boy looked at her, then back at the food. Stone cold serious, the boy inquired.

"...Orange potatoes?" 

She had taken a bite already, and with cheeks full of savory chicken breast, stifled a giggle and snorted a bit. She paused and made herself swallow. 

"Are you being serious?"

"What? Oh, you were messing with me." 

"No, they're potatoes, sweet potatoes, you've never had a sweet potato?" 

"Never." 

"Wanna try some?" 

He shrugged his shoulders. She looked for a clean surface to use before just deciding to rip the top of her plastic box off, scooping tiny amounts of each bit of food onto it for him; scraps of saucy chicken, a broccoli sprout, and a glob of orange mash that had been entangled with some brown sugar, cinnamon, and butter. He wasn't sure if he should say thanks or not. He didn't want to thank someone that was eventually going to kill him, but it came out instinctively.

"Thanks..." 

He scooped a wad of the orange fluff into his mouth and swished it around. His heart stopped, every taste bud flared up; his eyes vibrated and his brain numbed in delight, he breathed in, sending a warm orgasm throughout his chest and eyes, he closed them as they began to water along with his mouth, saliva came hard from the bottom of his tongue. It was the greatest thing he had ever tasted in his life. 

He slowly swished it around more, swallowing bit by bit. His eyes stayed closed for a bit longer, processing every note, the sweetness, the earthiness, it made him feel like a little kid again, riding his BMX through dirt jumps with his cousins in Kentucky, that dirt smell in the cold air, that pure bliss, his eyes watered up. 

"This is the best thing I ever ate." He managed to mumble through swallows. He continued to grovel the rest of the food into his mouth. He had been starving. 

Elyse realized she felt a sense of motherly satisfaction seeing him eat, planting her lips on the rim of her wine glass and sipping. Everything she's done for him felt meaningful. She carefully observed his facial expressions every time; she had been acutely aware of his relief when she warmed up his jar, his hungry eyes when she carried her food in, his embarrassed cheeks when she bent over earlier. He was endearing, as much as she hated to admit it, as much as she despised him at normal size, shrinking him seems to have brought out his inner child. 

Watching the tiny boy excitedly stuff his cheeks with morsels of her food, she came to a realization that most people don't reach until they're elderly, some don't even at all. That these problem people; these assholes, abusers, manipulators... they're children. Boys pretending to be men. Horrible events transpire in everyone's life. Some more than others. She realized it's very possible that the anguish she endured from his horrible behavior did not come close to the potential abuse he must have faced. Although she didn't know at the time, she was right. While he was clearly in an uplifted state of mind, she caught him off guard.

"Jeremy."

He stopped eating, gaping eyes peering up innocently, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. 

"Why are you so mean?" 

He swallowed, rolled his eyes, and continued eating. 

Elyse recalled from several summers ago when she was part of an entrepreneurial program in the Girl Scouts, leading her team to compete with others to sell the most cookies. She remembered how she learned that respect for the leader and their decision-making was required for success. She recalled a problematic girl, Harper, undisciplined, complaining, perpetuating a culture of negative thinking. Elyse dreaded the confrontation with her, not wanting to be mean, but it came at the discretion of her troop leaders that she needed to speak with her. Elyse told the girl if she didn't shape up, she'd have to report her, risking potential termination or a loss of badge progress. Both girls continued, and became 3rd highest selling team regionally. 

The boy was growing too comfortable. 

"Can you swim?" 

He looked up, lips covered in Marsala sauce, hands caked with food gunk. 

"...Yeah?" 

He was too consumed by the fine cuisine to notice her fingers approaching. Her thumb on his chest and index finger on his back, he was plucked up and lifted away from his precious scraps. 

"Elyse, what the fuck-"

Before he could finish, he was dropped into her wine glass.

Jeremy flailed around in the red liquid, the smell tinging his nostrils, a bitter sweet alcoholic taste totally overwhelming him. She watched with narrow eyes and a smug grin, like he was something lesser than human. He was struggling a great deal for someone who allegedly knew how to swim. 

"ELLIE-" His head went under, his arms splashing wine up on the sides of the glass. "HEL-" he dunked, came back up "HELP, PLE-". Something about the event seemed like a performance. She didn't trust it, but also didn't want to risk drowning the poor kid. 

"Oh, I thought you could swim? Oh, well." 

Jeremy shivered at the dismissive tone. He was really out of his league. Part of him knew this might be it, this painful end to a tragic life. It immediately became clear how deserved it was that a stupid lie put him into this position. He finally started to realize this girl was serious. He couldn't bully or manipulate his way out of this. Guilt and remorse came flowing as he inhaled pints of wine. He managed to emerge for a greater length of time. 

"I LIED!" 

She picked up the glass and brought it to her lips. The liquid bounced and swished, Jeremy looked up expecting a finger to save him, but instead, the plush, coral lips, nonchalantly puckering for a sip of wine. It was over. He'd go out drowning in a girl's wine glass, or in the mouth of his high school crush that he was too afraid to confront. Faced with impossible odds, all that was left was regret. Regret of a life of lies, fear, and misery. 

He came rushing with a wave of wine smacking against the surface of her lips. He tried to cling on to the pink flesh of her lips for dear life. There were still some remnants of Burt's Bees chapstick, making the surface oily, replacing the stinging alcohol scent with artificial vanilla. This was technically a kiss, as he initially ran into the top lip face first before being sucked into her cavernous mouth. 

This is where every one of Jeremy's senses were put into freefall. Being swished around a mouth is kind of like being thrown into a washing machine. If every one of your senses is taken to such an extreme, if your sense of direction is unknown because you're being tossed between a tongue, cheeks, and teeth, you start to disassociate. The boy's vision went back into his skull, as he seemed to perceive what was happening from a distance. His body, detached from his spirit at the current moment, flailed, crashed, soaked in spit, was treated like a vegetable she didn't want to chew or swallow. 

Finally, after an unprecedented length in Elyse's mouth, he opened his eyes. There was light and a solid surface. He laid in a puddle on her desk, cold air hitting him, the menacing gaze of Elyse above him. 

"Look, I know you have issues, but I'm tired of your attitude. You don't seem to get it. You're two inches tall. I could pulverize your body with my thumb. Do you know what else I could do to you if I got bored?" 

That last line shook Jeremy in his core. He knew it was time for the charade to end. His mind began to race with potential deaths he could suffer at the hands of his giant friend, and while terrifying, felt a bit enthralled by it. He realized he had been hard the whole time in her mouth. 

Elyse, on the other hand, also for reasons unknown to her, deeply enjoyed having him in her mouth. She liked exploring his body with her tongue, imagining his tiny terrified face, but she noticed she liked the idea even more when she imagined the face to be in pleasure instead of pain. She felt his member get hard in her mouth. She had blushed, smiled, and then snapped out of it, knowing that discipline needed to come before feelings. Plus, she was still open to the idea of stepping on him if he kept up the behavior.

She continued. "I'm trying to be nice. I think you're a sweet person underneath, just don't test my patience anymore."

"...yes, ma'am. I'm-" 

He choked. His mother would smack him every time he said sorry. 

"I apologize. I'm tryin' to get better." 

He looked down. His voice was shaky and quiet. It broke Elyse's heart. She immediately regretted what she did. He obviously didn't need to be terrified anymore. She tried to think of what to say to lift the mood again. 

"...What was it like?" 

"What?" 

"Being in a mouth. Was it fun?" 

He rubbed his shoulder and laughed a little uncomfortably. 

"If I didn't think you was gonna kill me, maybe. I deserved it, though. Shouldn'ta told you I could swim. I was bein' brash. Like, tryin' to make you think I was cool." 

"I can't swim either." 

They smiled at one another for a moment before blinking and snapping out of it, both looking the opposite direction out of embarrassment. 

...

He was gently placed into the glass jar and set on her bedside table. He tried to cover up in the cloth as he watched her commence her evening routine. She had no issue getting changed in front of him, unsnapping her bra and shimmying down her panties. She addressed it with a disingenuous warning. 

"Don't look." 

He turned the other way only for a moment before slowly bringing his eyes back. She threw on a tank top and pink shorts. 

He watched as she lifted her heavy comforter on the bed and sat down. 

"Goodnight, Jeremy." 

"...G'night" 

'Goodnight Jeremy'? The thought was strange. Jeremy, of all people, sleeping in her bedroom, and she said goodnight to him? The ending of the day had been just as surreal as the rest. 

...

Elyse couldn't sleep. A chattering interrupted her 12 AM self deprecative thoughts. She looked over to Jeremy, violently shivering beneath the thin cloth in the bottom of the jar against the glass.

"...Hey." He looked over. "...Want to sleep with me?" 

"...um, what- like, in the bed, in the blankets?" 

His face was soaked in crimson. 

"Yes." 

"If it's okay with you, if y'want..." 

She cupped the opening of the jar and poured his cold little body into her palm. She curled back up into her blankets and set him beside her pillow. 

"You can use my hand as a lil shelter." 

She put her hand over him cupped into a hut. She rested her muscles, gently collapsing her fingers and palm against him like a blanket. Warmth cuddled his body. He lovingly peered up into her eyes. The scented lotion on her palms comforted him; coconut and mango, it tickled his nose. Her face was perfect against the pillow, cheeks smooth, forehead slightly glimmering in moonlight, the foreboding lips reminding him of moments prior, a cute short nose that sent gentle warm gusts of exhale to his face, breath much fresher than it smelled earlier, Colgate white.

He admired the sight until she was fully asleep. He thought of escaping. It would be pretty easy. Then he realized something. His body got excited. A dirty thought. Elyse's entire body was underneath the blanket, warm, in minimal clothing. He rubbed himself at the thought. He was unsure of whether or not exploring it would be wise, or even morally ethical. How many opportunities would he get? He was terrified of her waking up, or accidentally rolling over on top of him. Being smothered by her stomach or breasts may be an even more embarrassing way to go than her mouth, although, strangely exhilarating. Alternatively, he could just climb down the bed and find his way out. 

He peeled her fingers back gently, stepping away from the warm confines of her hand, staring in deep thought at the sleeping Elyse.

Guilt and fear followed in the pit of the stomach at the sight of the girl’s perfect face that Jeremy was observing. He sat on her thumb to take in the sight. Every facial feature, every curve of skin from her hair to her neck, small chin and plush lips especially magnified from this tiny angle, he couldn’t stop staring. Unexpectedly, her eyes plucked open aimed directly at the boy. 

“Are you okay?” Elyse sounded concerned. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“What’s wrong?” She propped her head up a bit in preparation of getting some fever medicine or water. 

“Everythin’.” 

He was at a loss. His unquiet mind prevented sleep. Every visualization and thought that flew through his mind’s eye was contaminated through the veneer of fear and resentment. The boy, who struggled with articulation of simple concerns or ideas, was at an even greater loss of how one should describe the existential and psychological weight beating him into a pulp; he tried his best. 

“I hate everything, I mess everything up, I wish I wasn’t born, and I hate to say it, but I’m scared of everything.” 

Elyse was confused but chose to listen intently. 

“I’m not good at sayin’ stuff, I’m not like you, but I feel good with you. This whole thing, even though you hate me, I just think it… feels good.”

He looked down at the sheets, curled into a ball, rubbing the back of his head, expecting his moment of vulnerability to be crushed and rejected like it always has been. He wanted to cry but didn’t. He expected hostility. He hoped she’d grab him and tighten her grip to end him right there. 

“I like it, too.” 

For some reason, this didn’t alleviate the misery in Jeremy’s gut, the sight of him in pain made Elyse incredibly sad.

“...I don’t wanna go back home, I wanna stay with you.” His voice dipped and cracked. He was broken. 

“Even though I was gonna kill you?” She wasn’t. 

“You were at least gonna do it for a good reason. I don’t deserve to feel good.” 

His eyes dimmed with a baggy emptiness. His breathing stunted, chest hollow, stomach tightening. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to be dead. 

A tear shot down Elyse’s cheek without her realizing. 

She looked at him with a quivering lip. Him still painfully gazing at the sheets. 

What is to be said? What can fix this? 

Was this a mistake? She felt stupid. 

“I’m sorry, Jeremy.” She never expected to ever say sorry to him in her life. 

He sat unresponsive until finally the last remaining life in him was dragged from the pit of his soul, the last gram of any resemblance of hope ripped from the neurotic hate-filled recesses of his being to formulate the sentence. 

“I like you.” He aimed his gaze back up to her. 

“I like you, too.” 

In an instant, his pain had subsided. He had been rubbing the wrinkles on her thumb and the smooth fingernail unconsciously. He looked down at it and was reminded how perfect her hands were. 

Elyse moved her hand and cupped him. Her eyes closed. Her face got closer and closer, lips protruding. Jeremy panicked a bit at first, then calmed himself. The lips made contact with his torso and face. It was gentle. She held her lips against his body for a moment, before ending with a smack. She backed up just enough to peer down at him, her nostril exhales flicking his hair up and down. 

The smile on his face indicated to go further. 

She went back a little more, holding her lips against him and tilting her head, puckering and releasing in sensual motions, covering the young man in kisses. He reciprocated them, although it couldn’t really be felt, his eyes were closed as his lips were extended, too. A naïve but polite motivation. 

She let out a few moany hums as the kisses grew more and more sensual. She backed up to check on him. In an exasperated whisper, her breath beat down on him.

“Can I keep going?” 

Red-faced, enthralled, excited, and frightened, he responded. “Yeah.” 

The lips met him again and started to open. He was now being caressed by the inside of her lips, humid air shooting across his body every now and then. It felt like he was being assaulted by soft sticky pillows. She started to include her tongue, at first with subtle taps from the tip of it, eventually coming in full force licks across him. The both of them moaned in ecstatic delight.

“Jeremy…” She whispered sensually across his body.

“...keep going, Elyse.” He wasn’t sure if she heard him, but she kept going. 

She sat up, her right hand still cupping him, and her left drifting down to beneath her shorts. She rubbed the outside of her lips as they started to moisten with each barrage of kisses. 

She reveled in the idea that he found pleasure in her size. She wanted her perfection to be worshiped, her beauty to be in awe at the sight of the powerless boy, and it was. She wanted him all over her body. She wanted to press him everywhere while she masturbated, she wanted to feel him crawling and massaging her most sensitive areas. She stopped before she got ahead of herself.

“...How far should we go?” As much as she wanted to use him, she felt it inappropriate to do so without asking. 

“As far as you’d like. I love this.” An unfamiliar smile stretched across his face. It seemed that the warmth from her lips melted any hostility still festering in him. 

Elyse was delighted at this response. 

She released him as she sat up and peeled her shirt off. Her breasts were perfect mounds the size of grapefruits, brown areolas the size of wafers. Jeremy followed, stripping down his shirt and jeans, pathetically tiny relative to everything else on her bed. 

She giggled before embracing his naked body with her tongue. 

She laid on her back, holding Jeremy to her mouth as she massaged her nether regions. Her moans were deafening, her vocal proclamations of erotic enjoyment sending strong vibrations through the boy’s body. It was exhilarating to think a simple byproduct of Elyse’s sexual pleasure was affecting the boy so heavily. Feeling helpless against her size was magical. 

She plucked him up and dropped him on her nipple. He landed on top of the soft brown flesh, making love to the supple skin, massaging it back and forth as he slobbered on it. 

Exasperated and delighted, “Oh, God…” rang from her mouth.

He looked up to see her head back and eyes closed, heavy breathing with her mouth agape, neck flexing from sheer delight, one hand combing through her hair as the other worked on her vagina. 

Jeremy was grateful for this experience, the ability to please Elyse on a unique level, to finally be the reason for some happiness instead of spreading his pain was a wonderful change of pace. He continued gripping and kissing her nipple, eventually humping against it leaving strands of infinitesimal pre cum across the areolas. 

Her hand came down from her head and pressed Jeremy against it. His body was squished between her fingers and breast, a bizarre feeling. Despite being trapped and having trouble breathing under the barrage of swirling circular motions tossing his body around her nipple, he had never endured greater pleasure. 

He let himself go, freeing his mind and body to allow Elyse to use him however she pleased. This offered the boy immense gratitude. 

She plucked him once more and rubbed him across her body. He moved below the breasts, peering up at her face now blocked by the gorgeous mounds. Elyse screamed in delight at the thought of using a tiny boy to pleasure herself, looking down to catch a glimpse at his ragdoll body, noticing narrow streams of pre-cum glistening along her stomach as she dragged him all over. 

Finally, it was time for him to be introduced to her womanhood. She gently and slowly cascaded his body across her skin, meeting her shaven pubes below her stomach. The sexual smell of her crotch grew stronger and stronger as he got closer. Her skin twitched in anticipation. Jeremy glided across the rough stubble of her pubic hair and landed on the outside skin of her glistening lips. 

He massaged the outer surface with his body, he could feel the vibration of her throaty moans pulsate throughout her skin. He eventually worked his way closer to the hood of her clitoris. 

“Right there, baby… God, yes…” 

At this point, Jeremy’s heart was racing, his member was unbelievably stimulated by her calls, her labia still moistening as she helped stimulate the sides, him still sloppily gliding around the hood in a lubricated mess. Her pubic stubble scratched up his chest. He loved it. 

The surface was so slick that he naturally began to descend on top of the lips. With a sliding motion, he glided across the inner labia. 

“Fuck…”

This feeling was unmatched to any sex toy she ever used. 

He managed to stop right in the middle of her slit. She opened her lips with both fingers. He tried his hardest to climb up, but the surface was pure liquid. He was now within the confines of her inner flesh. She began rubbing her clitoris as he finagled his way around the rim of her vagina. 

Finally, she used her finger to guide him. She plunged his body inside. All Jeremy felt was a pressure on his back before being consumed by her inner walls. 

It was pitch black. Her pulsating heart beat was the backdrop to her distant moans. The smell was totally overwhelming. Jeremy wished he could be fucking her right now. 

He loved how effortlessly his entire body fit deep within her. He tossed around and rubbed the surfaces the best he could. The entrance would open occasionally, casting light on the pink fleshy walls. 

Her finger returned, flicking and rubbing him around her walls. Her moans grew louder and louder as his squirming body washed around her juices. 

Miraculously, both of them started to peak around the same time. 

Her rubs grew more intense, her breathing picked up, she was trying to finish. Simultaneously, an intrinsic orgasmic warmth was generating out of Jeremy, as her finger gripped his penis as it tossed him around her walls. 

“Aaaah…” 

Jeremy was yanked out of the walls and thrown directly on top of the protruding clitors. His face was smushed into the sweaty skin, his body soaked in lubricant. 

As her finger girated quickly around her clitoris, his penis would flick across her mound, up and down, she was unknowingly jacking him off against it. 

Both gasped and screeched in delight at the greatest feeling both have ever endured. 

Cum shot out of her. She scooped puddles of it with one finger on top of Jeremy. Coating in her seed, he’d cum too, barely noticeable streams caked on top of her clitors. 

They stopped and breathed. Both sweaty, Jeremy nearly having drowned. He crawled up on top of her hood near where the pubic hairs met her stomach, and collapsed onto her smooth skin, still drenched. 

His tiny body twitched and seized. 

He breathed rapidly, her skin expanding up and down as she did the same thing. 

He looked up, her tummy and tits from this angle were magic. 

She still laid there, breathing audibly. 

He began his ascent up. 

Walking across her tummy was surreal. A girls stomach was a baseball field. 

He climbed in between her cleavage. The breasts were incredibly plush and soft. Her chin squeezed shut as she peered down at him. Her breaths still rapid, hitting Jeremy. 

“You were wonderful.” She assured. 

She grabbed Jeremy. Not wanting to wipe him off on her sheets, she opened her armpit. A familiar freshly shaven stubble swished across Jeremy. A different smell; this time, heavy feminine deodorant. The surface was oily in sweat and old perspirant from this morning. The smell was extremely erotic, and made Jeremy hard again, before being placed against her pillow. 

She turned to him in her palm. She gave him a gentle kiss and playful lick. Both smiled and closed their eyes. The breathing steadied over the course of a few minutes as they drifted to sleep.

The story of Elyse and Jeremy, as unconventional as it may appear, concludes rather understandably. Both would awake smiling, expressing each other’s excitement in their recent exploration, sharing loving remarks and continuing to connect. 

Jeremy would return to class the following day, grown back to normal size, with newfound optimism and glee. Elyse would pressure him to take his classes seriously, to actually do the work and apply himself. He understood that one must reach a certain level of comfortability in life before finding external successes. The pyramid in psychology flashed before him. He had attained the levels within the hierarchy he were previously unfamiliar with; safety, belonging, love, esteem. 

They started dating, and through rigorous negotiations and meetings with Elyse’s parents, they allowed Jeremy to consistently sleep over. Staying away from his home provided profound boosts to his mental health. 

The two would study, go on walks, and eat lunch together, all the while sharing embarrassing confessions from their past, Jeremy’s infatuation and crush on Elyse, and Elyse her goddess complex through years of Greek mythology obsession. 

Both had an understanding that there was something exhilarating about the size difference that couldn’t be replicated through normal size. It was communicated that Elyse’s “complex” as she called it, was actually an immensely attractive concept to the boy. 

Elyse would continue to have fits of teasing, threatening to shrink Jeremy if he stepped out of line. Often he purposely would, thus creating a culture of indulgent roleplay between the two, a fictional simulation of events that were similar to what brought them together in the first place. Weekend nights in Elyse’s room would contain such moments. Jeremy would press her hands against the wall, initially overpowering her, until she began to shrink him slowly, diminishing his strength and size as Elyse would then mount him on the floor. His hands would be pinned within her palms as he lied on the ground helpless to her barrage of kisses and licks. 

Other times he’d feign sickness to Elyse’s mother. She’d call the school excusing him all the while being tucked within Elyse’s underwear. 

“I swear, don’t mess around during class.” 

He would of course break his promise of playing with her parts during class, her face and body distorting to the gentle erotic movements of the boy in her vagina as she sat at her desk. If it ever became too much, she’d shrink him even further to a size in which his most intense of movements were less than a whisper of sensation. 

The two would play with this dynamic for the rest of the year, indulging in each others’ bodies while bonding all the while. The quiet loneliness of each other’s lives replaced by clamoring expressions of love and intensely sexual encounters. No longer would Elyse stare out of her window by herself, and no longer would Jeremy live in fear and resentment amongst awful humans. They would spend every waking moment gleefully in each other’s company. Problems would of course still arise, as trauma is not often fixed overnight. Fear and distrust would take hold of both of them every once in a while, in which moments they agree to stop, take a breather, and consent to yet another instance of size changing. Any time Jeremy fell victim to a fit of rage or sadness, Elyse’s grand size would bring him back to comfort. And any time Elyse would feel invalidated, unheard, or vengeful, she’d shrink him down and remember the beautiful innocence of his spirit, seeing the puny mortal boy in her palm reinvigorated her sense of self as not just a mixed girl in high school, but of a powerful and vindicated woman, a gentle goddess, casted to Earth for only the purest and benevolent of means. 

Neither would wake with a trembled heart throughout the rest of their time at Forthright High.