“Bye daddy!” The little girl yelled after squeezing her dad’s waist in a big hug. The grade-schooler waved at her dad and rushed to the car, where her mother was waiting, holding the back passenger door open. John’s wife smiled and waved at him, and then got in the front seat. One quick check later, she started the car, and they were off.

John looked at the car leaving the driveway, and followed it with his eyes until it turned around on the street. He sighed. A whole week to himself, while his wife and daughter would visit the in-laws. He asked to stay back because of a project he was needed at work, while his family would enjoy a relaxing time in the southern coasts. A week at the beach while daddy was stuck in the snowy northern area was a deal that mom and daughter took with glee. It was Friday afternoon, and they’d be back on next Saturday, giving him plenty of time to deal with work.

John did not have work that week. In fact, he had taken time off work. He walked back into the house, noticing his body casting a shadow on everyday items around the house while he walked.

John was not a happy man. He felt “stretched”. While his height was nothing special, and would be considered quite average for a man of his size. Most men would want to be tall and strong. Not John. Ever since puberty, John always felt that his body was always too big for himself. He grew out of his childhood clothes, he became tall and “heavy”. It made him feel uncomfortable in his body, and it made him hate himself. He had had many a failed relationships, with women who expected and wanted him to act his size, be bigger than them, dominant, and take them. It was the same with his wife – it took many months into their relationship before he could admit his fantasies of being the size of a child to her. It took many more months for her to accept him.

But she could tell, every time she looked up at him, every time he had to bow down to kiss her, that he hated her. When they were married, she felt that he would rather be held in her hands like a toddler, than carry her triumphantly out of the church building. But somehow, their relationship had endured. She was scared to have children, at first. “Are you going to be jealous of how little our child is?” she would ask time and again. And John would lie, and say “of course not. It’s out kid, he or she should not enter my thoughts like that. I have principles.” 

He did not. From the moment he held his newborn daughter in his hands, every milestone in her growth, he imagined himself just as small as her, or even smaller. Not as a child, but as himself, an adult human male, just … small. He never admitted it to his wife. And she never asked again. Their relationship survived only because of their daughter. They would not want to split up, at least not while she’s that young. But the family pictures would tell a story untold. More often than not, daddy would be squatting down while holding his daughter, trying to appear more like her equal, than someone twice as tall as her.

But now, John was home alone. Deep in his thoughts, his heart fluttering, he went to the kitchen, where a box waited. He opened the box. It was a secret formula, stolen from a laboratory somewhere across the globe. John had found out of its existence just a month ago, and he liquidated his hefty retirement account, sold off his investments and family savings, turned it all into bitcoin, and hired a thief online to steal a sample for him. The formula was so restricted, so world-changing, that the theft never made the news in any country, the lab burglary was hushed. And somewhere out there, a person had received about half a million dollars for the job.

He opened the box. It contained two transparent packets of identical looking silvery dust. They were as small as a teabag, but they were full. They were marked by two single Cyrillic characters. One was code for down. The other was for up. John held the packets in his hands, trembling. His whole life he lived with the knowledge that no matter how much he wanted his dream to become a reality, it would be impossible to actually do it. And yet, here he was, his finances in ruin, his wife happily ignorant of what he had done, holding the power to make his dream a reality.

John removed the packets and set them on the counter. He put some water in the electric kettle, and let it warm up. Just like making tea. He put his hands down on the counter, and realized that if everything went well, he would be barely able to see above the counter. His heart kept racing. He felt dizzy, and for the first time, terrified. The kettle let out a ding, and turned itself off. John picked it up, and carefully poured water into a large cup, filling it almost to the top. John then took a shot glass and poured just a small amount of water in it. He picked up the packets and set them next to his “tea” water. He picked up a knife and very carefully punctured the baggie marked “up”, and poured just a few particles in the shot glass. The water took the silvery-gray color of the dust, and swirled around for a bit, before settling on a dull color. John looked around for a bit of tape, and taped over the hole in the “up” packet. And then, he opened the “down” one. This time, he was much more liberal. He dumped about half of the packet in the larger mug, until the drink took the same dull silvery color, letting out a weird metallic scent. John sealed the “down” packet, and put both of them in the box. He then reached down below the kitchen counter, pulled the shorted drawer open, and placed the box neatly on top of some tupperware.

He then put his two drinks on a tray, and carried it over to the master bedroom, setting it down neatly on the nightstand. John carefully undressed. He unbuttoned his shirt, and then his pants, and stripped down to his underwear and socks. He looked at his wife’s mirror. The “too tall” man looked back at him. He paused for a moment, but then remembered that he had long crossed the point of no return. He could not chicken out now. If he did, his life was ruined anyway, so he might as well enjoy it.

John carefully removed his underwear and dropped it on the floor. He looked at his member, flaccid, resting on a tuft of pubic hair. He used to “manscape”, as they call it, when he was sexually active with his wife. But the early-thirties man was long removed from that time by now. He felt a cold breeze in the room. John pulled up his left foot. It felt so long, so big in his hands as she tugged and rolled his sock down. He did that with the other sock. He was naked.

John picked up the tray and went to the hallway. By now, his “tea” was still warm, but the aroma had subsided. He carefully lowered it on the floor. And then, he took a look at the familiar kitchen doorframe. There were height marks and dates, down by his knees, up by his leg, and the freshest around his waist. Documenting his precious little daughter’s height ever since she could stand up. He crouched down and touched the marks. His fingers were white from the pressure he was putting against the marks. It was now or never.

John picked up the “down-tea-mug” with both hands, stood up, and looked down at his daughter’s 3’4’’ height mark, the one they had just taken that morning. His heart was racing, and he started trembling. Almost dropped the tea. Now or never. John opened his mouth, and poured the warm liquid in, swallowing quickly, feeling it tingle against his tongue, throat, and esophagus.

It came faster than he thought. The warm, almost burning sensation in his stomach expanded across his body. He could feel his insides burning. No, probably not the correct word choice. He was not burning, but he had a lightheaded euphoric and warm feeling, like he was a furnace. Or inside one. John could not tell. He leaned over and laid his hand against the door frame. For all the activity inside him, he could not feel much of a difference, other than a fuzzy, tingling sensation all over. His head started hurting, as if his brain was being squeezed. His bowels writhed, but it was not a “go to the toilet” feeling, no, it was as if they were being forcibly squeezed. His heart kept pounding, his breath was becoming short, his lungs were gasping for air and at the same time pushing it all out in a hurry to stay deflated. His bones came next, a splitting pain, as if his whole body had shattered. He did not know how the hell he was still standing up, as his muscles flexed and contracted in agony. Was he dead? Then this must have been hell for all the times he had masturbated while holding his daughter’s comparatively tiny clothes, imagining himself in them. What an idiot. As if shrinking tea actually existed! And even if it did, the thief had probably just given him some industrial dust instead of the actual “tea”.

John’s eyes could not focus, and his ears were humming as if jet planes were rushing past. He wanted to reach the “up-shot”, to cancel this mess and then call his wife and plead for forgiveness for having blown their fortunes on this stupid, impossible promise. He wanted to cry but his tear ducts were too busy tingling. But just as he was ready to collapse, he felt it. He felt a tug on the skin of his hand. He turned to see, but his vision was still a mess of colors, bur he could feel it. It was as if he was dragging his hand across the painted wooden surface. But he didn’t move his hand. He focused on his feet, which felt like walking on a thousand spikes. Among the pain, he could barely feel the floor. The tips of his toes told him that he was dragging his foot back. But his heel was telling him that he was pushing his foot forward. Of course, such a combined motion was impossible, unless… the floor was moving in different directions, or, his foot was shrinking. Shrinking! John gasped for air. He felt like his brain would explode out of his head. He felt sick but his stomach would not empty.

And then, the pain subsided. He was not dead. His vision slowly cleared, his head stopped throbbing, and his brain seemed at ease. John coughed, and let out a wheeze, and looked at the frame. There was his hand. It looked… smaller. Not just scaled, smaller. It felt like his fingers were shortened and made slightly pudgier, his skin felt smoother. He looked past his hand, and there was a large track of sweat underneath his palm, that went ..up and up the frame, at least a foot above his head. John realized that that’s where his hand had begun. He looked down. The height lines were approaching. He was shrinking, he was actually shrinking. Inch by inch he could feel his body contracting, but also reorganizing itself. John was now eye level with the target height line. He realized that he needed to act fast. No time for comparisons. He reached down and grabbed the “up-shot”. It felt weirdly big in his little hands. No time for comparisons. He chugged the shot and grasped the glass tight. “Please, work, did I not put enough?” he started panicking when he felt nothing, and the height line was now slightly above his eye level. John closed his eyes in panic, not knowing how tiny he would be when he opened them.

Just as he closed his eyes, he felt the most powerful “stopping” sensation in his life. As if he was driving down a highway and had to slam on his brakes, no, as if he had collided with a wall while driving, no, as if he was on a plane that crashed on the ground after an uncontrollable nosedive. John opened his eyes once again. He was alive. And he was staring at ..his daughter’s second freshest height line, somewhere around three feet tall. He tilted his head up, and there was the 3’4’’ line, just above his head, inciting but also mocking. He overshot. John blinked. Overshot? Who cares if he removed a couple more inches? He was… he was THERE.

He looked around the hallway. There it was, everything that he knew, bigger, taller, more imposing. He was hardly the size of a five-year-old. He looked down at his body. It felt like his, but also not so. It had all its adult features, but yet it was slightly rounder, his extremities were smaller. He still had all his body hair where it was supposed to be. John gulped. “Hello?” he called out in the hallway. His voice was still his, but just a little higher in pitch. Smaller vocal chords, but still man-sounding. John started trembling. He set the shot glass down on the floor (much closer to his eyes now), and walked carefully to the bedroom. Was it always that many steps away? The door was open. The bed started right at him, big, fluffy, inviting. His pile of clothes in front of the mirror. The mirror! John walked right in front of it, looked, and gasped.

The “tall and stretched” man that used to stare gloomily back at him every day was no longer there. It was replaced by a man, decidedly smaller, more childlike both in height and proportions, but yet still looked like a man instead of a boy. He recalled the characteristics he read on the scans of the leaked documents. The tea could not de-age him. But that’s fine, he did not want that. The tea did not just scale him down – he would have been the height of a kid, but he would have been much thinner, as the proportions were all wrong. Instead, his body had melted down into what looked like a freak occurrence: take a five-year-old boy, and let him go through puberty without becoming taller or bigger, and you get what John was right now. He looked at himself and chuckled. “I’m the ugliest dwarf to ever walk the earth”, he spoke, listening to his own, new but yet familiar voice.

John looked down at his pile of clothes. He put his now smaller foot on top of his discarded sock. He felt that if he attempted to wear it, it would have easily reached up his knee. His pants were almost as tall as he was. And his shirt would be more like a large, thin coat. No need for those clothes anymore, however. The man shivered at the thought. He never thought about little girls’ clothing when he was growing up. He always imagined himself shopping at the boys’ section. But yet, when she was born, he doted over her, and he was so jealous of her, of every single cute thing the girl wore, that he wanted it all for himself. No, he wanted to dress as if he was sharing his daughter’s closet. “Well, as if it’s her hand-me-downs”, he corrected himself, knowing that he was at least a couple of inches shorter than her. Shorter than his own little first-grader. His heart raced. He always imagined about this moment, and he had many times jerked off to the thought. He thought that he could now, but his dick was not responding. He was too overwhelmed by the experience. This was not just a fetish for him, it was an existential realignment.

He thought back to his wife, and telling her about his thoughts. “Are you a pedo?” she had asked him the second time they ever discussed this. No, he was not. The thought sickened him. He just wanted to stand up on his toes to kiss his daughter good bye when she left for school, he did not want to be in bed with her! Disgusting to even accuse him of that. “I better not see you touch her clothes again”, he remembered that time he was caught folding the laundry with a bit too much care. God, he hated his wife so much right now. He then realized that if she was there, she’d be towering over him, her petite woman’s body still tall and big enough for him to barely reach the underside of her breasts. Of course he had calculated all the size differentials between him and her, he even had an excel file on his computer that he adjusted with more accurate measurements and formulas every so often. He tightened his fist and gritted his teeth. No, he could not be mad at her. She just doesn’t understand. How could she EVER understand? What would her reaction be at the end of the week? He did not know. He was terrified of the thought, but he could not let reality steal away his week of fun. He would deal with her when the time arrived. He resolved not to waste another precious moment any more.

John exited the bedroom and tugged on the doorknob (that was almost up on his face), closing the adults’ room behind him. He walked down the hallway, the opposite direction that he came in, and looked at the door. Plain white, but with little stickers adorning it. John’s heart raced. He felt cold. Once again, he had cold feet – now literally, as he had spent so much time naked. It was time to claim his own.

The door opened with a loud creak. Just a few short years of a careless child grabbing the handle, swinging it wildly, slamming it carelessly did that to the door. He looked up at the top hinge. The man smiled. Once, he could just stand on a stool and oil the hinge. It would now be impossible to do the same without a ladder. He pushed the squeaky door open, and looked at the room. It was messy, clothes and toys were discarded everywhere, books and pencils, and all sorts of little things his daughter busied herself with. The sight was familiar, and yet overwhelming. The furniture was small, sized for a child, but it always looked so little and fragile to him. And yet now, it looked tall and imposing. The room always seemed a bit small to him, and he was planning to hire a contractor to expand it when his kid grew up a few more years, but not it looked large and spacious. And all the little trinkets felt bigger, more substantial, even if they were on the floor, way below his waist. It was already getting dark outside, and John wanted a better look at his new kingdom. He reached on the wall around his waist for the light switch. He only touched the wall instead. He tried the familiar motion again. Nothing. John then realized that his muscle memory betrayed him. He finally turned to look at the wall, to find the switch much higher than he remembered. He smiled and raised his hand, grabbed it, and pushed it up with a satisfying “thunk”. Even the switch felt heavier in his hand, more reluctant to be pushed around by someone as small as John.

Light illuminated the little girl’s room. The walls were painted a soft, relaxing shade of pink. The curtains were similarly colored, and had little stitched patterns across them. The toys reflected the light back at him, the piles of clothes cast shadows on the floor, while the desk and the bed loomed on the opposite two sides of the room from the corner he was at. “I’m small. I’m just like her”, he thought. He took the first step on the soft carpet, feeling guilty. But he took another step. Not too late to go back, and drink the growth tea. Another step. Not too late to sell off whatever dust remained and try and fix the accounts. Another step forward – he almost tripped on a barbie toy car. His toe hurt by the impact, and the car rolled a few inches to the side. Not too late to pick up his clothes and disappear if he could not sell the dust, escaping his wife and creditors. Another step forward. Not too late to stop this madness, this beautiful, exciting, powerful madness that overtook him. Another forward step. Not too late… It was too late. He was standing in front of the little pile of clothes.

John crossdressed before. He had attempted to try on his wife’s stuff. It did not work out. One, she was still too small for him, so nothing could really fit him. And two, they were still the clothes of an adult woman, multiple times bigger than his “true” size, but multiple times smaller than his “cursed to be big” size. And three, they were just not as fun, as carefree, as cute as what he deserved. He had imagined himself in all sorts of little outfits. But it’s one thing to dream of skydiving, and another to take the first leap out the plane. It’s one thing to think of dressing up as your daughter, and another to actually do it.

He reached down and grabbed a pair of jeans. He had seen those multiple times before, but they were hefty and big now. He held them in front of his waist, and noticed the bottoms barely brushing against the floor. They had a few decorative sparkly elements, arranged in the shape of flowers and butterflies. This would do. John folded the pants and draped them over his shoulder. He looked around the pile, feeling the all too familiar garments, but the girly stuff on the floor mocked him, teased him, dared him to admit he wanted them. Nobody is here to see, nobody is here to judge. But John was still afraid. Small steps. Start small. He walked over to the bed, and picked up the shirt his little daughter wore earlier on today. It was a light lime green color, thick and warm, with long sleeves. And it was still just a bit warm, inviting. He thought back to the time that his wife would steal his shirts or hoodies, and proclaim that there is nothing more comfy than wearing the warm shirt of a loved one. This was his turn to indulge in that. The shirt was draped over his other shoulder.

Next, the most sticking point. Underwear. John’s mind raced to the laundry basket, back in the back room of the house by the garage. No. He would not. Fresh would be better, at least for now. John walked over to the closet and pulled open the door. He found himself putting force to undo the magnet that kept the door closed, and the door swung open, thudding against the wall on the side. How many times he had yelled at his daughter not to slam the door, how many times he had repainted that spot to repair it! And yet, here he was, realizing that it can’t be helped when you’re so little. He looked inside, and looked up at all the clothes hanging up on the bar, their bottoms brushing against his head. Adult help was necessary if he wanted to reach up. Reach up to what? His eyes darted from a bunch of shirts, to … dresses. Sparkly, pretty and cute dresses on the side, tucked away for special occasions. No, not now. He had to turn his eyes down in the small shelf that was closer to his height, and looked at the storage container that rested there. He pulled it open and looked inside. Freshly washed and neatly arranged, his daughter’s underwear. He reached down with a trembling hand and touched the pile of rolled up cotton. He picked one up and pulled it. White, with just a bit of pink around the waist and the leg holes. His fingers touched and kneaded the fabric while he unrolled it. And then he saw a small, half-washed away print of a princess on the front. John gulped. He really expected something simpler. He made to drop the panties back into the box and pick another pair, but then he stopped. “Don’t be a girl, and just BE a girl”, he told himself. It was the first time that he caught himself smiling, grinning at his pun. It wasn’t scary. It was just a piece of clothing. The princess wasn’t real, and she could not harm him. John lowered the panties down, and pulled up his leg through the first hole. So far so good. Then came the second leg. And then he pulled up. The cotton underwear slid up his legs, gently stretching when necessary (but not too much), until he was wearing it. Almost. John was still a man, no matter how small. His dick stood out awkwardly, the tip plus a bit more sticking up from the top. He tugged the underwear open, and pushed his dick back inside. He felt it brush against the inside of the princess print. It could not be helped.

The heating element interrupted him, jumping into life and terrifying him. The shirt and the pants slid off his shoulders and dropped down on the floor. John took a few seconds and realized that it was just the heat, he wasn’t caught. But now that the air was moving around the room, his own nakedness made him feel even colder than before. The warmth from the shrinking tea had all disappeared by now. John bowed down and picked up the pants. He undid the zipper, and slid his legs in. “You’ve worn many, many jeans before, this is no different”, he told himself. The pants were slightly baggy, and maybe just a bit too long, but when the button clasped around his waist, it felt secure enough. John then picked up the shirt and pulled it over his head. He pushed his hands up, searching for the sleeves, and eventually found them. He pulled the garment down on him, and his head popped up out of the neck hole. It was so warm, so comfortable, and it smelled a little bit like his daughter. The child-sized man felt a wave of relief, warmth, and relaxation wash over him. He straightened his sleeves, that covered just a bit past his wrists.

Socks were next. After picking underwear, socks would be easy enough, he thought. He opened the small container next to the underwear and looked inside. There they were, a multitude of differently colored socks, different materials, different levels of formality and purpose. John could not choose, not easily. He thought back to the time he had used one of those little socks to get himself off, before tossing it in the laundry. But now, it would probably be too big for him to use effectively. No, little socks are for little feet like his. He picked out a pair of stripy purple and black socks that went up to his daughter’s shins. But surely… he paused. Wearing a pair is silly. Mixing and matching is what little girls do, he thought. So he dug around, until he found a pair of similar material and length, a green and yellow sock. He sat down on the floor, and pulled the mismatched pair up on his feet. He felt his toes and soles enter the warm, slightly cold but inviting garments, and then he felt himself stretching them slightly as they went up and up on his foot and leg. John then neatly tucked the legs of his jeans over the socks, hiding most of their length. When he stood up, he looked down and wiggled his toes.

There was one final thing left. Shoes. Of course, wearing shoes inside the house was silly, but John wanted the whole outfit. Plus his little feet were cold (or so he said). Sneakers would do just fine for his casual outfit. So he bowed down and looked to the back of the closet. A few boxes were stacked neatly there. But those were not sneaker boxes. No, he would try the sandals and formal shoes later. He crawled back out and stood up, feeling already better and warmer. He looked around the room, and eventually found what he needed. Under the bed, there they were, discarded, his daughter’s sneakers. They were of some expensive brand, that John was thought was totally overkill for a small child that outgrows them so fast. But his wife had insisted, because they’d be more comfortable and would last longer. They were hot pink with white soles. He pulled them from under the bed and sat on the ground. Surely, those were Not his daughter’s shoes. They were supposed to be small, light, cute. But those looked just about large, inviting, and “Strong”, whatever that last word meant to him. He noticed the soft scent of his daughter’s feet emanating from them. He saw the small scuffs and imperfections that made them her shoes, instead of just a random pair on a display stand. He turned them over and looked down at the dirty white soles, full of little particles of dirt and grime that her careless and light footsteps had compacted underneath her. For a moment, John imagined himself helpless and tiny underneath those shoes. He sighed. He turned the shoe back over, and looked inside, at the marks his daughter’s growing foot made. The sole was discolored at places, but he didn’t mind. His finger touched the little tag with the washing and sizing info. A small kids’ 11. That’s what it was. He carefully put it on the ground next to his foot. Yep. It was not an illusion. His foot would fit. So he undid the velcro with a “rrrip”, and slid his foot inside, feeling it brush against the inner surface. The dried up sweat and grime of the shoe was just a bit sticky against his fresh socks, and the contours of his daughter’s little foot were not the same as his, even if they were now the same size. Almost the same size. John would have been better served by a size 10, as he found out that his toes were just a little bit short of the small depressions his daughter’s foot had left on the shoe. Can’t be helped. John tugged on the velcro strips to close the shoe off as tightly as he could, and then repeated the same with his other foot.

By the time he stood up and took a few slow steps, he was already thinking of going in the garage and trying to find forgotten smaller shoes for him. His wife had stashed old items away, just in case a second child arrived soon. This stash would be useful if… his thought stopped when he met his image on the mirror. It was a confusing sight. His mind registered the little casual outfit as his own daughters, but the person staring back was not as small, and had the face of a man. He looked almost grotesque, a joke of fate, a man forced into those clothes that should be too many sizes too small for him. He despaired. “I’m still ugly”, came a thought. But then he righted himself. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to BE her. I just want to be small LIKE her.” John composed himself, turned around to look at his back, making sure everything was okay. It was. And with that, John closed the door of the closet, and look at what was about to be his room for the rest of the week.

Now, no matter what size you are, a messy room is no good. The man looked at the mess his kid left around her room. If it looked annoying at his real height, it looked even more so at his new height. And most importantly, all those piles of toys and clothes looked much bigger and much less manageable. No wonder she always complained when she was told to pick up after herself. John resolved that he’d clean up later. For now, he took a few short steps, enjoying the feeling of his new clothes against his skin. He was so relaxed, he could just stop worrying and enjoy the rest of his evening. And so he did, he walked out of the room and down the hallway, to the living room. It was the first time he saw the living room from his new, shorter perspective. It felt so exciting, to be barely above the eye level of the couch, having to look up at shelves. The TV screen, currently off, loomed above, but also looked like a more immersive experience. Why buy an expensive big TV when you can just shrink yourself a bit?

John looked around for the remote. He walked to the coffee table – not there. He looked on the couch – not there. He went over to the TV stand and took a look – not there. He crouched to take a look inside the storage cubes that were neatly stacked under the TV stand’s shelf. Hah! Not there still, but he smiled when he realized how much easier it was to reach low places now that he was shorter himself. Still, this was getting annoying. Where WAS the remote? He turned around and looked at the fireplace. It was a nice, mostly decorative fireplace that they only bothered to light up on special occasions. Tonight was definitely not one of them. Wood was heavy enough to carry as a man, never mind now. He walked closer, and then looked up at the shelf above. There it was, barely sticking on the side, the edge of the TV remote. Easy enough to reach… if you were an adult.

John realized, just too late, that he had not made all the necessary preparations. He should have spent time preparing to child-unproof the house, make sure that everything is in reach. He stood on his tip-toes, feeling his feet slip slightly inside his one-size-too-large shoes. He reached uuup and uuup with his arm, and he was still too short. John jumped. Nowhere close. But he was amazed at how light he felt while going up and down, and how easily he landed on the floor. Smaller bodies can jump more easily. It’s why cats can perform those leaps, and land gracefully, while elephants would crush their legs if they tried even a hop. Same for humans. Adults, with a size that was an affront to nature, being so tall and bumbly, could not jump as easily and carelessly like kids could. John jumped ahead, threw his arm up as far as he could, and his fingers barely grazed the bottom of the remote, but it was out of reach. John smiled.

He thought back of the one time he had tried getting help for his “issue”. He had gone to see a shrink (a quite ironic name, since shrinks don’t actually shrink you). He had opened his heart and poured his guts out and talked about his fantasies, wants, no, needs. The doctor had advised him to think of all the potential downsides, the things that people don’t think about when they daydream of their “perfect” scenario. John remembered all the warnings about not being able to reach places, having trouble driving, being pushed around in crowds, everything that people with dwarfism faced every day. But John did not feel annoyed at the remove being too high up. A worthy price. And after all, humans don’t have to rely on brute strength or raw size. That’s why humans invented tools, he told himself, to push past their own body’s limitations. So, John would show the world that he was still a human. Well, not the world, but his own soulless house.

He looked around and found exactly what he needed. A stack of those useless picture books on the coffee table. He walked over, grabbed two, and lifted. Big and heavy, the books strained his muscles. Okay, maybe just one. He picked it up, and brought it down to the fireplace, and then he brought a second, and a third. Without care, he stepped on top of the little stack. His shoes left a few tracks of dust on the glossy covers, but he didn’t care. He jumped once again, and this time, he reached the remote. It dislodged from its perch, and fell down. He caught it, juggling it in his hands. It felt bigger than before. No more fatfingering those buttons. The man trotted over to the couch, and tossed the remote up on the pillow. He had to get up, but the couch made it up to his chest. Not an issue, he saw this daily. He placed his palms down on the pillow, and pushed down, while kicking up with his feet. Up went little John, and tumbled on his own couch. It was bigger, much more comfortable than he remembered. He turned around, and put his back against the back pillow, and then pushed his legs to the front. His knees did not even reach the edge, so he could not fold his feet down and let them dangle freely. Not very comfortable. So he changed his position, turning to his side, and pulled his feet up next to him, laying down on his side, facing the TV. Wearing shoes on the couch was not allowed in this house, but he didn’t care. He was not a child, he made the rules. John pressed the power button, relishing even the “clicky” feel under the button just a bit more, and put on a sports channel. He kept watching, looking at the players. John was decidedly not interested in men, but he was still looking at them on the screen now. Even at his normal height, athletes were taller, beefier than he was. At his new height, they’d be absolutely towering over him. Those people could probably shake him like a ragdoll. Not that they would, of course, nobody does that in a civilized world. He kept watching, until his eyes drooped. He looked at the clock on-screen. It was still barely 8pm. If he napped now, he would probably not easily fall asleep later on on his new bed. John pushed himself up and looked to the side of the couch. On top of that arm was a little blanket, the blanket he used to cover his daughter when she fell asleep while watching cartoons in the afternoon. It was calling to him, inviting him. No! John resisted. He pushed himself off the couch, landing on the floor with a soft thud. No, this development required ...celebration.

And so he left the sports on, listening to the action, and walked back to the kitchen. He paused against the marks on the frame, double checking that he had not shrunk anymore. He had not. But he also stayed there, relishing the fact that he was just a couple of inches shorter than his own daughter. He put his hands on the smaller marks that were even shorter than himself, going back two years, three years, four years. “Maybe”, he told himself. He did not have an endgame yet, and did not need to worry about one just yet. John walked into the kitchen, listening to his small plastic steps leaving gentle taps against the floor, not ugly boom-dooms that his old self did. Thankfully, the liquor cabinet had bottom shelves. He reached up to the handle, tugged it, and the wood and glass door opened for him. John reached in and picked up his favorite whiskey. Half-empty, but how big it looked! If you shrink, you can save money on liquor! Of course, he hadn’t accounted for glasses, which were on a higher cupboard. Nothing to worry about. He went by the table, and grabbed a chair. The top of the chair’s back reached over his head. Neat. But all he needed was just a bit of strength, he tugged and pulled the chair to where it needed to go. One quick climb up, and he still had to stand on his toes, but nothing could stop him. One whiskey glass, secure in his little grasp. He carefully hopped down and picked up the bottle again, taking it back to the living room. Now, he left his items on the floor, and pushed the coffee table against the couch, so that he could reach when he climbed up. Easy, so resourceful, he’d give himself a pat in the back. John placed the bottle and the glass up on the coffee table, and then hopped onto the couch again.

He carefully poured himself a drink. No need for ice, just take it straight. He served his usual quantity, but then he stopped when he picked the glass up, using both little hands. His usual would give him a nice buzz, but to his current size? This would probably fuck him up. Now, puking all over his pretty new clothes, and forgetting his first night of his new size did not seem like a good idea. So he carefully raised the glass to his lips, took a few sips, and set it back down. He hadn’t drank even half of his usual amount. He would just wait and see how much those few sips would hit his body, then decide if he needed more. Yes.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. Oh shit. He had completely forgotten about the phone all this time! He looked around, and noticed it emitting light from the small stand where the adults usually left their phones, keys, and mail. Did he REALLY have to go get it? He called out the virtual assistant and asked what notification did he miss. “You have five unread messages”, the robotic voice responded. Well, shit. Playtime is over, he told himself and once again hopped off the couch. All this up and down was much less taxing than he thought. It was actually kind of fun! He went to the stand, picked up the phone, and got back onto the couch. He grabbed the phone, feeling it more like a small tablet device now in his hands, and tapped the screen to wake it. Five messages, all from his wife. They had arrived at the airport. They ate a snack. They were waiting to board. “Yeah, nice, took a nap here, sorry for missing your messages”, he typed back, making a few typos on the way, as his fingers had to learn the new, bigger virtual keyboard on his phone. He tapped send. A few moments passed, and a photo arrived. “We took a selfie”, his wife said, showing her and their child sitting on her mom’s lap, smiling and waving at daddy. Shit. John’s arms trembled. He immediately imagined himself, no longer able to hold his daughter like that, but having to share his wife’s lap. He was just as small as the little girl on screen. He tapped the image, trying to feel through the cold glass screen. Hell, even to sit in his own daughter’s lap, he thought, his mind going back to the even smaller height lines he was checking out later. Maybe one day, they would understand why he did what he did.

John sighed, and raised his sleeve, wiping a few tears on it. Of course he could not send a selfie back. Or could he? He opened the camera app, and looked at himself. It was surreal seeing him in a little girl’s shirt, cozy and slightly too small for it. He tried to angle the camera so that only his head would be visible, to smile back at his sweetheart. But even then, the background was the back of the couch. Hmm. He stood up on the couch, and pointed the phone again, so that his head would have the rest of the room as the background. It still felt odd to him. No selfies. Wait, yes selfies. He pointed the phone down at his body and his clothing, and rapidly clicked. Those were not to send to anyone, those were to keep. To remember the good times. Another message came in, interrupting the perverse photo session. He pulled the tab down and saw a picture. His daughter again, posing in front of an airport store, holding an oversized blanket. “She insisted I show you her new blanket. Don’t do anything creepy with it”. Of course, his wife did not like her daughter’s pictures being “used” like that, to fuel her husband’s fantasies. Joke’s on her, of course, as John would lie down under his daughter’s blanket later on tonight. “Enjoy the flight, I’ll pour a drink and watch ball”, he added a response, and clicked the side button to turn the screen off.

He settled back down, feeling the nice buzz from his drink. He definitely did not need to drink more tonight. He pushed the glass aside, laid his little feet on the table, and started absentmindedly tapping the toes of his shoes together while watching the game. Meanwhile, his wife had just settled herself and her daughter on the plane seats, ready to fly south to her parents. She looked at her phone, swiping at the home screen. On the third page of apps was the nannycam app that they used from time to time. She thought about it for a second. She had caught him checking out the little girl’s closet before. And she had put the fear of god on him if he ever tried to pull something like that again. For a moment, her finger hovered over the app. But she then relaxed. No, John wouldn’t do it. Or, if he did, she wouldn’t want to know. Or would she? She was interrupted by her daughter. “Mommy, let me play a game!” she asked, and put her little hand over the screen, wanting to grab the device. “Sure, sweetheart, go ahead”, the woman said, and relaxed on her uncomfortable economy seat. By the time they had taken off, she had pushed those suspicions back in the deep reaches of her mind, and did not think about it the rest of the flight.

The game ended, and the child-sized man was watching the hgihlights and analysis. He eyed his drink on the side. One more sip wouldn’t hurt, would it? He reached to the glass, and dragged it closer to him. One more sip. Two. Aaah, that hit the spot! He felt the familiar warmth overtake his body much faster than usual. A yawn, and then another. Bedtime. He looked around. He COULD just sleep on the couch, it was big enough to hold him. But that wouldn’t be very comfortable, would it? Plus, he had his whole room to himself now.

John got up and slid carefully down the couch. Having to hold himself until his toes touched the ground was a new feeling (or an old one, rediscovered). He turned off the TV and placed the remote on the coffee table, next to the still not finished drink. John walked out into the hallway, and reached the door to “his new room. He held the handle, and then paused. He’d need the bathroom before bedtime. Good that he remembered, else he’d wake up in the middle of the night and be all annoyed. The man went to the bathroom, reached up to turn the light on, and looked around. Just like the other rooms, it was big and imposing, but not prohibitively huge. John smiled. See, there is no downside to being the size of a six year old. He went over to the toilet, and realized that he had to stand on his toes after he pulled his pants (and cute panties) down in order to clear the rim. He rested his member on the rim and relieved himself. “If I need number two, I’ll need to climb up”, the noted, even though he didn’t need it yet. After he was done, he reached forward to pull the flush lever, but couldn’t reach it from where he was standing. Okay. Just walk around the side, tug on it, flush, there we go. He had to learn all of those extra little motions that his new, better and improved and reduced size dictated.

John then went for the sink. His daughter’s step stool was there on the side. He pulled it closer with his foot, and stepped on the plastic stool, giving him a boost to reach the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. He was slowly getting used to it! John reached forward to the cup with the family’s toothbrushes, and picked up his. How big it felt in his hands! He made another mental note, to open up a new kid-sized toothbrush tomorrow. He washed his face too, feeling the cool water against his slightly drunk face. It felt good, almost too good – it pushed his sleepiness back a little bit. John finished and tugged on the bottom of the hand-towel until it got dislodged from its holder ring and dropped down in his little hands. He wiped his hands and face, folded the towel and left it on the edge of the sink for easier reach. He then took a step back to leave the bathroom.

John had forgotten about the step-stool. So when he took that step, his foot hovered on air longer than he thought, and the man got sent tumbling back. He panicked and flailed about, trying to grab something, but he misjudged his reach. He crashed hard on his back on the floor, his head missing the wall by a few inches. If he was just a bit taller, he would have smacked his head against the wall and potentially snap his neck. John hurt like hell, on his back, on his head, it was all aching. “Fuck!” he yelled and kicked with his feet at the little stool. Stupid designers, the bathroom wasn’t child friendly at all! He was glad that his daughter hadn’t had such an accident. But he’d remember the stool now.

The man spent some time sulking and rubbing at his sore body, and then finally got up. Bedtime will make it all better. He hobbled over to the room, dragging his feet. At this point the shoes were getting tiring, no matter how awesome it was to be wearing them. Once he got in his new room, he pulled and tugged and slipped his socked feet off his little shoes without even needing to undo the velcro (mostly because the shoes were pretty soft from being worn for a while now, they weren’t that new). He removed his pants, and paused for a moment, touching the girl panties he was wearing. It was always hard to get that last drop of pee out, and this time it was no different – he felt that one wet spot on the side. Yet another mental note, that he’d need to do the laundry before his family returned. The man then removed his lime-green shirt, and tossed it on the ground next to the little pair of jeans. Didn’t he promise to clean up the room? At this point he was only adding to the mess. But the man was still slightly drunk, and his body still ached him from his previous fall, and he couldn’t bother. John walked over to the bed. Child sized, currently covered with a thick and fluffy pink comforter, it looked much more inviting than his marital bed had done in years. He wondered if his daughter would ever accept to cuddle together to sleep, maybe John could even be the little spoon and let her keep him safe and warm. He shook his head. That was fantasy, but also insanity. John looked around, and found his new pajamas on the edge of the bed. He picked them up and unfolded them. A basic set of dark-red pants and shirt, and… on the chest area, a little embroidered heart. He felt the fabric in his hands, and spent a few seconds touching that little heart. And then he put them on. They were a slightly new pair of pajamas, which his wife had bought for their daughter. To make them last, she had bought them a couple of sizes too big, expecting that her little girl will grow into them. But for John, that meant that they were slightly too big. The bottoms of the legs were bunched up around his ankles, dragging on the floor, and when he put the shirt on, the sleeves covered up to the middle of his fingers. He felt so small at that point, a feeling so warm that it even rivaled the alcohol still in his veins.

John tugged on the comforter and pulled the top off the bed. He then pulled himself up, and slid under the cover, dropping his head on the pillow. One quick pull later, and he was covered up to his neck with his daughter’s warm comforter. He let his body relax, feeling that he was not weighing down the mattress as much as he thought he would. He turned to the side, and th noticed that there was something under the pillow. Puzzled, he raised his head a little and reached underneath to pull out the offending object. It was one of those small fairy-like dolls. He had no idea why his daughter stashed it there, but he tossed it down on the floor. Just as he did that, he regretted it. He wanted to hold onto the toy just a bit longer, and … he wanted to imagine himself being the toy, being held by his daughter like that. Wait, what? He never had a fantasy to shrink below human sizes before. It must be the drink talking. Still, he wasn’t about to push himself out of his ultra comfortable bed to go find the little doll.

He turned to the other side again, and started thinking of the day’s events. The tea, the hellish experience of shrinking, trying on his kid’s own clothes, being so small… he started getting a little hard. His sex life was essentially non-existent at this point, and it has been quite a while since he was satisfied. He kept thinking of the pajamas he was wearing right now. Made for a little child, and yet already oversized for him. He thought that he was still wearing his daughter’s socks and underwear. He thought of the closet and all the stuff he’d raid and try on before the end of the week. Before realizing it, his little hand was in his pants, pumping firmly. He thought of the height marks on the door frame, and started imagining putting his own, shrinking-over-time marks there too. Fuck, this was so hot, and he knew it was so wrong, but who cares. His little underwear constricted him a bit, made for kids that did not have dicks, never mind getting erections. He freed himself, feeling the tip of his erection rubbing against the underside of the warm comforter. He could feel the dampness forming up.

This was disgusting. It reminded him of his first times he had discovered jerking off, when his own father had caught him and gave him the “talk” about how he needs to do it with a tissue or something, not against his bedsheets. But John was an adult, he was the boss, he promised he’ll just wash the sheets and the comforter. He kept masturbating, imagining himself standing on his toes to hug his kid, imagining himself being towered over by her friends when they visited, imagining himself being forced to wear hand-me-downs instead of ever being allowed to buy clothes for his new size. Uh, he was so close now! The man felt the rush coming, and imagined himself smaller than his daughter was when she was just learning to walk. A little bumbling toddler that could already trip up over her smaller daddy. Oh dear. He panicked, and tugged on his panties, pushing them over his dick, covering it just as it erupted with the man’s desperate load. Two, three waves, and it was over. He felt the cotton fabric absorbing it, dousing even the princess print with his cum. Thick and sticky, a little bit of it falling back on his skin. He felt so, so disgusting by what he just did. He should really get up an clean himself, but could not find the energy to do so. The fluids even seeped to the pant leg of his pajamas. It was hopeless. He sighed, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.