Mikayla was still a bit standoffish by the time they left about an hour later. She still felt weirdly exposed, even with all her clothes on (which she’d made sure were extra modest), and didn’t think she’d be able to purge that feeling for the rest of the day—but unfortunately, the rest of the day was pretty much an entire day. Already she had soured her Saturday, and it wasn’t even close to noon yet.
But Mikayla made a promise to her brother, and even if she hadn’t, it had been months since they’d hung out one-on-one anyways. Secretly, she felt a kind of jealousy at how close he and Skye were, leaving her to feel like the third wheel of a family dynamic. Third wheel probably isn’t a good term, she thought, since it’s not romantic. There was a kind of platonic intimacy that Mason and Skye had, some kind of natural friendship that would’ve persevered even in a world where they weren’t siblings. By contrast, Mikayla’s relationship with Mason wasn’t as organic. But she wished it was, even though she recognized that if it truly was, she wouldn’t need to wish at all.
So that was why Mikayla felt determined to ignore how she technically felt about her brother right now. She recognized that her exposé wasn’t really his fault, so she figured that if she repeatedly told herself that throughout the day, her heart would eventually catch up with her brain, and the matter could be forgotten. “You comfy in there?” she asked suddenly, glancing down at him as he rode along in the padded cupholder that had been transformed into a miniature seat. He nodded absentmindedly, staring up at the clouds through the windshield that acted as a sunroof for the shrunken boy. That question was forced too, she told herself, starting to obsess over her lack of naturalism now; he’s ridden like that a hundred times before, what a pointless question. It was the kind of thing Skye was more likely to ask him, pointless as it may be. If I just be myself, then this’ll be fun. All I gotta do is hang out with him more often. Stop thinking too much, she thought.
After arriving at the mall and parking her car, Mikayla gently picked her brother up, asking, “Shirt or pants?” The family had long since adopted this line of questioning when going out with Mason (“Top or bottom?” was Nicole’s version). There were several factors that went into his decision-making, such as how many people would be around to look at him, whether or not a better view was required, but most importantly, how deep the pockets would be and what material they were made out of. Today, for example, he could choose between the too-shallow pockets of her rough jeans, in which less people would stare at him but he’d have a worse angle to gaze through the windows of the stores, or the slightly roomier breast pocket of her softer, long sleeve jacket, although with the disadvantage of more attention being drawn to him. His decision was the latter, so she set him inside—it was armpit height; perfect!—and they headed into the building.
“Is there anywhere you wanna go in particular?” Mikayla asked, stopping at a map near the entrance so they could both peruse its list and form ideas.
“Um… not really, I think,” her brother responded, not even recognizing a quarter of the stores that were listed. The two most common types of stores were clothing or food related; shoes, restaurants, hats, liquor, jewelry, fast food, glasses, groceries, lingerie, quick snacks, and most commonly, general apparel. Such shops populated at least two thirds of the directory, but Mason didn’t know the vast majority of them, or he’d recognize the name but wasn’t actually aware of what they sold. How could he? They were designed for people a thousand times his size, people who regularly partook in society beyond a chaperoned trip every few weeks. He was here out of empathetic obligation on behalf of his sister, not a casual interest to buy this and that, like everyone around him. As excited as he was and grateful to have had Mikayla take him, there was also a tinge of sadness he felt at passing by so many stores selling things he could never use, clothes he could never wear, and even food he couldn’t really eat.
“Well I wanna stop by Forever 21 then,” she told him, “so if you have any ideas or anything just let me know.” He voiced his understanding, and then leaned back in her pocket, the faint warmth of her body creeping into his own, as she made her way to the clothing outlet.
Watching as Mikayla browsed through selections at the store for the next hour gave Mason a weird feeling. Going out shopping should be fun; it certainly seemed to be in all the movies he watched, and it seemed to be to his family members. But here on his day out, it had so quickly lost its charm. It was kind of ironic; to most people, shopping was boring because it was a necessity that they did all the time, but to him shopping was boring for the exact opposite reason.
His attention had drifted, and he hadn’t noticed that Mikayla had headed to the changing room section until she was already walking into one of the stalls and closing the door behind them. “Oh wait, um…” he stammered suddenly, realizing that this was where people changed to try on clothes. “Shouldn’t I wait outside or something to give you some privacy?”
She plucked him out of her jacket pocket so she could take it off, setting her little brother down on the bench. “Well we’re out in public and I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on you,” she explained.
“What, you think I’m gonna run away to check out another store or something?”
She gave him an empathetic look, surprised by his naivety, and tilted her head to the side. “That’s not what I meant.” It suddenly dawned on him what she’d wanted to convey: he was a very kidnappable individual. Once she saw the realization on his face, she covered his body with the jacket, creating a kind of tent around him. “So just don’t look, mkay?” He grumbled at how she’d chosen to cover him up, but he understood her wanting to take extra steps after what happened that morning.
After a minute, the jacket canopy was suddenly yanked from above Mason, and he looked up to see Mikayla wearing a red two-piece bikini, grinning over him before turning to check herself out in the mirror. “Whaddya think?” she asked. The first thing he noticed was her boobs, which swung with momentum when she swiveled away from him. It was so odd to him that she seemingly didn’t have any reservations against wearing something so revealing after what had happened that morning. I mean, I barely even need to remember anymore, he thought, seeing the image of her nipples in his head and so easily replacing them over where the bikini top currently covered. But in addition, he was so much closer now than before. He’d been close to her boobs before—just a few days ago she’d pushed him into her cleavage—but now it was like he had a prime viewing angle. Not too close and not too far. Vigilant to keep his eyes from lingering, his gaze drifted downwards, to a pair of matching bikini bottoms that were so skimpy he could see a significant amount of the panties she’d kept on underneath. Except the bottoms rose much higher, creating a v-shape that hugged her hips and brought attention to her butt.
But he knew he didn’t have the freedom to gawk at his sister’s body as much as he wanted to (especially not after their morning mishap), so he faked a cringing expression and turned away, pretending to be repulsed. “I don’t wanna stare at my sister in a bikini,” he lied. “As long as you feel comfortable when you wear them I guess, that’s all that really matters.”
“That’s not all that matters, I also wanna look good. If nobody cared about fashion then all clothes would just be grey and look the same,” she replied, her hands on her hips. “Also, you don’t have to stare, you just have to take a look.” She turned to look over her shoulder, smirking at Mason as she backed up towards him. “Or do you not wanna take a look up close cuz you’re scared that I’ll sit on you?” He backed up as well, nervously looking up as Mikayla’s butt loomed closer, casting him in the shadow of her pale twin moons.
“N-no,” he stuttered, “I just—I’m your brother, it’s kinda weird for me to be saying if you look good.”
She had started to slowly squat down, as if she really was about to sit on him, when she paused and turned back around, narrowing her eyebrows, “No, it’s not. It’s perfectly normal for siblings to go ‘Hey wow that looks pretty cute on you’ or ‘Mmmm I think you should get something else.’ I’m not wearing a two-piece so I can show off to people, I’m wearing it cuz it’s not as constrictive as one-piece bikinis. But I still care about like, whether it looks cute or if it’s too simplistic. If I liked showing off to people I wouldn’t have worn jeans and a jacket.” He could see her point, but he had a hard time thinking that anyone would be noticing the subtle pattern she’d be wearing at the pool when her ass was as massive as it was.
“OK fine, I think it’s kinda plain-looking then,” he admitted, heading to the back of the bench so he could sit criss-cross on the floor while leaning against the wall.
“Yeah, me too,” she grimaced, and then tossed the jacket over him a giggle while he sighed.
When she lifted it off him again, he saw she had yoga pants on now and a fuzzy beige cardigan over her shirt. She bundled her jacket and jeans up and tucked them under her arm before shouldering her purse, and then turned to stoop down and pluck Mason up, nonchalantly depositing him right into her cleavage. “Wait, what the fuck, why can’t I go back in your pocket?” he asked, his legs pushed into the crevice between her boobs.
“Cuz I wanna wear the new clothes I got out of the store, but they don’t have any pockets,” she explained. He knew better than to try and push himself out from where he was, since it’d just cause him to tumble forward (one time he’d fallen onto the floor trying to escape from the clutches of Mikayla’s tits—she liked keeping him there from time to time as a means of teasing him, and usually seemed to have an excuse for it too; he wouldn’t even be surprised if she was only wearing her new stuff out of the store as a means to keep him there instead of in any of her pockets).
“Well can’t you just keep me in your purse or something then?” he grumbled, although he knew the question was effectively rhetorical.
“I can let you ride in the back of my pants?” she mused, exiting the changing room stall and heading to the front of the store. Mason didn’t say anything in response; as ludicrous as the threat was, it wasn’t outside her realm of ways to shut her brother up when he got too naggy. As they were about to reach the front registers, she glanced down at her brother and then up at the employee. She knew Mason would be endlessly embarrassed at someone else seeing him like that, so she did him a ‘favor’ and pushed him down even deeper into her cleavage, ensuring his body was fully hidden. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you have to be seen by anyone,” she chuckled, and then looked up to politely greet the store employee as she showed the tags on her clothes for them to scan.
A few minutes later, after Mikayla had made her little purchase and stowed her old clothes in a bag the worker gave her, she headed back out into the mall. But Mason was started to squirm now, not even to get her attention or anything, he just felt claustrophobic and was getting hot from being squished by his sister’s boobs. Not bothering to glance around, she fished him out from her cleavage and then held him up in front of her face with a cross expression. “OK, I’ll let you ride at the top again instead of inside, but you’ve really gotta stop wiggling so much, it tickles. In an annoying way.”
“I’ve told you a million times how uncomfortable it makes my legs though!” he suddenly burst out, not loud enough to be noticed by people passing but with enough attitude to make his frustration evident to her. “Honestly, why would you even bring me here if you’re just gonna tease me like that? I thought we were gonna have fun and stuff.”
She raised an eyebrow, “You were the one who wanted to come. And I asked you if there was anywhere in particular you wanted to go.”
Mason grit his teeth and matched her confrontational gaze, until looking down. She was right, again. He shook his head, his tensed body slumping between her fingers. “Fuckin… fine. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore.”
Mikayla tilted her head back and rolled her eyes, mad at letting herself be so easily guilt-tripped by her tiny brother. He’s kinda cute when he’s sad too, she thought, looking at him again and taking a deep breath. She didn’t say anything, but she set him down on her shoulder, which he knew was his cue to hold onto her hair for balance before she continued walking again. He was still in a bit of a sour mood, but a faint, grateful smile crept on his face for how she’d decided to treat him.