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.