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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.

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