Homo Sum
by DX Machina "I am human. Therefore, nothing human is alien to me."
--Terence(185-159 BCE)
The man ate the last of the potato chip, and stewed silently.
He did most things silently, to tell the truth. His was a silent existence, and
had been for almost two years. Ever since the experiment went so terribly awry,
that rainy August night.
He was a man, though, although his life had diverged from the rest of humanity.
In form and function, absent context, he appeared to be what he should have
been: a twenty-six year old man, naked and wild, but recognizably a modern
human. He furrowed his eyebrows in a most human way.
He was vexed. He was out of food.
He was one-sixth of an inch tall.
He rarely thought of his previous life, the life where his name had been Jacob,
where he had been a graduate assistant in the theoretical physics department.
Where he had gained an internship through the Department of Defense. Where he
had been struck by the beam from the device, and had run from the men in the
army, and stumbled, shrinking and scared, into the rickety old apartment he
inhabited now.
That was the life of a human. Now, his life was that of an insect.
* * *
In retrospect, it was providence that had led him here. The house was rented by
three grad students, guys with the cleaning habits of, well, guys. There had had
never been a problem acquiring food. In the early days, parties had been a
problem, but the man had long since made his way into the walls, building an
apartment for himself in the wall between the living room and the dining room.
After creating his refuge, almost any event became a respite from the tedium of
searching for food, trying to survive. The guys even had good taste in movies
and music.
But they were grad students, and eventually, they graduated. That was a month
ago. They hung around another month after that, but they finally moved out over
the Fourth of July weekend.
The man did prepare. He knew the guys were moving out, and he stockpiled
everything he could find. He had stashed a month's worth of food in the wall,
and that month had now passed. The man had watched as the landlady showed the
place a few times, but he did not know when new tenants would come.
The man had finished his potato chip, and he thought. He knew that he could live
for a few days without food. He did have access to water. He also knew that the
world outside the apartment was over four hundred times as large as he was.
He would have to leave eventually. But not for a week. He would give it a week
before he fled.
As the night fell, he curled up in a bit of fluff, and slept.
* * *
He only had to wait overnight. The sound of footsteps came through the wall,
clear as day.
He could hear through the wall, but he couldn't identify the sounds exactly. The
wall muffled and distorted voices that were already somewhat distorted to his
tiny ears. He started up his ramp, towards his living room lookout.
The lookout was just a tiny nail-hole, about four feet up, but it was a hole
large enough for him to squeeze through. It took him about an hour to crawl up
the ramp, ladder, and string system he had built for himself. He climbed about
three feet-about a quarter of a mile. Finally, he reached the space.
There was nobody in the room. This was unsurprising; he had heard the voices and
feet go away a few minutes before; back out to the car for more stuff, no doubt.
It was somewhat nicer furniture than before, but still college-student poor. He
had secretly been hoping that the family that had come through would rent the
house; they had two young kids, who (the man felt sure) would be sufficiently
messy to keep him fed.
He heard a noise coming from the doorway, and turned, and saw his first new
roommate.
She strode through the entrance, holding a large box at her chest. She seemed
impossibly tall at first, then, as the context of the situation became apparent,
it was clear she was fairly petite, just over five feet, with short, soft blonde
hair that fell neatly. She walked directly towards the man's hiding spot, and
bent over deliciously to put the box down.
He stared straight into the top of her head. The soft scent of melon--her
shampoo--nearly knocked him over, or would have, had he not been lying prone. As
she rose, he saw her blue eyes, her petite button nose, her mouth, her chin, her
breasts....
He turned suddenly, breathing heavily. He was unsure what to think. Half of him
was thinking, "Damn it, it's girls. They'll be neat. This'll make it hard."
The other half of him was thinking something he rarely, if ever, allowed himself
to think about.
He turned back in time to see her walking away from him, her tight, toned behind
making seductive figure eights as she walked towards--another. Another woman,
this one tall, with shoulder-lenght red hair.
This one was athletic to the blonde's curvy, but they were both phenomenally
attractive.
Then a third, this one a little shorter than the redhead, with long brown hair
and glasses, maybe a little less attractive than the others, but still quite
nice looking.
He watched.
The part of him that worried about food was banished into the background.
* * *
That night was a good one for the man, made better when the girls ordered pizza.
They were sitting on the floor, all four of them, though they would never have
noticed him. He was standing a respectful distance away--about three of their
feet. He was taking no chances, of course, he rested against a baseboard. He
knew for sure that one false move by any of the three and he would die, unless
he was proactive.
The man stayed alive by being proactive.
"SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK?" said the blonde--Julie. She was bubbly, and almost
unconsciously sexy, and she was wearing short shorts and a t-shirt that showed
off her assets nicely. She sat about five feet from him, his view was of her
left foot.
"IT'S A NICE PLACE. I JUST HOPE THE HEAT DOESN'T COST US TOO MUCH." Jane said
that. The brunette was sitting across the box of pizza from him.
"I DON'T THINK IT WILL. I LIKE IT." Those wordes were voiced by Kate, the
redhead. The man swallowed hard. His view was of her ass, which was currently in
tight jeans, resting on her feet that were folded beneath her.
As the girls finished, they said that words that cemented their unwitting bond
with him.
"SHOULD WE THROW THE BOX AWAY?" asked Jane.
"NAH. LEAVE IT FOR TOMORROW," replied Julie.
It was like an earthquake as the three stood and started off towards their
bedrooms. Bare feet slid by him, anchoring half-mile-tall beauties as they left
him in darkness.
He pulled himself up into the box. It was bereft of pizza, but there was enough
scraps of cheese and sauce and olive to feed him for years.
If these girls were going to be messy, he was going to love them.
* * *
The next day, the man slept.
He had worked all night, salvaging as much pizza crust as he could. He knew he
could not count on the girls to be messy, he knew he would have to be more
rigorous about having food always on hand. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the
world. It was just something he'd have to deal with.
He dreamt.
* * *
Dreams are the refuge of the thoughts we push away. The man's dreams were of the
night he came here. He saw the device, saw the technicians run away as sparks
flew, felt himself again push her--Debbie, his girlfriend--out of the way as the
beam struck him, full in the chest, felt his stomach churn as the world
distorted, knew that the smiling General who said "we just need to study you,
Jake, you could be the prototype, yes sir, you could work for the CIA" was not
trustworthy, so he ran, ran, ran as he saw the world grow and grow and grow
And he came to this place, his home, he was just six inches tall now and the
back door was open, there was a party going on, and he hid behind the keg and
watched as the drunk guys hit on the drunk girls and watched as they kept
growing, growing, until even the soles of their shoes towered over him
And then he saw the shoe heading for him, belonging to a beautiful girl whose
name escaped him, she didn't know he was there, he was screaming, and the shoe
just missed him and the wind blew him into the corner....
And he woke up.
* * *
It was about 6:30 at night. The sound of 'N Sync drifted through the walls. He
shook his head. He hated dreaming about the past. For him, there was no past,
there was no future, there was only now.
He ate a bit of cheese--it wouldn't keep, he knew, so he ate it first. Then, he
snuck down to the Christmas-tree bulb that lit his apartment and turned it on.
It had been dangerous work, his illumination scheme, but he had successfully
tapped into the main power for the house, and he had a tiny bit of light, which
made him feel a little bit more human.
After cleaning for a while, he decided some exploring was in order. He grabbed
some supplies--a tiny speck of crust, a drop of water--doused the light and
exited his abode.
The entrance was under the baseboard--it was wide but not tall, it would likely
never be seen, even if the baseboard was ripped off. He stepped out and looked
around.
He exited into the dining room, which was currently empty. The sound of music
came from the living room. He decided that he wanted to see a bedroom.
He rationalized this by thinking that if the furniture was going to be
rearranged, he should know where the good hiding places were.
He would never admit that he wanted to see where they slept, to be in their
presence at night and feel, if only for a moment, like he was theirs and they
were his.
He headed for the first bedroom. It made sense to do this--he wouldn't have to
make any crossings, he could simply walk along the baseboard to the door.
It was a journey he had made a few times, to break up the monotony of trying to
scratch out a living. He snuck along the baseboard, behind a cabinet and a
little dorm fridge that the girls had placed in the room. It was a good hour's
walk to the hall, and then another quarter mile or so to the doorway of the
first bedroom.
The room was dark as he reached it, save for the light that trickled in from the
rest of the house. He walked to the base of a dresser the size of a small
mountain, and looked at the immense room. It was decorated tastefully, if not
extravagantly. There was a throwrug in the middle of the floor, covering the
wood floor beneath. It led to the bed, a nice, full-sized bed, and a white wood
nightstand.
The man looked upon the room, and decided to see a bit more of it.
The walk to the nightstand was easy, as was the ascent via the cord to her
electric clock. There were a few salutary effects to the shrinking process. He
was faster, stronger, and more durable than ever--at least by scale.
He looked around the table. Nothing exciting to report--
Suddenly, he was blinded by light. His first instinct was to run, but he
realized that he was small enough that he would likely not be noticed. He did
walk briskly to the side of the alarm clock, and looked back at the door.
It was Julie--the blonde--wearing shorts and a college t-shirt. She set a
backpack down and closed the door behind her.
He tried to guess her age. 19? 20? She wasn't a freshman. Maybe a sophomore. He
figured he could tell by what books she had. He thought he might look more
tonight, when something happened he was unprepared for.
Julie looked both ways, then locked the door. In one quick moment, she kicked
off her shoes, pulled off her shirt and shorts, unfastened her bra and pulled
off her panties.
The man's jaw dropped. He had thought her to be sexy, but my God, she had a
nearly flawless physique.
She walked towards the bed, and sat down on it, facing him. She reached toward
the nightstand, and pulled open a drawer. The entire stand shook with the
effort, and he was knocked down. He lifted his head and saw that she had removed
from said drawer a rubber cylynder, about two hundred feet long, and carefully
inserted it--
Oh, God.
Her pussy was just below eye level, but it was there, just a football field
away, billboard-sized. She probed it gently, carefully, and to great effect. It
took her just a few minutes to finish, and then she carefully wiped the
cylynder, placed it back into the drawer, rose, and put on a terry-cloth robe
before leaving.
The man's mouth was dry, his lungs heaving. He realized he had joined her in her
fun only as he was coming. He considered, and decided to remain on the
nightstand.
* * *
It was about three in the morning, and the only light came from the red numbers
of the clock. The light played across Julie's face as she slept, looking
peaceful and content.
The man looked upon her face, feeling a longing he had not felt in too long. She
was beautiful, but it was more than that. He was starting to remember everything
that he had lost in one computer error, one misfire on the device.
He knew tomorrow would mark a return to the routine. He knew that he was below
this beautiful woman's radar--even if he wanted to try to establish a
connection, how would he? How could he?
It was impossible.
So he didn't torture himself with the details. He had no past. He had no future.
But he had now.
* * *
The next few weeks passed.
The girls were not very messy, but that wasn't a problem, he soon realized. At
his size, even a stray crumb from a sandwich was a feast. He had gotten soft and
lazy with the guys, he realized. He could make do with much less.
That thought buoyed him. He knew now that this apartment could be his home until
it was torn down. And with luck, that day was long in the future. As long as
someone lived here, he could manage.
He had returned to his earlier routine--mostly, anyhow. He still gathered food
and water when he had to, still stayed to the baseboards, still did what he had
to do to stay alive.
But there was a change to the routine.
He tried to get to her bedroom as often as he could, and he had learned quite a
bit about her. She was a junior, twenty years old. She was also--well, how to
put it delicately--a slut.
He really didn't mind. After all, it wasn't as if he was going to satisfy her.
And he found he was still aroused when she brought a guy back from a party. He
saw himself with her, in the person of the titanic man. He would watch from the
nightstand, or the safety of the dresser, as the two bodies intertwined, and he
would think of how life could be.
Still, he found an idea crawiling around inside his head. It was a foolish,
stupid, dangerous idea. He had stayed alive this long by not giving in to
foolish ideas.
But he couldn't clear it from his head, no matter how he tried. So one night, he
decided to see what would happen.
It was a Wednesday, and he knew she would get home late. Still, as he stood on
the precipice of the nightstand, he felt nervous. This could be deadly, he knew.
Was it worth it to risk his life for this?
He looked at the unmade bed. Her scent wafted from it, ever-so-softly, probably
too softly for anyone larger than him to notice. As he leapt, he knew--this was
why he'd bothered to stay alive so long.
* * *
It was still a good half mile walk to the place where the sheets and blankets
were bunched up. He hoped his plan would work.
He also, belatedly, hoped there wasn't a guy with her.
At 9:45, she entered, mercifully alone. He was quivering with anticipation. He
looked at her intently. She was wearing a short skirt with knee-high socks, and
a plain white blouse.
It took her about two hours to complete her reading for the night. She left to
use the restroom, then returned to the room, and locked the door.
She undressed quickly. She looked at the nightstand for half a second, as if
considering something. She shook her head slightly, then turned off the light.
The room was dark for only a moment, until she turned the light on the
nightstand on. Then, without hesitation, she got into bed.
The man watched this all. He had grown more used to her naked body, but it still
was an awesome sight. The woman, the size of a mountain, sat down with her back
to him. She scooted unconsciously backward, shaking the bed and knocking him to
his knees. He quickly righted himself, and stood and grabbed at the sheet as she
swung her left leg over him.
He could see his goal a few hundred yards distant, but he knew better than to
try to reach it. He would stick to his plan.
She sat up, and grabbed the blanket on either side of him, and pulled.
He was whisked northward at tremendous speed. He held on with all his might as
her knee, then her thigh,then her stomach whizzed past him. He released his grip
just in time to fly into the southern part of her left breast.
He fell a good hundred feet to her chest. He struggled for a minute to regain
his breath. He felt the bruises healing themselves quickly.
All was darkness. The blanket was pulled up to her chin. He would have to be
quick, he knew. He turned and felt her breast furtively, then pushed off and
jogged. It was an eighth of a mile to his destination.
* * *
It wasn't an easy journey, even though he could jog it in about two minutes.
Fortunately, she never rolled over, but each adjustment of her body caused him
to fall. It was like being in an unending earthquake. As he passed her belly
button, he wondered if he was stupid, or just crazy.
But not far after that, he caught a scent that pulled him on, until he found
himself in a forest of light hair.
It had been a long time since he had seen one of these this close. He reached
his destination, and felt the thick walls surrounding his goal. He held on to
one side and slowly, carefully, lowered himself to it.
As his feet touched it, he felt a tremor unlike any he had felt so far. It was
at once softer and more urgent than any adjustment she had made yet. It was
larger than he was, almost twice his size, and he didn't know how to start, so
he simply laid his body out upon it, and pushed hard against it.
It quivered with delight. So did he. He began to thrust against it, as hard as
he could. He felt the world around him begin to shake, but he was damned if he
was going to stop. He felt himself moving towards climax, and he thought he
could hear something happening deep inside him.
Then, suddenly, the world went crazy. The limited space he had became much
larger as titanic fingers spread the walls around him apart. He came just as the
world tilted slightly upward.
He tried to hold on, but the clitoris was slick with her natural lubricant. He
fell towards the earth....
The timing could not have been better. A twenty-foot-long wall of flesh caught
him and forced him deep into the recesses of her pussy. It was, he realized
quickly, her index finger. She pushed him deep up into herself, then withdrew
the finger, then pushed in again, until a torrent of fluid rushed around him,
washing him out to her outer lips.
He was sticky, but he was happy. Unfortunately, he was stickier than he had
realized. He crawled out of her vagina and got about five feet into her bush
when he found himself unable to move any further. He managed to roll himself
over before the come hardened. He lay prone against her back, looking up at the
blanket.
He lay there long after the lights went out and she fell asleep. He knew that
when morning came, she would probably shower, and that would be all for him. He
would probably die.
But as he contemplated death, he knew one thing--no matter what happened, this
had been worth it.
* * *
The man awoke.
Something was not quite right, he noticed.
He was hanging upside down. That wasn't right.
He was looking at a series of interwoven threads. The sheets.
Julie must be sleeping on her stomach, he thought. He tried to wrap his brain
around the events of last night. Had he really...?
Suddenly, the world stirred. In a blur, the entire fabric of reality seemed to
bend and stretch as Julie got up and out of bed.
The man was terrified. And stuck fast against her nether region.
He feared the shower. He knew he was likely to be washed away forever. He waited
for Julie to put on her terrycloth robe, and head towards his execution chamber.
Instead, she slipped on a pair of panties.
He was so surprised by this that it took him a few minutes to recognize it. She
wasn't going to shower.
No, she was going to run.
* * *
After the first mile, the man began to think the shower would've been
preferable.
The universe was bouncing up and down, up and down, as Julie covered the blocks
around her house. He had no time to ruminate about the fact that he was outside
the apartment for the first time in years. He was too busy trying not to vomit.
Then, it happened. As Julie ran, she began to sweat. Just a little at first,
then more and more. The sweat ran down over him, slowly eating away at the bond
that held him fast to her. Without warning, he slid off of her skin and down
onto her panties.
He was staring up at her vagina as titanic thighs pumped all around him. He had
no idea what the best move to make was. It seemed to him he should try not to
die.
After a few more miles, Julie returned home, jogged up the steps, and headed
inside. She walked into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, and got into the
shower.
To the man, it seemed as if the floor dropped out from under him as she slid the
panties down around her ankles. It took him a few minutes to gather himself,
before he sprinted out of the sweat-soaked clothes to the baseboard.
Not even Julie stepping out of the shower could distract him from seeking
shelter. He knew for a fact that he was tremendously lucky to be alive.
As she gathered her things and headed back to her room, the man sighed, and
slumped against the wall.
And then, he began to laugh. The laugh of a man who is truly living.
* * *
The following few weeks were much less exciting. After risking death for a bit
of pussy, the man was a bit leery about trying it again.
Though it was fun.
Indeed, he thought one Friday afternoon as he cleaned his apartment, it was more
fun than he had had in all the time since the accident.
He began the slow climb up to the lookout. His early fascination with Julie was
beginning to wane. After all, it was the weekend, and if she came home at all it
would be with a guy. Not that he begrudged her that--heck, it wasn't like they
had anything between them.
They'd just had a casual fling, he thought to himself, chuckling at the notion.
He was beginning to think about looking in on Kate. Perhaps he would.
He reached the lookout at about four-thirty. The living room was empty, for the
moment.
He laid down and looked out over the vista that was the living room. He could
feel something in the back of his mind, something big.
Well, everything was big. But this was bigger than usual.
He lay there for about twenty minutes before he heard the grind of the door. He
looked toward the entryway to see who had made it home first. He guessed it
would be Kate.
Instead, it was Jane, home early for a Friday. And someone else.
She was younger--he could see that clearly, she was probably between sixteen and
eighteen, with shoulder-length black hair, a relatively small bust and a wasp
waist. She turned slightly, and the resemblence was obvious.
Jane's sister. Her little sister Tanya. He had heard the girls talking about her
earlier in the week. She was a senior, and considering coming here for school.
Before he could adequately process this information, Kate came bounding into the
room, with her own visitor in tow. The second new person was petite, but with an
attractive bust and a naturally slender body.
"HEY, JANIE. THIS IS MY FRIEND FROM CAROLINA, LINDSAY!" exclaimed the tall
redhead. She was beaming. Why was she beaming?
"NICE TO MEET YOU," replied Jane, "THIS IS MY SISTER, TANYA."
At that moment, Julie entered the room and there were introductions all around
again. And a voice, still and small, one that--if you could hear it at
all--sounded like it hadn't been used in a year--which it hadn't.
"hello," it rasped. "my name is jake."
* * *
Jake was quite sure this was stupid, but he reminded himself that the unexamined
life was not worth living. Furthermore, he thought to himself, it wasn't like
the life he had been living was so great that he needed to cling to it at all
costs. He had lived the life of a very successful insect thus far, but he wasn't
an insect, he was a man.
And a man has needs, damn it.
So he had climbed up the fabric of the couch, and was currently sequestered
between two of the cushions, deep in the recesses of the furniture. He had
decided to try--emphasize "try"--to have a couple of flings this weekend with
people he wouldn't see again for a while. Tanya would be first, because she was
bunking on the couch tonight, which was, all things considered, easier to reach.
If he could manage it--and he would see how things worked out--he would track
down Lindsay tomorrow.
For the moment, he waited as the clock ticked down towards everyone's return. He
felt sure that they had taken their guests to a party somewhere. It's what he
would've done.
Finally, the door swung open, and the unmistakable sound of five drunk
half-mile-tall girls came wafting through the air. He braced as Tanya, drunk as
she could be, sat heavily down on the cushion to his left. The entire couch
trembled with her awesome weight. He looked up at the right corner of her
derriere, which, he could see, was in a short, black skirt that led straight to
bare legs. He decided there was no time like the present, and began to ascend
the cushion.
Once on top, he walked quickly and carefully along her thigh, which was easier
said than done, as the cushion was sinking in under her. He reached the edge of
the skirt presently, and was pleased to see her sitting with her legs slightly
akimbo. He looked out over the room to see that all five girls were still up; he
would get in position, then wait until she was ready for bed.
He walked boldly under her knee, and then began the assault on her center. He
was grateful to reach it before she crossed her legs, which she did just as he
began to pull himself inside the cotton panties.
The adjustment actually helped him get inside quicker, though it would block any
ascent he could make. Still, he was inside, and he drank in the smell of her
youth. He touched her skin gently. When her legs uncrossed, he began to climb.
He was wiser this time. He hoped to get her just aroused--not to get her to the
point that she would feel obligated to finish the job. He pulled himself inside,
and marveled that her clitoris was different than Julie's. He wondered what
Jane's looked like. He'd have to find out.
After a few minutes of rubbing and stroking, he got the reaction that he was
hoping for, and then some. These were tiny quakes compared with Julie's volcanic
tremors, but he heard the rush of fluid beneath him just the same.
He smiled as he came. It seemed he could still have an effect--albeit small--on
women.
He was about to climb out when suddenly, Tanya stood up.
Jake was unprepared for the motion, and fell precipitously into her panties. He
tried to right himself, but she was walking with some speed.
A few moments later, there was some brief light as she pulled her panties--and
him--off. But that light was short-lived, as she crumpled the spent article into
a ball and tossed it into a plastic bag in her backpack. Before Jake could
react, a blouse, a skirt, a bra, and a pair of socks rained down over him, and
the backpack was zipped up.
The world moved violently as she picked up the pack and returned to the living
room. She would be asleep in a few minutes.
Jake struggled upwards. He may not be able to get out of the backpack tonight,
but he didn't want to be stuck in her dirty clothes bag. He managed to escape
the plastic sack in about two hours, and then he fell, tired and spent, into a
soft something. He didn't know or care what. He just wanted to sleep.
As he drifted off, he reflected that it was hard work for him, making time with
the ladies.
But so, so worth it.
* * *
He felt the movement of the bag, but he didn't really start to wake up until he
heard the shower stop.
He stretched, and tried to figure out by the dim light shining through the
zipper just where he was.
Jake didn't have to wait long before a wet Tanya unzipped the bag and reached
for him.
He boggled for a moment, before he realized that she was reaching, not for him,
but for the article of clothing he was on. He looked around to figure out what
it was, but before he could he was lifted up into the air.
Suddenly, he saw her naked left breast rushing towards him. The fabric behind
him was pulled tight, and he dropped onto her soft nipple. He heard the rush of
other clothing being pulled on over Tanya's bra, which he was undoubtedly
trapped inside.
The world tilted up, and down, and up again as she dressed. But nothing could
prepare him for when she began to walk.
It was a slow, steady undulation, actually kind of pleasant in its monstrousity.
Still, he thought, as he tried to find a handhold on her slightly harder nipple,
this was going to be a long day.
* * *
Men spend years trying to get a hold of women's breasts. They are strange,
beautiful things, infinitely varied, delightful to the touch, fun for the whole
family.
If men spent more time strapped to the front of women's breasts, they'd spend
less time lusting after them.
Jake had lost all track of time. It seemed like days since Tanya had strapped
him in. He had been clinging to her left nipple for dear life, as each step
brought a veritable earthquake of undulation. Tanya was fairly well endowed.
Jake was starting to gain an appreciation for flat women.
He couldn't see much. There was just a small amount of diffuse light that
reached him here. And he could hear one thing, over and over and over: The
steady thump of Tanya's heart. Quick and fast while walking, slow and steady
during those blessed moments they rested.
He could hear little that didn't originate with his host. He gathered that at
some point they'd gone to the mall, and later on to lunch. He was hoping against
hope they'd go home soon.
* * *
They did go home, after a while, and for a few minutes, he had hope that he may
escape to safety.
They were back in the bathroom, where he had been imprisoned almost ten hours
before. He had heard Tanya do her business, and he had also heard her one side
of a discussion about some sort of party; he lacked details, but he wasn't
worried about it. Any party, anywhere was a place he wanted to avoid right now.
It was hot enough under satin and padding and cotton without the
seventeen-year-old bundle of hormones that wore it getting hot and bothered and
drunk.
He was stewing on how bad the situation had gotten that he didn't realize what
what happening when Tanya removed her shirt, and he definitely was unprepared
when she removed her bra. He suddenly felt the wall behind him give way, and he
clawed desperately at Tanya's nipple, only to find that she was leaning forward.
He dropped precipitously, and landed with a wumpf! amid forty-foot-long spikes
and long yellow vines.
Jake groaned. He had snapped a few ribs, as well as his leg. He knew to lie
still. It would take about five minutes for the bones to knit themselves. In the
meantime, all he could do is stare up at the half-naked form of Tanya, who was
now putting on a lacy black bra to replace the more functional white one that
had been his prison.
After a minute or so, Tanya pulled on a slinky black dress, and after checking
herself in the mirror, turned and left. Jake winced a little, but began to pull
himself up onto one arm. It was best he get going.
He didn't get going fast enough. Just moments after Tanya departed, Julie
appeared, wearing a tight red dress that showed off her considerable assets.
Jake looked at her from crotch level, and whistled softly. She was definitely
going to get some action in that outfit. It looked like she was going to give
herself a quick once-over....
Suddenly, Jake looked around him anew. He had been so focused on the pain of his
fall that he hadn't looked carefully at where he was. Now, it was clear--he was
on Julie's hairbrush.
He started to call out too late as the lovely titaness grabbed the brush. It was
all he could do to hold on as she began moving the brush violently through her
short-coiffed hairdo.
Miles of melon-scented vines moved by at mach 3, as Julie teased and styled her
hair to the best of her ability. It wasn't long before Jake was thrown into a
mass of styling on the top of her head. He tried in vain to stand up, then
decided that his best bet was to try to stay put, rather than get swept by the
brush into oblivion.
Suddenly, Jake was caught full-force by a gust of air and liquid. He was blown
through Julie's hair to the very front of her bangs before he managed to grab
onto a hair. He instantly regretted it, as he realized that both he and the hair
were covered in hairspray. And not just any hairspray, but the super-hold type
stuff. If Julie's come had caused him to stick to her, the hairspray paralyzed
him. He was stuck fast, looking forward over the upcrest of a tiny spike in her
hairdo. He could see her starting to put on her mascara. He tried in vain to
find himself among the vast prairie of her head.
He watched, awe-struck, at the half-mile tall beauty he sat perched atop
finished applying her makeup. Then, with a wink at the mirror, she turned, and
began to walk.
Jake winced anew as the wind buffeted him. He felt the hair he was on sway,
while the head the hair was attatched to moved up and down, back and forth, left
and right.
And they were just walking.
He began to miss Tanya's bra.
* * *
One thing he was finally getting plenty of was fresh air.
The three roommates and two guests walked up to the door of the Sigma Chi house.
It was, he recalled, a pretty fun place on the weekend. Good parties, pretty
low-key--not too many of the guys who think all women want to fuck them. He had
a buddy who was a Sigma Chi. He'd spent some time here in his misspent youth.
He knew the five would have no trouble getting in. After all, they each had at
least one breast, which was all it really took to get into a frat party. They
walked into the main room, and Julie stopped just long enough to give him a good
view.
He boggled. He had seen a few parties that the guys had thrown, but this was by
far the biggest group of people he had ever seen. Dozens of gods and goddesses
were packed into the room, dancing to Limp Bizkit's "Nookie", which was turned
up loud enough to cause damage to small, low-flying aircraft. They pushed on
through the crowd towards the keg, stopping now and then to say hi to people.
Jake began to gain an appreciation for scale. To him, of course, everyone was
enormous, but there were levels of enormity that he was unaware of most of the
time. It soon became clear that, as Julie made the rounds, she was really quite
short--probably only five feet tall. He stared straight into the maw of most of
the girls Julie chatted with, which, after the third time he had
"!!!HOW!!!ARE!!!YOU!!!DOING!!!!!!" screamed into his face lost its luster. He
stared at the Adam's apple of the guys.
He was scared, but he was also fascinated. It was strange, watching a party from
a girl's perspective. Oh, it sucked when Julie started dancing to "Ice Ice
Baby," but still and all, it was a fun experience. He just wished he wasn't
immobilized.
It took about an hour for Julie to find the guy she was going to get it on with.
He was familiar to Jake--a big guy, muscular and handsome, who Julie was
presently sucking face with. This, too, was an experience, though Jake could
have done without his beery breath cascading down over his vista.
The two broke their liplock to head for the makeout rooms upstairs. This guy
must be a brother, thought Jake, as they headed across the packed dance floor
towards the stairs. He looked forward with a bit of dread to what he knew from
prior experience would consist of Julie blowing this guy. He didn't want to see
some guy's hairy stomach--or worse.
Fortunately for Jake, serendipity was on his side. As they stumbled across the
dance floor, Julie bumped into a guy carrying beers. He did well--he spilled
just a drop or two. But one of those drops struck Jake's position precisely,
instantly melting away his bonds.
For the second time in three hours, Jake found himself tumbling headfirst into
oblivion. And he knew in an instant he was in big trouble. He was at least a
mile from his house, and at his size, that may as well be a light year.
He tumbled head-over-heels towards the ground, only to find himself suddenly
being swept upwards by a passing air current. He knew, of course, that he was
small enough to be blown about--it had happened before a few times--but he was
caught off guard by his sudden upward tack. He blew high up over the revelers,
then began to fall again. He was falling rapidly towards a petite, black-haired,
jeans-clad woman.
"lindsay!" he cried out as he hurtled towards the fly of her jeans. He lunged at
the last minute, catching the key of the zipper with his stomach. He grasped at
the zipper for his life, trying to ignore the motion of the enormous hips
enclosed by it.
After a moment, he began to try to climb ever-so-slowly towards the slight
opening between fly and button. After about fifteen minutes, he reached it, and
pulled himself inside. He leapt for the panties, secure in the belief that he
needed to get inside, get as enclosed from the party as he could, so that he
could get home.
He grasped at the worp and weave of the fabric, smelling the familiar,
sweet-pungent aroma from behind the cotton barrier. He crawled slowly towards
the elastic boundary, acutely aware that there was precious little room for
error. If he misjudged, he'd tumble down Lindsay's pant leg and out onto the
floor of the Sigma Chi house.
He reached the barrier, and with his last ounce of energy, pulled himself
through. Sweat and something else gave the atmosphere a heady aroma. He fell,
limply, to the bottom of the panties. He hoped she wouldn't sit down soon.
* * *
A few hours later, they were heading somewhere.
The heat of the party had given way to a cooler evening. But the arousal level
of Lindsay was increasing, slowly. Jake knew this because his own, considerable
arousal level was increasing at a commensurate level. He could hear someone else
through the cotton and denim. He hoped Lindsay was dragging him back to Kate's
place.
He had to stay with her. He had to get home.
A few minutes later, and the world began to roll around. The squeaking and
creaking of bedsprings was evident. Jake clung tightly to a hair of her bush,
just north of her clitoris. He heard the rustle of her jeans coming off, saw
light streaming through the turquoise panties Lindsay wore. He wondered,
belatedly, if he should make a break for it, when the sky above him was ripped
away to reveal the face of Lindsay's date.
He saw an enormous green eye, then a bit of red hair, which was tossed aside by
a tremendous hand. He looked at the face, and suddenly, he recognized its owner.
Kate.
The lights went out.
* * *
About an hour in, Jake was wondering to himself whether to compare it to an
earthquake at the Playboy mansion, or a giant alien destruction-slash-pleasure
machine, or maybe just what it was--two half-mile tall lesbians getting it on in
a serious way, with him at ground zero.
No matter what it was, he was having a tremendous amount of fun, despite the
three times in the last hour that he'd been within inches of death.
They say there are three primary drives that all creatures seek.
The first is food. Hunger is the most basic need.
The second is shelter. Without shelter, the elements will tear a being to shreds
without a care.
The third may not be as necessary as the other two, but the pursuit of it has
inspired everything humanity has ever done.
Jake was dancing on the razor's edge, and he hadn't ever felt more alive, nor
more fulfilled.
* * *
About an hour before, the lights had gone out and Jake did what his instincts
told him to. He ran.
That is to say, he tried to run. But as he started to clamber up the outside of
Lindsay's vagina, she began shifting and moving in rythm with her lover, and the
whole world seemed bathed in sweat. He couldn't get a grip, and instead slipped
and slid, directly into a sinkhole full of flesh.
The scent was overwhelming--it felt like it engulfed him, as he felt the heat
and moisture from the cauldron below. He was starting to get his eyesight back.
An enormous, remarkably taut stomach hung suspended like heaven itself above
him. She must be working on her breasts, he thought with remarkable clarity.
He watched the stomach moving slowly but inexorably across his sky, watched as
the sky drew nearer, as stomach gave way to small, firm breasts, and as the
breasts gave way to a tangle of hair and a tongue.
It started all around him. The soccer pitch-sized muscle flitting and touching
and slobbering all over the thighs of his hostess. He tried again to struggle
free, but he knew it was futile. Nowhere was safe anyhow. It didn't surprise him
at all when the tongue started a hundred feet below him, swept quickly upward,
and engulfed him.
He was quickly plunged into the darkness of the mouth of Kate.
The entire world smelled vaguely of cinnamon schnapps--Goldschlager, he thought,
oddly disconnected from his plight. It was hot and wet in a way that was
altogether different than milliseconds before had been hot and wet. He knew
instinctively that his best bet was not to struggle or try to move. He was the
size of dust. Hopefully, like a bit of hair or dust, he would stick to Kate's
tongue until something removed him.
The world instantly was light--well, dimly light--again. The spread pussy of
Lindsay loomed ahead. Tongue and Jake plunged in together.
Again it was dark, and sultry, and, well, Goddamn fucking erotic. He felt
himself coming, which was trivial compared to the amount of lubrication that
Lindsay was churning out, not to mention the saliva that Kate was generating.
The tongue slid along slippery walls, and instantly, he was freed--if one can be
said to be free when one is sixty feet deep into the pussy of a 2600-foot-tall
woman.
The amount of estrogen coursing through the veins of Lindsay would've been
enough to save a trillion women from the pain of menopause. The sound of her
pulse was everywhere, and everywhere the whoosh of lubricant being poured out
for a penis that would never, ever come.
He begain to feel what little air existed down here starting to blow away.
Suction.
It made sense, of course. Kate was a woman, and unlike most men (who--thanks to
Sam Kinnison--would be trying to lick the alphabet), Kate was going for the one
spot on Lindsay guaranteed to get a good reaction. None of this G-spot bullshit.
Just aim for the clitoris, and all would be good.
He thought that last sentence as he felt himself pulled inexorably by the vacuum
created by Kate. He flew out of the vagina at an appreciable speed, but
thankfully, much lower than the lips of Kate. He bounced off of her chin, and
ricocheted into the covers.
He watched and listened as Kate finished her work, and then pulled herself up
next to her lover, spent and happy.
They started up again about five minutes later, with Lindsay doing the work this
time.
* * *
Morning broke late.
He stretched and looked at the four enormous feet that were his vantage point.
He tried to remember how he'd ended up at this part of the bed. He thought maybe
he'd gotten tangled in Lindsay's hair at some point; maybe it happened when he
accidentally ran up to a resting Kate to see how much of her nipple he could
squeeze, only to be quickly and inadvertently sucked off by Lindsay.
Whatever the cause, he knew that as much fun as these two had been, he'd be best
suited by getting up and going to bed in his own part of the wall. That was a
long way from Kate's bedroom, he'd better....
He stopped dead and looked around. Fuck.
This wasn't Kate's room.
It was a hotel somewhere. They must have gone in on a hotel room for the night.
It was the only answer.
He'd have to stay with Kate. She'd have to go home eventually. The enormous
figure of Lindsay stirred first. She leaned over to her lover, kissed her gently
and said, "WAKE UP HONEY, WE'RE RUNNING A BIT LATE. I CAN'T MISS MY FLIGHT!"
She rolled out of bed and strode to the bathroom. Damn, she was attractive. A
dancer's build, he thought. Lucky Kate.
Kate?
She had gotten up too, and was getting dressed a long way from the bed.
That couldn't be good.
He tried to figure out what to do. He had to get to Kate. He didn't want to be
stuck in a hotel room; the maids cleaned every day, and besides, he liked his
home, and especially its occupants.
He saw what he was looking for presently; a purse, leaning up against the bed.
He looked over at Kate, and saw no purse there. There was a fifty-fifty chance.
He gambled. He slid down the sheets and into the small gray handbag. He moved
quickly, looking for the thing he had to find--a wallet.
Pulling himself inside, he read the driver's license with a sinking heart: "M O
R G A N L I N D S A Y"
He began to move quickly. He had to get out before....
The purse jerked upwards violently, and he was thrown into a mass of tampons and
makeup and loose change. It was okay, he thought; he'd just get out when they
got to the car.
Of course, when they reached the car, they shut Lindsay's purse in the trunk.
This wasn't starting out as a good day.
* * *
He thought of the plan on the way to the airport. It was a shit plan, but it
would have to work. He liked Lindsay fine, but he didn't want to go to North
Carolina. He wanted to stay with Kate and Julie and Jane.
So he worked his way into the wallet again.
This was going to take timing.
They went through the check-in line for an eternity, before he finally heard the
desk clerk request an I.D. This was it.
As the wallet entered the rest of the world, it occurred to him that Kate may
not have walked Lindsay in. She may have just dropped her off.
The wallet opened, and he leapt for the blue topaz ring on her finger. He
gripped the tiny diamond that flanked it like it was made out of, well, diamond.
He held on tight as the left hand of Lindsay Morgan made little circles and big
circles and lopsided figure eights, all at Warp 2.
Just as he was about to ralph, he saw what he was praying to see: a blur of red
hair. Kate.
The two lovers hugged their goodbyes, and as they did, Jake leapt for Kate with
all his might.
He landed, bulls-eye, just inside the neckline of the back of her shirt. He
plunged southward a little way before snagging her bra strap. He sighed.
This just plain sucked.
* * *
The drive wasn't that painful, mainly because he worked his way to a space by
her spine where he wasn't mashed into the back of the driver's seat. He thought
to himself, what else could go wrong?
He wouldn't have thought that if he had realized that they were going to the
gym.
As it was, he was wholly unprepared to find the ledge that was Kate's bra
suddenly being removed, and he was especially surprised when he landed on a
springy surface, essentially unhurt.
Kate went about the business of getting ready without paying much attention to
him, as he slowly realized that he'd fallen directly into a pair of running
shoes.
Suddely and without warning, the figure of Kate loomed over him, clad only in a
green spandex sportsbra and black spandex biker shorts. Her right foot obscured
her beauty, and quickly, the cotton-covered foot was sliding into everywhere.
The air displacement buffeted him back into the toe of the shoe, something he
was quickly grateful for. As they began to walk, he realized that the tiny
amount of space in the front of her shoe was just enough for him to avoid being
mashed to death by a twelve-foot-tall little toe.
Instead, he pulled himself up onto the weave of the fabric between the big and
second toes of Kate. And he stayed there through her entire routine, and let the
sweat and stink of her feet overwhelm him. Anything to keep from getting home.
And his perserverance worked. She threw the socks--and him--into her gym bag
without a second thought. And after her shower, she took the gym bag home and
brought it upstairs with her. She even did him the kindness of not putting the
clothes into the hamper that evening. Instead, she left the bag in the living
room, just a few feet from an entrance to his home.
He stumbled out of the bag, and worked his way, slowly, cautiously, weakly,
towards home. He settled in soon enough, food and water that he had neglected
filling his stomach, thoughts of where he'd been and what he'd done filling his
head.
As he drifted to sleep, he smiled.
* * *
It was good to rest, he thought, good to get himself set up for the coming
winter. The Halloween party had been fun to watch, but he hand't injected
himself into the mix. Thanksgiving, too, was behind him, a long, lonely weekend
where the apartment stood empty and the girls went home to their families.
Now came the most consistently bad part of the year: Christmas. The house would
empty out for almost a month, the heat turned down to nothing. If he was lucky,
he would have enough food to last; last year, he had almost run out before the
guys came back.
He was almost too busy stockpiling for the break to turn his attention to
loftier pursuits. Almost. But he was taking a break today, sitting on the desk
of the lovely Jane, watching her study. He was gaining an appreciation for Jane.
He had thought her the least attractive of the three girls when he first saw
her, but he was realizing quickly that she was by far the most sane, and
probably the nicest as well. And he also was reassessing her beauty; her cobalt
blue eyes looked seriously through Lisa Loeb glasses, her long brown hair was
pulled neatly into a pony tail. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and
jeans, with her left leg tucked under her right. In short, she looked normal,
not flawless, but her very normality was very attractive.
His break was short-lived, however. The remains of a sandwich sat on her desk.
She had not touched it in a half hour. He decided it was probably safe. He
walked over rapidly, and began quickly pulling breadcrumbs away from the bottom
slice, and sawing off just a bit of the turkey within. After he had acquired a
load as big as him, he began pushing it towards the edge of the desk.
Suddenly, he had a feeling he hadn't had since he was full-sized. He whirled,
and saw cobalt blue eyes sweep quickly away from his position.
He froze, panicked. Had she spotted him? He had felt her gaze--but she wasn't
looking at him now. She was still reading.
No. She couldn't have seen him. She was studying. It must have been his
imagination.
He turned back to his work, and felt it again.
He turned, and again, the eyes flitted back to the book, her face
expressionless.
With all he could muster, he pushed the food over the edge of the desk, and at
full run, reached the light cord. He slid down, and ran for the cover of the
floorboards at top speed.
He swore he could feel her watching him the entire way.
* * *
He didn't go back into Jane's room until the last day of finals.
She would be leaving for home soon, and he was foraging there for any last bit
of food that he could hoard. He waited patiently for her to leave, then began
searching.
He came upon it presently. On the floor, right where he had pushed the food two
weeks before. He expected to find the moldy remains of crumbs. He would have
saved it anyway; he'd eaten mold enough to know you could live on it, though it
tasted like shit.
He walked to the spot, and his mind boggled.
There was enough food there to last him a year.
A tiny bit of turkey. A little bit of ham. Some bread. A thimble full of--my
God, beer! And dwarfing it all, looming over everything like a temple, was a
whole sugar cut-out cookie with frosting.
And a note.
He began to tremble as he looked at it, much larger than billboard-sized, though
he could tell that the author had taken great pains to write as small as she
could.
It read: Dear Friend
I do not know if you can read. I do not know if you are capable of thought. I
don't even know if you exist, or if I dreamed you up in the stress of finals.
But if you are real, and you can read this, I want you to know that you have
nothing to fear from me. I hope you can be my friend.
Here is some food to last you until we return. I guess you must be living on our
table scraps or something. It looked like you were trying to take part of my
sandwich the other day. You probably will have a hard time when we're gone this
month. I hope this helps.
When I get back, I'd like to meet you. I hope you'd like to meet me. Whatever
you feel, I will try to help you, my tiny friend. Good luck, and Merry
Christmas.
Love,
Jane Matthews
P.S. I baked the cookie myself! Jake read the note, and read it again, and read it again. After a few
minutes, he had to remember to breathe.
It was late afternoon, and all the girls were gone for Christmas.
He heard the furnace kick in.
* * *
The next month was both agony and ecstacy. Ecstacy because he had all the food
he could desire, including the best cookie he'd had in years.
Agony because he was very afraid of what the future held.
She seemed nice. She acted nice. Hell, she'd even baked him a cookie! A good
cookie.
And she knew he existed.
And she wanted to meet him.
Him!
And he desperately, desperately, wanted to meet her. Talk to her. Laugh, and
joke, and cry, and be with her.
And yet his mind was clouded by memories of the last "her."
* * *
"You could work for the CIA my boy, don't you want that?"
The General--Major General Mitchell M. "Mitch" Michaelson (USMC)--was an
imposing figure when your atomic structure was stable. He stood six-five,
weighed a solid 325, and looked like he could wrestle a bear to the
ground--which, according to legend, he had.
Jake was down to five-two now, and he was still shrinking. He sat, silently,
next to his girlfriend of five years, Deborah Jackson. She was two inches taller
than him, already.
"Jake, this could be big, you know. You should stay here, let them test you."
"Debbie, you know goddamn well how this whole project has been--vivisection was
the nicest thing they did to the fucking chimps. You think that we should trust
these guys?"
"Jake, don't you trust me?"
"If I had let the beam hit you, would you be so trusting of Mitch?"
"Now, Son, listen to your girlfriend here. Why, she's grateful to you. You saved
her from your fate...."
"Yes, Jake, listen to the General...." He stood, ashen. He was down to four-six
now, the General and his girlfriend were closing in. "We can't let this get out,
Jake. Think of the panic," said Debbie, smiling slightly.
He'd never noticed what an ugly smile she had.
He ran through them, surprising them both. Before they could order the lab
secured, he had vaulted through a window, landing hard three stories below. He
bounced up, unharmed, and ran as fast as he could.
He would shrink down to almost nothing.
But he was free.
* * *
Julie was the first one back. "WHAT THE--DAMN IT, JANE MUST HAVE FORGOTTEN TO
TURN THE HEAT DOWN. WELL, SHE'S PAYING THE BILL," muttered Julie as she walked
into the warm home. She was pretty as ever, though she had inexplicably dyed her
hair blue over break. It wasn't a good decision, mused Jake, as he watched from
the lookout in the living room.
Kate was next, practically glowing. He knew she was planning on visiting Lindsay
over break. It must have been a particularly good visit.
Jane got back last. She was dressed in a manner altogether different than
ususal; she was wearing a short gray skirt with dark grey tights, and a form
fitting blue top that showed off her assets nicely. Her hair had been cut to a
shoulder-length. She looked fantastic.
He really hoped he had done the right thing. It had been a hard decision. But he
wasn't about to give up his freedom. Not for anyone.
* * *
Jane went straight to her room, and surveyed the area.
It was obvious that something had gotten to the food she'd left, and the cookie
had a small but noticable divot taken out of it. But when she turned to the
letter, she gasped.
Scrawled with a little bit of pencil lead, in tiny, tiny letters, was one word:
THANKS
He wasn't giving up his freedom. But he wasn't going to let a good deed go
without thanking his benefactor.
* * *
For three long days, he watched her.
Every day, she left him a little bit of food before she left for school. Every
day, he took the food away. He was watching for a trap, or a change of
behavior--any signal that she was out to ensnare him. But there was no
signal--only an indication that she seemed willing to feed him.
On Saturday evening, he decided to chance it. He climbed up onto her bed, then
walked the half-mile to her pillow. After ascending it, he came to a rest on the
white fluffy mound, and waited for her.
She came in at about 12:30 in the morning, looking tired. Without a word, she
disrobed completely, showing off a body that was not the voluptious sexpot body
of Julie, nor the lithe dancer figure of Lindsay, nor the Amazon goddess body of
Kate, nor even the teenage cutie body of her sister Tanya.
She was imperfect. Her hips were a little to wide, her breasts were firm, but no
bigger than a B cup. Her stomach had a little bit of a roll to it--nothing
abnormal, she was certainly not fat, but she was not in perfect shape, either.
She had definitely the least perfect body of anyone he'd seen since the girls
came here.
She was absolutely, undeniably gorgeous. By far, the most attractive of all of
them.
She put on a light flannel top and flannel pants, and after turning on the
reading light and turning off the overhead light, she slipped into bed, and
briefly laid her head down on the pillow.
He raced over to her, grabbing handfulls of brown hair, pulling himself towards
his goal with all his might. He had no idea if this would work; he feared he was
too small for even this to allow him to achieve his goal. But he had to try.
He reached her ear in about two minutes. He leapt onto the fleshy surface and
climbed into the ear canal, right as she rolled over onto the opposite side of
her head.
He was briefly disoriented, but he quickly regained his bearings. He had fallen
a bit into the canal, but this was fine. It was absolutely fine.
He sighed, and then, with all his might, he shouted:
(jane)
The world suddenly was in a cavalcade of motion. He tried to guess what had
happened as he slowly picked himself off the floor of her ear canal. He thought
she had probably sat bolt upright. Well, if the situaton was reversed, he
would've too.
From all around, the voice answered, "WHO--WHAT--WHO SAID THAT?"
(it's me jane. the little man you've been helping,) he shouted.
"OH MY GOD," she whispered. "YOU'RE REAL. WHERE--WHERE ARE YOU?"
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