Variations on a Theme By Matheson,
by
CLH
(Thirty-Four Inches)
He's only been in the shower a few minutes and is just reaching for
the soap when he hears the bathroom door open. Through the frosted
glass of the shower door he sees her pale, towering shape approach.
The shower door slides open, and she leans her head in, far above
his. "'Scuse me, Scott, but can I jump in? I've got a meeting
and should wash my hair." She looks down at him, smiling
expectantly.
He only stares up at her, suddenly speechless. Since he stopped
going to work it's his habit to take hot, endless showers in the
morning -- her intrusion isn't part of his routine. But he can't seem
to say anything to her. She's standing outside the shower looking in,
completely nude and, from his perspective, more than 10 feet tall.
How can he possibly say no to her? It's not as if he could stop her.
"Sure, Louise," he said, stepping back to give her plenty
of room.
"Thanks, hon." She steps into the shower and slides the
door shut behind her. She moved between him and the shower head, her
body effectively eclipsing the hot spray. "Mmmmm, it's so
warm," she says, her voice resounding against the tile walls.
His wife dwarfs him. He stands almost exactly as high as her buttocks
-- the top of his head aligns almost perfectly with the top of their
cleft. As she begins to rinse off, all he can do is stare, looking up
to drink in the small of her back, her long, long arms, her exquisite
shoulder blades, the nape of her neck. Wet trickles sluice down her
body.
Since he began shrinking he's often been in close proximity to his
wife, and he's often seen her naked, but they haven't been physically
intimate in weeks, maybe even months. Certainly not since he became
shorter than their daughter. Having Louise stand naked before him now
-- the fact of her -- affects him far more than he could guess. She's
only inches away from him.
She squeezes some shampoo into her hand and gradually works the gel
into her wet scalp, far above his reach. The shower fills with the
jasmine aroma of her favorite shampoo. It's a scent he's smelled on
her hair for years, and in the steamy shower it's almost
intoxicating.
Her body had softened and lost a little of its ripeness since they
had married, but it had never stopped exciting him. Even as she
became so much taller than him, that hadn't changed -- he still found
her attractive. But he's paralyzingly self-conscious about being so
small whenever he's with her, and he never imagined that twice as
much Louise could be twice as arousing. He knows her so well, yet
now she's on a completely different scale. He discovers that her body
is entirely new, while still being entirely familiar. He wants caress
her curves, to squeeze her flesh, to feel her warmth, to explore her
and rediscover her. But he's so much smaller than she is, he can't
help but be intimidated by her. He finds he's terrified of touching
her, for fear of her reaction.
"Scott?" Her eyes are shut, and she tilts her head in his
direction. "While you're down there, could you soap me?"
At first he bristles at the way the words "down there"
sound, but he realizes that she meant nothing by them. "I-I'd be
delighted."
He scoops up a bar of soap, lathers up his hands, and begins running
them across her round ass. He instantly gets an erection -- the touch
is electric. He slides his hands around her hips, which fill his
arms, and brings them under the curves of her buttocks, where the
cheeks meet the thighs. He slides his fingers her cheeks, lightly
stroking the pucker of her anus. "Ooo!" she exclaims, and
he feels her ass muscles clench, but she doesn't object.
Leaning forward, he runs his little hands as high up the slope of her
back as he can reach. Then he brings his arms down and soaps her
round thighs. God, each of her legs is almost as big as me, he
thinks. Her knees come almost up to his waist, and he makes sure to
reach around and soap them back and front. "That feels so
good," she murmurs, and he bends over to lather her supple
calves and the tops her feet, which are twice as long as his own.
Curds of foam slide down her skin and corkscrew down the drain.
He steps around her legs so she's he's standing in front of him, and
the sudden spatter of hot water feels luxurious. Now her damp pubic
hair is at just above eye level, and her belly button winks above his
head. He sees her leaning her head back, letting the water wash over
her chest and between her full, round breasts. A thought strikes him
-- those are the most enormous tits I've ever seen in my life. And
yet they belong to Louise, and she's still the same woman he married.
He holds his open palms to her thighs and brings his head between her
legs. He pushes his face to her groin and kisses the outside her
pussy. "Oh!" Louise exclaims. He runs his tongue across as
much of her labia as he can reach. His body is almost sandwiched
between her legs, but feeling so much of her bare skin pressing
against his is wonderful.
"Scott, that meeting..." she says somewhere above him, but
she's loosening her stance, opening her legs a little in invitation,
making it easier for him. He finds her clitoris and kisses it, and
opens his mouth and kisses it some more. He notices, with some irony,
how convenient it is that he's so small. He massages her clit with
his lips and teases it with his tongue in concentric circles. And he
responds to her scent like a starving man.
"Oh. Oh. Oh!" Louise says, and he has to adjust a bit as
her abdomen surges forward. He glances up and sees that she's leaning
hugely over him, her hands pressing against the wet, white tile.
"Don't stop, Scott!" she exclaims, her voice loud in the
confines of the shower, and he continues, kissing and licking her
faster and faster. She's rocking her hips against his head now, and
she's so massive he has to be careful not to lose his balance on the
slippery floor.
"Oh! Oh! OH! OH! OH!" Her cries echo off the walls, their
volume and vehemence startling him. He feels her body seize, shudder
and settle down, and finds himself suddenly swollen with pride. This
woman is twice my size, and I've pleasured her, he thinks. And she's
my wife, and I love her.
"God, Scott!" Louise breathes, and she slowly squats down
on her haunches, so that they're almost eye level. She enfolds him in
her arms and pulls him to her enormous bosom. "That was
wonderful!" She kisses him all over the top of his wet head.
She shifts position, reaches out and catches his aching hard-on.
"My, what have we here?" she asks. His penis is engulfed in
her big hand, and her soapy, slippery grip is firm but not too tight.
He breathes heavily with excitement as she moves her fist back and
forth over his cock, and he takes one of her pink, pointy nipples
into his mouth. With her other hand she cups his ass -- her hand is
wide enough to encompass both of his buttocks -- and she squeezes him
tightly. He cums explosively, pressing his face into the soft
resilience of her breast.
"That was a good idea of yours," she whispers, kissing him
on the mouth as he tries to catch his breath. "I just know I'm
going to be very relaxed for the rest of the day." Then her face
rises away from his as she stands to her full, looming height. She
quickly rinses off, turning her long body in the spray, and strokes
him affectionately on the cheek as she steps out of the shower. She
brings the door shut behind her.
He stands under the warm falling water, leaning heavily against the
tile wall, his knees wobbly. It's been years since he's cum like
that. It was practically an out-of-body experience. Through the
frosted glass he sees Louise drying off, running a terrycloth towel
over that big, beautiful body. She hums something quietly to herself,
and as he looks at her, he marvels at what just happened. And he
wonders if any of it was really his idea at all.
Copyright (c) by CLH
Jespet: Are you going to continue this story? Please do! We need more
shrinking stories where the man isn't 6 inches tall. Keep up the
great work!
Variations was great! The Incredible Shrinking Man is my all time
favorite shrinking movie, that's why I chose Scott Carey as my screen
name. Your story would have been a hot addition to the movie or
book. Hope you will write another. Thanks!
tomthumb: Richard Matheson would be proud....or would that be
envious? good job!
Here's another little vignette inspired by Richard Matheson's The
Shrinking Man. I should point out that I tend to be a little more
optimistic with his premise than he was.
Variations on a Theme By Matheson, 2
(Sixteen Inches)
If he pushed down with all his weight on the edge of the flower pot,
he could tilt it slightly on its side, and then move it forward
almost an inch until it righted itself. In this fashion he'd moved
the flower pot inch by inch, from its place at the corner of the
front stoop over towards the opposite corner. If he could stand it
beneath the doorknob, climb atop it and stretch his arms as high as
possible, he might be able to reach the knob.
The pot was filled with wet soil, and trying to move it was
strenuous, exhausting work. Still, it kept him moving and kept his
mind off the cold, which was just as important. It was a chilly,
rainy day and his clothes were soaked through and clammy like a
second skin. Not that they'd have offered much protection from the
elements even if they were dry: he wore plastic sandals, nylon shorts
and a Mighty Morphin Power Rangers T-shirt, all of which he was too
small for. (No clothes fit him for very long.) He was chilled to the
bones, and his genitals felt small and shriveled. Talk about
shrinkage, he thought.
It was like something from Alice in Wonderland: It's not that the
door was locked, it's just that it was shut. Louise had taken Beth
out for the day, and he'd meant to sneak out for just a few minutes
to drag in the newspaper, a task of such awkwardness it was more
trouble than it was worth -- and certainly not worth his current
predicament. He thought he had the door propped open, but when he
went outside a gust of wind blew, and the door closed with a
teeth-jarring slam, stranding him in the rain. The WELCOME mat, as
big as a car-cover, mocked him.
He didn't have many choices: the doors and windows would all be
locked, the garage door up. He could try one of his neighbors, but
what if a child answered the door, to find a man just under a foot
and a half in height? He could hide in the towering shrubs, or up
against a relatively sheltered corner of the house, but the wind blew
the chilly rain everywhere.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a red car coming down the street,
so he left the flowerpot and dashed into the closest bush: he still
didn't want to be seen. The car pulled into his driveway, but it
obviously wasn't Louise's blue Honda. The black BMW parked, and a
black-haired woman in a green blouse and a short blue skirt stepped
out.
Shit! It was Therese, the wife of his brother Marty. He and Therese
had never gotten along perfectly well; she could be funny, outspoken
and honest, but also ill-mannered, self-centered and sometimes nasty.
When he started shrinking, their relations grew even more tense
(which he had to admit wasn't entirely her fault). On one of his last
days working at the office, Therese found him trying to climb into a
chair, and she picked him up like a child. He'd screamed at her then,
and had barely spoken to her since. And that was more than 20 inches
ago: from his point of view, she was as tall as a lamppost now.
He walked quickly on her high heels, her head bowed to the drizzle.
Some of her long, black curls were damp and clung to her cheek and
the side of her neck. He watched her hustle up the front walk, place
an envelope in the door knocker, and turn away. She hesitated on the
doormat, looked down at the flower pot, and with a shrug picked it up
in one hand and placed it back where it belonged. Bitch! Do you know
how long it took me to get that there? he thought savagely.
He furiously resented her superior size and strength.
Therese began walking back to her car, which sat in the driveway with
engine idling. She was about the last person he'd want to find him in
this predicament, but he was freezing, and his wife and daughter
might not be back for hours. So he dashed out from his hiding place
and started sprinting down the walk towards her, trying to catch up
to her long strides before she reached the BMW. I'm not even as tall
as her knee, he thought as he closed in. "Therese!" he
cried at the top of his thin voice, hoping she'd hear him
She stopped abruptly and he collided with the back of a smooth,
stockinged calf. He pushed back, lost balance, and sat in a mud
puddle.
"God, Scott! Are you all right?" she exclaimed, looming
over him. She had a look of worry and shock on her face at how small
he'd gotten. Then her expression changed, becoming almost sardonic.
"Didn't you hear the one about having the sense to come in out
of the rain?"
Self-conscious already, his anger flared. "G-gosh, thanks,
Therese. Why d-didn't I th-th-think of that?" he said, his teeth
chattering.
"Scott, you're freezing! We've got to get you inside!" Only
concern was on her face now. "Hold up just a minute." As he
was getting to his feet, she dashed to her car to kill the engine and
shut off the lights. When she returned she leaned far over and
enunciated, as if to a child, "Now I'm going to pick you up,
okay?"
"Y-yeah, sure," he muttered, and she dizzyingly swept him
off the ground in her huge arms. She held him against her chest, so
his head was facing over her right shoulder.
"Where's the key?" she asked him when she reached the door.
"It's n-not locked, it's j-just shut. I c-c-couldn't reach the
knob," he said.
Therese said nothing -- she just opened the door and carried him
inside. He saw her shut the huge door behind her, and saw the
gigantic furniture, which had dwarfed him for weeks, pass by far
below him. "We've got to get you warmed up," she said,
bringing him into the kitchen. She placed him standing on the kitchen
counter, but even so, he was only about as tall as her collarbone --
he still had to look up to her. There was a wet mark on her blouse
from where she'd held him.
"Now get out of those wet things," she told him.
"What? N-no way, not with you --" he began.
"What, you want to catch pneumonia or something? Don't be
bashful." When Scott hesitated, she reached forward, grabbed his
shirt and pulled it up. The wet cloth clung to his skin, but the
oversized shirt came off in a smooth motion, and made a moist plop
when she dropped it in the sink. Holding him steady by his bare chest
with one hand, she pulled his little shoes off one at a time, then
reached for the waistband that hung loosely on his hips. He tried to
prevent her, but she just said, "Stop squirming like that,"
and pulled down his shorts effortlessly. "There."
He discovered that he wasn't too cold to blush, as he stood on the
counter with his hands over his privates. He hated being seen naked
by normal sized people, at the doctor's office or even by his wife.
Being undressed while being so small was like being twice as naked,
twice as vulnerable. A double exposure. And being stripped to the
skin by his sister-in-law was completely mortifying. He had to admit,
though, that it was good to get that moist clothing off, and good to
get out of that wind.
He realized that Therese was looking at him. Her expression was
completely unreadable, but not unkind. "Well? What are you
staring at?" he demanded.
"Oh! I'm sorry." She hesitated, still gazing at him, then
reached out and caught his shoulders in her fingers. Irresistibly
strong, she turned him on his feet so he was facing away from her.
His back and ass were completely unconcealed before her. When he
sputtered indignantly, she just said "I need to check you out,
to make sure you're not hurt. Now let's get something to dry you
off." Therese began opening drawers, looking for linens.
"Here you go," Therese said, returning to wrap a clean,
plush hand towel around his goose-pimpled body. She rubbed him all
over with the towel, and it was like a cross between a massage and
wrestling match, her hands were so strong and vigorous. She held a
corner of the towel between two fingers and vigorously wiped his
soaked hair. "Now how's that?" asked, releasing him after a
few minutes.
He pulled the towel tightly around himself. "B-better," he
had to admit. He still felt shaky, but he wasn't sure if it was due
to the cold or Theresa's tender mercies.
"We still need to warm you up more. Do you keep the booze in the
same place?" she asked.
"The booze?"
"Yeah, do you still keep it in the liquor cabinet?"
He wasn't sure where she was going with this. "No, it's on the
bottom shelf of the cupboard, right next to the sink." He
indicated with a bare foot. "I asked Louise to move it so it
wouldn't be out of reach."
"I don't blame you, there," she said as she bent over. Her
skirt stretched taut against her buttocks, and watching her, he had
to admit that she kept herself in good shape. He'd always admired her
pointy breasts and her high ass -- and was it ever high to him now.
He could hear bottles clank together as she rummaged around.
"Scotch still your drink?"
"Sure," he said, and she placed a bottle of Scotch and a
thick shot glass on the counter next to him. "Best thing in the
world to heat you up," she said, pouring the amber liquor into
the glass. "Drink up. Doctor's orders."
He hesitated. "Well..."
"For God's sakes, now what?" she demanded.
"Sorry, it's just that the shot glass is kind of heavy for me.
And that's probably more booze than I can handle."
She actually slapped her forehead. "God, I'm such an idiot! Of
course it's too much for you. Sorry about that, Scott."
He smiled a little. "It's okay. See that footstool in the
corner? It has some of the plastic utensils I sometimes use on top of
it. Could you bring me the smallest plastic cup." She handed him
the little cup, which was small enough for him to dip into the shot
glass and scoop out a drink. Holding the towel shut with one hand, he
raised the plastic cup to Therese. "Cheers," he said,
taking a gulp. The liquid burned as it went down, but was nice.
"Bottoms up," she said, picking up the shot glass and
downing it quickly. Therese always was a woman who liked a drink, he
thought. At major holidays, she was the life of the party.
"Mmmm. Looks like you could use a refill, there." She
poured another shot of Scotch, and after he refilled the cup, she
drank it down. "How are you feeling now?"
"A lot better than I was before you showed up. Thanks."
"You still look pretty cold to me. Let me check your skin."
She reached one of her huge hands under the towel. He yelped and
tried to back away, but she caught his thigh in her long, warm
fingers. "Your skin's still like ice, and we just can't have
that. What to do? Maybe I should give you a hot bath..."
"Now Theresa..."
"Got it! I know just the thing!" She put down the shot
glass and, to his astonishment, began unbuttoning her blouse.
"This'll work like a charm. I learned this in summer camp."
"What are you doing?" He was flabbergasted. She finished
unfastening her buttons, revealing her lacy black bra underneath, and
pulled her blouse out of her skirt. What the hell was she up to?
"Now come here," she said, catching him in her hands. She
took him in her arms, pulled loose the towel from around his body,
and held him against her chest. "And thus, and so," she
said to herself as she adjusted his position. She held him so that
his small, nude body half-rested in her arms, half across her
breasts, with his bare flesh pressed up against hers. The towel still
covered his side facing away from her. "Now let's just keep you
here for a few minutes. I always heard that skin-on-skin contact was
the best thing to counteract a bad chill. How is it?" She
brought him into the living room and settled into an armchair.
He couldn't speak: he was too busy trying to process so many
sensations. It was like being in a gigantic embrace, feeling half his
nude body pressed up against her expanse of smooth skin. Part of his
legs and his side were touching the resilient fleshiness of her
mammoth breasts, and it was all he could do not to reach down and
touch them with his hands. She was right, her body heat and his
seemed to magnify each other. After that miserable time outside, he
felt a powerful impulse to nestle against her busom, to cleave to
Therese.
And he was trying to distinguish the different scents that made up
her fragrance. He could smell fabric softener from her blouse, a
floral aroma of her soap and bath oil, a certain muskiness from the
pit of her arm, which was only a few inches over his head. They
combined to make a rich, womanly aroma, one very different from
Louise's.
The alcohol was suffusing warmly through his abdomen, and the body
heat and skin contact was giving him an undeniable erection. The
blood rushing into his penis felt delicious after its chilled
dormancy. At least a part of him could grow after shrinking. God, he
hoped Therese didn't notice his hard-on. He might never hear the end
of it.
"So how are you doing?" she asked him.
God, maybe she had noticed! Or maybe he was just being paranoid.
"Much warmer now. You're right, this is a big help."
"No, I mean, how are you doing, Scott." He leaned back to
look into her eyes -- which wasn't easy to do, given his position and
her scale. It was hard to see past her chin.
"As well as to be expected, I guess," he finally replied.
"Well I think you're holding up great," she said, and he
could feel her ribs vibrate every time she spoke.
"Are you kidding? You just found me soaking wet, trapped outside
my own house!"
"We all have bad days: you're still holding together. In fact,
you're really pulling through. I've seen the articles on you and the
excerpts from your book. You've got to be as focused as hell to put
something like that together during all this. If it were me, I'd be a
wreck. I'd be either in a little straight jacket or drunk and stoned
24 hours a day. I mean, to you I must look like a monster!"
"Therese, you don't look like a monster. You look like yourself,
only something like 25 feet tall."
"Christ! I don't know how you handle it." When she
exclaimed, he could smell traces of the Scotch on her breath.
"Some days I hold up better than others, I guess. It's weird,
though. For a long time it was like going through childhood in
reverse, like being the size of a boy all over again. And that was
really difficult to deal with. But now... I don't have any memory of
ever being as small as this. It's not like being a toddler, it's like
being something ... else."
"That's tough," she said. She was stroking the length of
his body over the towel, which wasn't doing anything to make his
erection go away.
"How's Beth handling it?"
He smiled. "Pretty well, all things considered. She doesn't
understand it completely, which helps in a way. When I stopped going
to the office and became closer to her size, she was delighted, as if
this happened just so I could become her little play mate. I tried
to avoid her for a while, but it's hard to say no to your kid --
especially when she's bigger than you are. And now she's actually a
great help to me. When Louise is out there's stuff I can't reach, or
is too heavy for me, that Beth can take care of. If there's any
silver lining to this, it's that I've gotten to know my daughter
better. Beth and I have been able to spend more quality time together
than I would have if I was, you know, normal."
"Sure you're normal," Therese said. She shifted Scott in
her arms, leaned down and gave him a huge, wet kiss on his forehead,
and squeezed him so tightly that it made him gasp. "You know,
when I was looking at you it the kitchen, it wasn't just checking for
injuries."
Before he could respond, she stood up. "Shit! I've got to get
going. You'd better spend some time bundled up in bed. Where would
that be, anyway?" Riding against her chest, he guided her back
to his room.
"Look at this!" Therese exclaimed. His room had been almost
emptied of normal furniture. Small lamps, a radio and his computer
stood barely elevated off the floor, and the tables and chairs were
all built on a scale for children or dolls. Apart from the pictures
on the walls, there was nothing in the room any higher than Theresa's
waist.
"Some of this we got from friends, but most came from people who
read about me. You wouldn't believe the stuff they send to my
publisher," he explained. "I don't spend all my time in
here, but it's nice to have a place where things are my size."
She placed him down near the miniature bed, which was stuffed with
goose-feathers and covered with a small quilt. Next to her, he still
marveled at how much bigger she was than he, but he didn't feel so
threatened by her. Nonchalantly, he let the towel drop to the floor,
no longer ashamed to let her see his body, and took his time climbing
into the bed.
Therese settled down on her knees, said "Wait a minute,"
and stretched out on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows,
so her head was over his bed. "Now will you be okay here? You're
not going to go locking yourself out again, are you?"
He grinned. "I'll be fine. Thanks for stopping by."
"It was my pleasure," she said. She lowered her huge face
down to his and kissed him on the cheek. Then brought her lips lower
and kissed his neck, brushing her nose against his hair. And brought
her lips lower still, kissing his shoulder.
He said her name but she said "Shhhh" and brushed back the
quilt, leaving huge, wet kisses across his chest, on each of his
nipples, and down his stomach. She pressed her wide, thick lips over
his bellybutton, and turned her head side to side, pressing her
smooth, hot cheeks against his abdomen. Her curly locks cascaded over
his little face as she brushed the quilt down to his thighs and
kissed his hard-on. He called her name again but again she said
"Shhhh," her breath hot and moist against his pubic hair,
and she held one finger softly to his mouth. Then she took his little
penis into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue and massaging it
with her lips, drawing on it just a little. In mere moments he came,
and she smiled. "Yummy."
Therese brought back the quilt and tucked him in bed, bringing an
index finger to his mouth and holding the other one to hers, a
gesture of secrecy. And she winked at him and rose to her full,
glorious height, and softly left him in the bed, cozy and spent.
Copyright (c) by CLH
Great job! Another really nice story!
Regards, dreamtales
Re: Variations - note
CLH,
No one writes as well as you do. You are a master!
Thanks for contributing your wonderful stories.
Variations on a Theme By Matheson, 3
(Seven-Point-Two Inches)
The alarm went off just as finished writing the word
"doll," and he lifted the shard of graphite from the page.
He'd been writing for a long time, and he shook his hand as he
crossed the room to shut off the cheeping signal. With Beth's help
he'd hung a plastic wristwatch by a pushpin in the plywood wall of
his living room. The watch stretched the height of the wall like a
grandfather clock. He pressed the button on the side of the watch,
and the alarm was silenced.
A silent night, he thought as he returned to the sofa and sat on the
terrycloth strip they'd put down to make the hard plastic more
comfortable. Beth was spending the night with a friend, while Louise
had gone to a Christmas party at her office. She quit her job once
the checks from his book contract started accumulating, but she
wanted to see her office friends at the party, and he voiced none of
his objections. After all, the 25th was still a couple of weeks away
-- it's not like he was spending Christmas Eve alone.
He signed and pulled off a piece of Christmas cookie, an antler from
the gingerbread reindeer on the spool he used as an end table.
Actually, it was just the edible reindeer's head: the intact cookie
was to him almost as big as a pony. He'd never be able to eat a whole
one, and as it grew stale in his living room it was a risk for
attracting bugs. He'd have to remember to wrap the gingerbread in
plastic.
The watches flashing digital face read 8:05, and he wanted to write
more, but knew he should call it quits for the day. At his size,
writing had become one of his easiest tasks, much less complicated
than watching television or going on-line. Not that it was simple:
the average unsharpened pencil was taller than he was, and even the
smallest keyboard was exhaustingly awkward. For a while he tried
dictating into a handheld tape recorder his publisher provided, and
it even had a voice-activation function that saved him the trouble of
switching it on and off. But he never got the hang of organizing his
narrative for speaking them out loud. Finally they hit on having him
write his memoirs in long-hand, using sharp pieces of lead graphite
and the smallest notepads they could find (which were still as big as
newspapers to him). He'd print his letters in as large a hand as he
could, and when a pad was full Louise would have it couriered to his
publisher, where he imagined an assist!
ant would use a Xerox machine enlarge each page as much as possible,
then enlarge that copy, until his words were readable. Would that he
could be so magnified himself.
Over an hour ago he'd said good-bye to Louise from his bedroom
upstairs. "NOW, YOU'RE SURE YOU'LL BE ALRIGHT?" she'd asked
him, kneeling and bringing her face close to the dollhouse window.
"BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE TO GO IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO."
She was wearing a red and gold scarf and the green cashmere sweater
she usually wore to holiday parties, and he always loved the way the
sweater accented her breasts. In years past, he would invariably
reach behind her and cup her tits when she was putting on her
make-up, or after they'd returned home, tipsy from egg-nog.
"I'll be fine, I'm alone in the house all the time!" he
called to her, leaning against the window's plastic sill.
"AS LONG AS IT'S OKAY WITH YOU, SCOTT," she said. She
looked gorgeous, despite her enormity; she'd taken more care with her
hair and make-up than she had in months, and the results were
stunning. In fact, he hated he idea of her partying with other giant
people, normal people, drinking and laughing, kissing people hello,
possibly taking a spin on the dance floor. And he knew he could tell
her no, and that she'd go along with the wishes of her tiny husband,
although he couldn't physically prevent her. But who was he to keep
her locked up? At least one of them should have a good time, should
have friends.
"Go on, have fun tonight," he said, now quite proficient at
projecting his voice. She smiled at him and touched the tip of a
finger to his cheek, then rose. The chimney of his house came only
about half-way as high as her thigh. "I WON'T BE LATE," she
said, and the noise and tremors of her colossal footsteps become
softer as she left.
He broke off the cookie reindeer's rounded nose and took a bite of
it. It, and the wreath-shaped ornament they'd hung on his front door,
reminded him of the holiday cartoon he and Beth had watched the night
before. The show included a visit to an island of misfit toys, and at
the moment he felt like he belonged in just such a place.
He'd been writing about a time with Beth that lead up to their
watching the show, so he flipped back a few pages in his pad. He
spotted some errors but left them as is: they'd be caught by
proofreaders later, and it was a pain to use the huge eraser to wipe
out his mistakes.
"I was getting dressed after my bath, adjusting my clothes to
fit as comfortably as possible. I was wearing some kind of doll
leisure wear: a golf shirt and Bermuda shorts designed to be worn by
plastic bodies, not normal ones with a tendency to itch. Outside I
heard Beth come in and sit down near my house: at my size, I can
identify different people easily. Then I heard a rapping at my door.
"I was busy, but I know my daughter won't go away until I come
see her, and if I don't go out soon, she'll pull the house away from
the wall to try to find me, which is every bit as intrusive as you
can imagine. Like I've said, it's a two story ranch-style house of
plastic and plywood, with walls on all three sides, but none in back,
so it stands up against the wall of the room that I suppose is my
office. We've situated it so there's a wall socket in my living room,
and I use a night-light for illumination.
"The thumping sound came again, and I heard Beth say 'KNOCK,
KNOCK,' I went to the living room, pulled open the front door (no,
the knob doesn't turn, it's just for show), and standing there before
me on the welcome mat was Barbie. Beth's fingers were around the
doll's hips, holding it upright, and it seemed to be wearing some
kind of stewardess uniform. Beyond her I could see Beth's face as she
leaned down to look at me. She said 'HELLO, MR. CAREY. I'M HERE TO
MAKE SURE YOU HAVE FUN.' Beth spoke in an artificially low voice, and
moved the doll to and fro to simulate talking, I guess.
"I had to smile at the silliness of it, and I knew Beth saw my
face and was made happy. Her intrusion was rather touching: Kids can
do wonderful things, no matter if they're 45 feet tall or more. But I
wasn't particularly eager to spend any time with Barbie. For one
thing, she's over seven feet tall, to my perspective: I stood there
with her impossible chest pointing at my face, while she grinned
idiotically at a point well over my head. And while I think my
daughter has always grasped that I'm her father and an adult, no
matter what my size, she sometimes thinks I'll react the way she
would to certain situations -- that I'd jump at the chance to play
with a Barbie bigger than myself, or a Teddy Bear the size of a
minivan, since she certainly would.
"So I stepped past Barbie and onto the porch, and looking up at
Beth I told her that I had a lot to do. She pouted and said 'BUT
BARBIE WAS GOING TO BE YOUR LEISURE DIRECTOR.' 'Leisure Director' --
I still don't know where she picked that up. I told her that Barbie
could direct Beth's leisure just fine. Beth stayed seated there,
looking down disappointed at me.
"You may be thinking that Beth could just snatch me up with her
free hand and play with me and Barbie for as long as she wanted, and
at times I've been worried about that very thing, especially now that
I'm so much smaller than she is. But she's never done anything like
that before. I worry sometime that she'll get excited about something
and forget herself, but it hasn't happened yet.
"She sat in front of me, virtually the same size as my house,
not ready to go away. I thought hard and remembered that her favorite
Christmas special was coming on later that night, so I told her we
could watch it together. She let out a booming 'HOORAY!' and stood
up to go play somewhere else.
"Before she left I asked her if she could bring me some water.
She put her hands on her hips and said, in that patronizing tone of
hers, 'NOW WHAT DO YOU SAY?'
"'Please.' It had slipped my mind.
"'OKAY! I'LL BE RIGHT BACK.' The floor trembled as she ran from
the room.
"Since I became smaller than her Beth has never tried, really,
to wield any authority over me. The only thing she does do is insist
that I be as respectful to her as we've taught her to be with adults:
to always say 'Please,' and 'Thank you,' that sort of thing. If I
forget to, she talks to me the same way Beth or I would have talked
to her, and it's certainly weird to have the shoe on the other foot.
But it makes sense that she'd want me to follow the same rules we set
for her. It's not like she treats me like a child or a doll."
That was the point at which the alarm had gone off and he'd stopped
writing. He shut the pad and looked out his front window. It
overlooked the carpet of the room he used as his office -- he could
see his laptop shut and sitting on the floor nearby.
"Laptop" was a misnomer, of course -- it was bigger than a
king-sized bed to him. Louise had left the room's lights out: in case
he wanted to sleep, he could just switch off the nightlight and climb
into the silk handkerchief he used as a sheet on his doll bed. But
light shone from the hallway, casting a corridor of illumination
across the carpeting.
He studied the light, and thought of how the doll-house, for all its
synthetic materials and crude decor, had become home to him. It was
as if Louise and Beth had an altogether different residence, a house
beyond. When he stepped out of his front door, he was a guest in
another place, that operated by different rules. And his new home was
changing, too: when he moved into it, the doorways brushed the top of
his head. Now, less than a month later, it was gradually dwarfing
him, making him feel child-sized all over again. Could they find
another house to fit here, besides the spool in the plastic ranch
house, for him to move into when this grew too big? And then another
one, and another, an endless series of microscopic domiciles, like an
M.C. Escher painting?
He gave a start when he heard the front door open in the house
beyond, and felt a stab of fear at the thought of some intruder
discovering him. Then he heard the door shut and footsteps in the
hallway that he instantly identified as belonging to Louise. But what
was she doing home? The party had barely started. Outside his office
her voice resounded "IT'S ME, SCOTT. I'LL BE IN A MINUTE,"
and he heard her foot falls on the way to the kitchen. He got off the
sofa, brushed the cookie crumbs into a plastic bag, and went to his
porch.
"HELLO, HUSBAND," Louise said, leaning against the doorjamb
with her hands behind her back, kicking off her high-heeled shoes.
"Louise? What are you doing home so early," he called.
"THERE WASN'T ANY POINT TO IT." She entered and knelt down
before the dollhouse. In one hand she had a glass of wine, which she
stood on the opposite side of the porch from Scott. In the other she
had a fat, scented candle, which she set atop the laptop computer and
lit with a cigarette lighter. "ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT WAS YOU,
AND HOW MUCH I WANTED TO BE WITH YOU. I COULDN'T HAVE A GOOD TIME,
AND DIDN'T PARTICULARLY WANT TO.
She stretched out on her stomach, propping herself on her elbows near
him. "I DID BRING YOU SOMETHING," she said mischievously.
"STEP CLOSER." He stepped off the porch as she brought her
closed hand over his head. "KNOW WHAT THIS IS?" she asked,
uncurling her fingers to reveal the green sprig they concealed.
"Mistletoe," he said, gazing up.
"THEN YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE," she said, and cupping his
body with her other hand, she leaned close and kissed him wetly on
the face. Holding her lips close together, she gave him a kiss on
each cheek and one on his forehead, each kiss taking up a goodly
amount of his face and scalp. He smiled and kissed her back, running
both of his lips across the length of each of hers in turn and
caressing their fleshy softness with his tongue. He could smell the
red wine on her breath.
"MMMM, THAT'S NICE," she purred. She brought her head back
to look at him, and giggled. "I GOT LIPSTICK ALL OVER YOUR FACE.
IF I KISS YOU ANY MORE YOU'LL LOOK LIKE AN INDIAN."
"How," he said, leaning up on tip-toes to kiss her chin.
She kissed him some more, tasting the nape of his neck and the
underside of his chin.
"MAY I?" she asked, bringing a hand close around him. He
nodded. As Louise picked him up, he thought about his writing, and
how he felt he hadn't quite been able to capture the sensation of
being held in the palm of a person's hand. The actual motion was like
you'd expect, he supposed: like riding on a line-man's cherry-picker
or some kind of carnival attraction. But actually being held close by
great fingers was more difficult to describe. A sense of surrender
went with it, as well as security -- as long as the hand wasn't
holding him too tightly it was like being caught up in a huge
embrace. Beth and Louise were both well practiced at it: they handled
him with care.
She sat up, her legs curled underneath her, and held him close to her
cheek, lightly nuzzling him. "I MISSED YOU. I'VE BEEN MISSING
YOU FOR A LONG TIME," she said.
He kissed the tip of her nose and, looking up at her eye, replied,
"Tell me about it."
"SO WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS?" she whispered. He
pointed down, towards her chest, and, like a window cleaner on a
scaffolding, he was lowered in her hand to her right breast. He ran
his hands over its soft slope, relishing the texture of the cashmere,
then leaned forward in a kind of embrace, encircling her tit and
holding it as tightly as he could. Her heart was beating powerfully.
"I REMEMBER. YOU ALWAYS DID LIKE THIS SWEATER ON ME."
He could feel the lacy pattern of her bra beneath the sweater, and
tracing the contours of her breast with his hands and the side of his
face, located her nipple. He rubbed up against it, running his nose
back and forth across it, and it rose, as big as his fist, protruding
through the fabric. And at the sight of its response, he suddenly
found himself crying. He pressed his face hard against his wife's
breast and sobbed freely, repeating her name again and again. He felt
Louise take in air sharply, and could hear the sounds of her crying,
too.
He pulled his head back and ran his hand over her nipple again, and
suddenly found his tears turn to giggling , almost instantly. He
laughed loudly, doubled over Louise's thumb, and felt himself lurch
upwards. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" she asked, tears running down
her face.
"I'm fine -- I'm not hysterical," he said between breaths.
He slowed down, looked back at her and said "It's still us, you
know. No matter what the changes, I'm still me and you're still you.
It's like I keep forgetting it, and need to be reminded of it. Thank
you." And he leaned forward, and Louise brought him closer so he
could kiss a tear from her eyelid, gulping down the salty water. Then
she moved him to the other side of her face, so he could do the same
with her left eye. "My clothes are getting all wet," he
said.
"WELL, THERE'S JUST ONE THING WE CAN DO ABOUT THAT," she
replied, and with a smooth motion plucked off his shirt between thumb
and forefinger, and then pulled off his shorts with equal ease. Being
made naked so effortlessly reminded him of how helpless he was, but
it was Louise, so it was all right. "JUST A MINUTE," she
said, placing him in her lap. He lay back and watched her pull her
sweater over her head, unfasten her brassiere and slip it off her
shoulders. Her titanic tits hung roundly over his head. She leaned
forward and, giggling, draped her black bra over the roof of the doll
house, arranging it so that each cup hung almost directly over the
two upstairs windows in front. "DO YOU MIND?"
"I love it!" he answered. "But we might have to move
it when Beth gets home."
She scooped him up again and returned him to her breast, and he held
his bare skin against hers. She picked up the wine glass and took a
swallow, then smiled and dipped a couple of fingers in it. She
sprinkled wine at the top of her breast, and it ran down the curves
to him. He licked the wine off her tit, pausing to admire one drop
that beaded on her nipple before gulping it down. Her nipple was like
a large, ripe pomegranate, and he touched it lightly with his teeth.
She moaned, a sound like distant thunder.
"Maybe you should take off the rest of those clothes," he
said.
She looked down at him. "ARE YOU SURE? BECAUSE WHAT WE'RE DOING
IS JUST WONDERFUL."
"It's at the top of my wish list."
She placed him on the floor and stood upright, looming gigantically
over him in the light of the candle and the hallway. She unfastened a
button on her skirt and stepped out of it, folding it and placing it
on the floor besides the sweater. The sight of her panties, the faint
impression of her pubic hair and the way they clung closely to her
buttocks, made him realize how aroused he was, despite their
difference in size. She smiled and slowly slid her panties down past
her knees, then let them fall to her ankles. She stepped one foot out
of them and raised the other, so they were looped over her foot, and
let the panties slide onto his front porch, covering a chair and
obscuring most of the door.
"WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DO?" she asked, getting on her
hands and knees.
"First, I'd like visit a couple of old friends," he said,
making a turn around gesture with his index finger.
She giggled and sat on her side, facing away from him, so he could
approach her ass. The sight of it, those friendly twins, made him
gasp. He ran his hands and pressed his body against the white
hillocks -- to feel so much of her skin at once drove him crazy, even
if each of her buttocks was more massive than he. He traced a line of
open mouthed kisses across each one, pressing hard so Louise could
feel him, and relished the sensation of caressing the place where her
upper thigh met her ass.
"Okay!" he called, tapping her on a cheek as big as a
knoll. Suddenly her buttocks started rolling toward him, and he leapt
back as they approached. Her bottom was rounding down on him like a
steam roller! "Other way! The other way!" he shouted.
"SCOTT, I WAS JUST KIDDING," she laughed over her shoulder.
He stared up at her, tempted to scream an angry reply, then realized
how funny it really was. "What a way to go!" he called.
Then he slapped her great cheek as hard as he could, aware that he
was far too small to hurt her, but wanting it to make a satisfying
smacking sound. "You're a bad girl!"
Louise shifted her position so that she was leaning against the wall
beside the dollhouse, with one arm resting casually on the roof. She
brushed some of her stray blonde hairs away from her face. He
marveled at the sight of his naked wife, the texture of her skin, her
arms, her legs, and how her nude, alabaster body bigger than the
house he lived in. And he realized that the dollhouse was just a
place where he worked and slept. His home was wherever Louise was.
She had her knees parted and bent, her feet pressing against the
carpet, and as he stepped closer he passed between he legs, like open
gates. He could smell the familiar trace of jasmine off her skin. He
stroked his hands over her thick curls of pubic hair. He saw that the
skin on her neck was flush as he blew him a kiss, then got on his
knees. He massaged her pussy, rippling his fingers up and down and
letting as much of his arms as possible press her labia. Her wetness
was wonderful to feel. "OH SCOTT." He pressed his chest to
her vagina and nuzzled her clitoris, a pink plum, kissing and teasing
and tapping it. He runs his tongue over it in concentric circles,
first in one direction, then the other. "SCOTT, SCOTT." The
sounds and scents of her pleasure are like a drug to him -- he's
pressing his erection up against her skin, working more quickly and
creatively on her clit, feeling the tremors as her hips rock and
rise, aware of the muscles tensing along her thighs. "PLEASE!
, SCOTT! PLEASE!" she cried, definitely, her pelvis thrusting
and receding. She let loose a deafening sound of ecstasy, her body
shuddering like an earthquake, and he gasped as he shot and shot and
shot.
He pushed onto his feet and lay over her thatch of pubic hair like a
man washed ashore. Louise was gradually catching her breath. She
stroked his back with one of his fingers. "DID YOU...?"
"Oh yeah," he said, forcing himself to project his voice.
"I can barely think straight." He crawled up her abdomen,
kissed her belly button and lay across her, rising and falling with
her stomach as she inhaled and exhaled. "Merry Christmas,
Louise," breathing in the scent of the candle.
"AND GOD BLESS US, EVERYONE," she purred.
Copyright (c) by CLH
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