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?"

(i'm in your right ear. i hope you can hear me all right. i'm shouting as loud as i can.)

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO TALK THAT LOUD. I COULD HEAR YOU IF YOU SPEAK SOFTER. I THINK."

(that's good,) he replied, (my voice is small enough as it is without laryngitis.)

She laughed. The booming noise surrounded and buoyed him.

It had been too long since he'd talked to someone.

"WELL, MY FRIEND, YOU KNOW MY NAME. I DON'T KNOW YOURS."

(i'm sorry. my name is jake.)

"WELL, JAKE, TELL ME HOW YOU GOT HERE. I'D LIKE TO KNOW."

And so he told her the whole story, waiting the whole time for her to stop him, to tell him that she was from the government, or that his girlfriend had been wrong. But she didn't. She just listened, and from time to time, interjected her own comments, like "GODDAMN IT, HOW COULD SOMEONE TURN ON THEIR BOYFRIEND LIKE THAT?"

(i don't know if she thought of it like that,) he said. (i think she thought she was doing the right thing. but if you'd been there....)

"DON'T THINK ABOUT IT. TELL ME HOW YOU GOT HERE."

And so he told her about the guys, and about his fear that he would be left alone until the girls came. And he told her a little bit about watching the girls, without going into too much detail about what he was watching or at what range.

"IT MUST BE HARD FOR YOU," she said, "LIVING IN A HOUSE WITH BEAUTIFUL WOMEN LIKE JULIE AND KATE. HELL, JULIE PRACTICALLY BLEEDS SEX, AND KATE IS--I THINK--A LESBIAN, AND GOD KNOWS MEN ARE ATTRACTED TO 'EM. AND YOU EVEN GOT TO SEE MY SISTER, SHE'S PRETTY CUTE. IT MUST BE FRUSTRATING."

(you left out yourself).

Again the laughter, but this time more uncertain, more sad. "I KNOW I'M NOT IN THAT LEAGUE, JAKE, BUT THANKS FOR THE COMPLIMENT."

(i'm not making it up. you're the prettiest of all of them. hands down.)

She didn't say anything for a minute, and then she said, "THAT'S THE FIRST TIME I'VE EVER HAD ANYONE TELL ME I WAS THE PRETTIEST OF MY FRIENDS. THANK YOU, JAKE." She paused. "TELL ME--DO YOU WANT ME TO MAKE YOU AN APARTMENT HERE? I COULD STOCK IT WITH FOOD, WE COULD TALK EVERY NIGHT."

He was tempted. Sorely tempted. But he needed time. (i have an apartment. but i would like to talk to you more.)

"OF COURSE," she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Then, "OF COURSE! TELL ME, JAKE, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO TAKE YOU HOME?"

He knew he shouldn't. It would tug away his independence. He could make it there himself, damn it.

But instead, he said, (i'd like that. thanks.)

So he gave her directions to the spot in the wall that hid the entrance to his lair. And she reached for her ear, where one index finger with a short, plain nail awaited him. He stepped onto it gingerly, and she carefully moved it in front of her face.

Her visage filled his sky. She was smiling widely.

"GOODBYE, JAKE. SEE YOU SOON!" she said. She started to put him down, then abruptly reversed direction and brused him against her lips, softly. He was knocked down by the force of the tiniest of kisses.

She returned him to the floor, and he waved goodbye. He walked under the baseboard, and turned, and watched the giant bare feet of Jane turn and walk back towards her room.

* * *

Imagine for a moment that you have been stranded on a desert island.

Or maybe you'd prefer to imagine that you've been lost in the jungle. Or maybe you think that getting lost in space would be easier to conceive of.

Whatever. Anyhow, imagine that you have been lost from the world for two long years. And that in that time you have spoken to nobody, nobody at all.

And now add to our scenario, if you will. Imagine that on that island or in that jungle or on that space station you had a window to the world, where you could watch happy people living out their lives, happily.

And then, one day, someone comes to rescue you, and not just any someone, but someone caring and sweet and smart and everything you ever wanted in a person.

How would you react?

Jake was sobbing, uncontrollably.

It was really the only reaction one could expect.

It had been two hours since he had finished talking to Jane. Jane! Such a simple name, so short, so lovely, almost melodious in its simplicity.

Every feeling he had was doing battle with every other feeling. His elation of finally breaking through to the outside world was tempered by his terror of what the outside world held for him. His relief at finally being able to talk to someone was countered by his dread of what might happen if his existence was discovered by anyone.

And his love--he thought it might be love--it sure seemed like love--his love for Jane was tempered by his commitment to independence.

His was a silent existence, a solitary existence. He would submit to nobody, not even for love.

Half of him was screaming this at the other side of him.

The other side of him was keeping its own counsel for now.

* * *

The next ten weeks were like heaven.

Every night, he would make the trek to Jane's room. The first few nights, he made the dangerous journey into her ear unaided. After that, she suggested that she could help him--and eliminate the grave risk he was taking just to talk to her. And though he told himself that it was important to take that risk, for the past nine weeks, four days, he had walked to the front left leg of her dresser and waited, patiently, for her to arrive, and offer a short, neatly trimmed fingernail for him to climb onto, which she carried as gently as she possibly could to her ear.

And then they would talk. For hours and hours, about everything. He had missed most of the election debacle, for instance. He couldn't believe that Jesse Ventura was governor of Minnesota--when he'd been shrunk, the lunkhead was running at about 12% in the polls. He couldn't believe that the tech boom was over, or that George Bush was president--well, he could believe that, but it didn't seem right--or that Eddie Murphy was thinking of remaking The Incredible Shrinking Man. Or that the peace process had broken down in Israel. Or that the Y2K bug hadn't done anything at all. Probably he should have paid attention to the news when his hosts were watching it--but it seemed so remote, and why would he pay attention to the world's problems when he had so many of his own?

Above all else, he couldn't believe that he had waited as long as he did to try to talk to this wonderful woman.

And she was wonderful. Smart, funny--hell, she was a Quantum Physics major, like he had been, once upon a time. And kind. He could lose himself in her forever, he thought.

One night, he was talking to her, sitting in her ear as she read through a paper on spooky action at a distance, and he started, almost absentmindedly, rubbing her ear. Gently. Softly. But earnestly.

"UM....WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" came the rumble, somehow lower than it usually came.

(uh...i'm sorry...i was just....)

"WHATEVER IT IS YOU'RE DOING...DON'T STOP. IT FEELS GOOD."

So he kept it up, a little but less gently, a little bit less softly, a little bit more earnestly.

"JAKE...." came the rumble. It sounded...husky.

(what?) he replied, breathing a bit quicker.

"JAKE...WHAT KIND OF FEELINGS DO YOU HAVE FOR ME?"

It's the kind of question men dread. Kind of like, "Does this dress make me look fat?" or "Do you think my sister's sexy?" The answers seem fraught with peril.

So Jake took a brief pause, and decided to go with the truth.

(i...i think...i love you.)

There was a very, very long pause. He was silently cursing himself, when he heard:

"JAKE...I LOVE YOU SO MUCH IT ACHES."

He kept rubbing, a little bit harder.

"JAKE...HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT HAVING SEX SINCE YOU SHRUNK?"

He almost choked. (uh...yes?) he responded, querently.

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY TO HAVE SEX?"

He was silent for what seemed like forever. She couldn't be asking what she was asking. He didn't offer anything. I mean, she was enormous, and he....

(if you would like to try...i would love to. with you.)

A slight giggle, nervous and halting, shook the world. "DO YOU TRUST ME?"

That was the question he didn't want. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. It was that he trusted nobody. That had kept him alive so far.

But he wanted her so badly, he could taste it.

(i trust you more than anyone in the world,) he said, which was absolutely true.

"WELL...ALL RIGHT. GIVE ME A FEW SECONDS."

There was whooshing and moving and rearranging going on, as Jane was simultaneously disrobing, locking the door, and turning off the stereo.

"OKAY...HERE WE GO." Her finger was there, waiting for him. He stepped out, gingerly, as if fearing the worst. She was equally ginger, keeping the movement down to a seven or eight on the richter scale, as she slowly lay back in her bed. She set him down on her left breast. The beat of her heart sent a quick tremor though to his position every second. He looked out at her face, and she smiled a lazy smile.

"I JUST WANTED TO LOOK AT YOU FOR A SECOND. I KNOW YOU CAN'T REPLY--I MEAN, YOU CAN, BUT I WON'T BE ABLE TO HEAR YOU. IF YOU GET IN DANGER--ANY AT ALL--DO WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO DO TO GET TO SAFETY. I LOVE YOU."

He turned, and strode up to her nipple. He kissed it, gently. The world rocked.

"OH...IF YOU CAN DO THAT DOWN THERE...." Her finger was there again, ready to carry him down to her most private of areas. He boarded it without hesitation.

With Tanya and Julie, he had pretty much gone for the home run right away. After all, time was of the essence, and he didn't want to get inadvertently squashed. But with Jane, he had some time. She knew he was there, she would be careful. So as she set him in her veldt, he began circuitously, walking past where his destination should be to stroke the lips on his side of the canyon.

Shivers went through his host as he gave it everything he had. Her lips parted slightly, and the sweet-strong odor of Jane came through strong. It was similar to Tanya's, he thought, but nicer; sweeter, mainly. He crawled towards his ultimate destination carefully, not hurrying. She sighed a little, and said, "THAT FEELS NICE."

It will feel more than nice in a second, he thought, as he reached the clitoris. Carefully, he reached out, and stroked it gently.

It was as if electricity shot through Jane's body. "OHHHHHHH...." she said, encouragingly. He went on. Gently, he made love to the clitoris as if it was Jane. He kissed it, carressed it, stroked it, fondled it, and with each movement, she shifted a little more.

"WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING...THAT'S PERFECT...." came the rumble from a quarter-mile away. He was into it now. He could hear the floodgates starting to open. He pushed more. She groaned again. He stroked her more. And when he thought he could take no more, the tidal wave gushed forth with an energy he had never known. It was all he could do to hold his position--and he knew Jane was holding back. As he came, he thought to himself that what they say is true--sex is better with someone you love.

* * *

He was back in her ear, and he could hear the beat of her heart, steady, slow, stable. They were talking, like they usually did. But it had a different tone than usual.

"YOU KNOW, I'VE ONLY EVER HAD SEX WITH ONE OTHER PERSON," she was saying. "AND COMPARED TO YOU, HE WAS PATHETIC. THAT WAS OUTSTANDING!"

(that's nice of you to say, but i can't imagine that i was that good. there's not much to me....)

"YOU USE WHAT YOU HAVE TO ITS FULLEST EXTENT. WHAT MORE CAN A GIRL ASK?" she responded, giggling slightly. "I JUST HOPE I WAS GOOD FOR YOU."

(you were outstanding, jane. it was like making love to an earthquake--a very sexy, very beautiful earthquake.)

"AND WHO SAYS 'NO' TO THE EARTHQUAKE WHEN IT WANTS TO DANCE?" she said, with a hint of mischief buried in her voice.

(not me, i think,) he said. (at least not when the earthquake is you.)

There was a pause, and she said, "I'M GETTING SLEEPY, JAKE. I'D LIKE TO TO STAY IN MY EAR ALL NIGHT, BUT I'M AFRAID I'D FALL ASLEEP AND SOMEHOW ROLL OVER ON YOU. WOULD YOU LIKE TO SLEEP ON MY NIGHTSTAND?"

He thought a second, and then said, (i'd like that.)

And so she lifted him carefully onto the soft placemat that covered her nightstand. She smiled at him, bathed in the red glow of her clock radio. "I LOVE YOU, JAKE," she said, softly, and blew him a kiss.

He watched her giant face as it slowly drifted out of consciousness. He worried where this was leading. This was his home, and his bastion of independence. And while he loved the woman softly dreaming near him, he worried that he was going to lose the ability to control his fate.

And he knew, no matter how much he loved Jane, that he dared not lose control.

* * *

The cold of March turned slowly to the warmth and promise of April, and then the beautiful serenity of early May.

And Jake's mood turned darker.

He was outside her room, walking towards the kitchen, thinking of the last time they'd talked.

He was crying.

* * *

"I'M LEAVING IN THREE WEEKS," she had said, matter-of-factly.

He knew this, of course. She was going to be studying abroad after finals, and when she returned, she and Kate were going to get a two-bedroom apartment. Julie was a Chi O, and she was going to be living in the house next year.

"I'D LIKE YOU TO COME WITH ME TO LONDON. I KNOW IT'S A BIG STEP, BUT I'D REALLY LIKE TO HAVE YOU THERE."

He paused. It was not that he was unready for this line of conversation. It was that he had been dreading it.

(i...i don't know if i can do that,) he said, quietly.

"WELL, IT'S A LONG WAY, BUT I'D TAKE CARE OF YOU. I THINK IT MIGHT BE FUN."

(i...i just don't think i can,) he replied.

"WHY NOT? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO OTHERWISE? STAY HERE AND LIVE OF THE SCRAPS OF KATE AND JULIE, AND WHOEVER MOVES IN NEXT FALL?"

(it's not that, it's just...i've worked so hard to build this into a home. i don't know if i can abandon it so easily.)

"SO, WHAT, YOU'RE SAYING YOU'D RATHER LIVE HERE LIKE AN INSECT THAN BE WITH SOMEONE WHO LOVES YOU? THAT YOU LOVE THIS PLACE MORE THAN YOU LOVE ME?" Her voice was shaky, a mix of anger and sadness.

(you don't understand....)

"I KNOW I DON'T UNDERSTAND. BUT WHY WOULD YOU...."

(you don't understand!) he screamed, surprising even himself. (i ran from them jane, i ran as hard and as fast as i could, and i escaped them. and no matter what, i'm free. free! and i don't know if i can give up that freedom jane.)

There was a long, grim silence, before she finally said, "ALL RIGHT, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT, I WON'T MAKE YOU GO. I'LL LET YOU DOWN NOW." She said these words quietly, and punctuated them by lifting a finger to her ear.

(jane, i....)

"NO. IF YOU WANT YOUR FREEDOM, YOU SHALL HAVE IT. IT SEEMS TO BE WHAT YOU LOVE MOST." She lifted him as gently as she could to the ground.

He looked up at her, her awesome, beautiful form, and he wanted nothing more than to cry out that he was wrong, that he loved her and he would follow her to the ends of the Earth, but something within him stopped him.

"I JUST WANT TO SAY TWO THINGS TO YOU, JAKE," she said, solemnly. "FIRST, I WILL WAIT FOR YOU UNTIL I LEAVE. I KNOW THIS IS HARD FOR YOU, AND I'LL GIVE YOU TIME. BUT DON'T COME BACK TO ME UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE WITH ME. I LOVE YOU, BUT I CAN'T STAND THAT PAIN."

She inhaled deeply. "SECOND, I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER THIS, IF NOT FOR NOW, THEN FOR SOMEDAY: FREEDOM ISN'T THE SAME AS INDEPENDENCE, JAKE. YOU RAN FOR THEM, SURE, BUT YOU'VE IMPRISONED YOURSELF IN THIS APARTMENT AS SURELY AS THEY WOULD'VE. FREEDOM IS ABOUT BEING ABLE TO DO WHAT YOU WANT, EVEN IF WHAT YOU WANT IS TO GIVE UP SOME CONTROL TO SOMEONE ELSE."

She said, sobbing, simply, "I LOVE YOU."

(i love you too,) he said, crying, as he trudged slowly away.

* * *

That was two weeks ago. Jane was leaving in six days.

He had watched her, watched her alternately studying and crying, and on rare, beautiful occasions, smiling brighter than he could bear to watch.

Half of him wanted to tell her that he was going with her.

The other half of him was planning how to continue to eke out an existence here.

He was totally preoccupied, which happened rarely. It was a good thing for him it happened rarely, because at this moment he was not noticing that Kate was in the kitchen.

Kate, of course, can be forgiven for not noticing Jake was there. And she can be absolutely forgiven for stepping down with her bare left foot just an inch from Jake's position.

He barely had time to realize what was happening, as the air displacement swept him half a mile into the air, before he landed roughly, somewhere, with a sickening thud.

* * *

The first thing he noticed when he came to was the steady, rhytmic bouncing of the world around him.

The next thing he noticed was a lot of pain.

He had cracked at least three ribs, and his right collarbone was definitely cracked. His head felt like it had been removed, used for ten frames, and bolted back into place--backwards. And even as he felt his hyperactive healing process working, he definitely knew he had felt better.

He opened his eyes, and was only slightly surprised to see his horizon dominated by a field of green spandex. He had landed on Kate's right breast, and he was lying underneath her sportsbra. A one-in-a-million shot, he knew, and definitely better than it could've been.

It was a sharp reminder of how narrow his handhold on life had become.

Not become, he thought, grimly, as the world bounced to and fro. He was grateful he was on Kate's small, firm bust and not Julie's rather larger one.

The pace had slowed to a walk; they were getting close to home. He knew where Kate was headed--the shower. He also knew he had to get off of her breast before he got washed down the drain.

He tried to struggle into a sitting position, and instantly regretted it. He had a good two or three more minutes of healing to do. The best he could muster was to grab onto the fabric with his good left arm, and hope that he'd be okay.

It was good that his strength was relatively greater than it had been; he needed every ounce of it to hang onto the bra as Kate whipped it off, and tossed it ingloriously onto the towel rack.

He hung there for a minute or two, before his right shoulder finally felt strong enough to bear weight. He climbed as quickly as he could to the top of the rack, and surveyed the lay of the land.

There was an old hot-water radiator in the corner below the rack. If he could get to the other edge of the rack, he could easily climb down to it, and from there, it would be no problem to climb down to the floor and rest.

He moved fairly quickly, leaving the bra and reaching a pair of nylons strung over the rack. From the scent he could tell they were Julie's. He was about to go further, but he had made an error, which he would soon realize.

Kate finished her shower and reached for a towel, and in the process she accidentally knocked Julie's pantyhose to the ground. Now, this was hardly a capital offense; she simply picked them up and hung them back in place, and went about her business. She had no way of knowing that the sixth-of-an-inch tall man who was resting on them had fallen to the floor with them, nor that in stringing them back up, she had inadvertently knocked him into the left toe of the hose.

Jake was not hurt any more--he had been cushioned by acres of nylon, and he actualy had made the fall quite easily. But he was a sheer eighth of a mile from the towel rack, and he was sore all over. He rested for a few minutes, bathed in the smell of Julie's feet, before he finally began the arduous trek.

It was a slow climb, and it didn't really speed up, not until Julie herself entered the bathroom, carrying a teal, semi-formal dress.

It suddenly clicked that this was the last Saturday before the end of finals. The Chi Omega Final Fling was tonight. And Julie would be going out in a stunning, short-skirted, low-cut dress to the last formal of the year.

It went without saying that she'd be wearing panty hose--though probably not panties.

He began to climb more assiduously, and he made it all the way to the middle of the inner thigh before Julie put the hose on.

He hung on valiantly, even as tons of girlflesh tried to separate him from his locale. Then she pulled the hose tight, and he was mashed into her leg.

It was hard to tell what was going on. He had a good view of the massive wall of flesh and nylon that was her right leg. Other than that, he could see little, though he could smell her perfume and the hairspray she was using.

Before too long, the world dissolved into twilight as she slipped her dress on. He could see the penumbra of the skirt just above her knee, a good two hundred feet below him.

Julie slipped into high heels, and out into the world.

* * *

He was being smashed between tons of flesh.

It was all he could to to remain conscious. He was pinned underneath her left leg, which was demurely crossed over Julie's right leg.

There was irony somewhere in this, but Jake couldn't enjoy it at the moment. They were at a restaurant. Greg, who was not so much Julie's boyfriend as bedmate, had actually taken her out, which ranked far above his usual pattern of groping and belching.

Not that there hadn't been some groping. Jake had already felt Greg's rough hand as it slid up Julie's skirt in a sort of awkward hello. There was little doubt in his mind where this evening was ultimately heading.

After a few minutes of agony, Julie switched legs, and Jake finally had a little bit of slack in the nylon. He quickly pulled himself to the juncture of Julie's legs--there was more stability there, and he was closer to the exit if he had to get out.

By the time dinner was over, he was safely secured in the shadow of Julie's slit.

The dance was ultimately not that bad. Oh, it wasn't that great, but he was in a fairly stable postition, and the moist lips of Julie provided a distraction. It was obvious that Julie had no illusions about where this night was headed, judging by her level of arousal. A few times, he had been ground between her damp lips and Greg's leg, a not unpleasant feeling.

For a second, he thought, You know, I could stay with Julie, go to the Chi Omega house...I could have my pick of two dozen attractive girls. I could get more pussy than I could possibly handle.

But he knew that wasn't what he wanted. He had all the pussy he could possibly handle a few microns away from him. And he didn't want it.

Well, he wanted it. The way you want the pretty girl on the bus who tosses her long hair back before she bends over for her purse. But he didn't want it.

He wanted....

But suddenly, he was broken out of his reverie by the fact that the world had abruptly become horizontal, and he was thrown back a millimeter inside the lips of a recumbent Julie.

He struggled to right himself, until a huge, rough, very male finger slid into the nylons, and pushed him roughly deep inside of Julie.

He tried to clamber to the surface as the world around him got moister and hotter, and he almost made it, until a two hundred foot long, freakish, enormous thing covered in acres of latex came flying into the chamber, knocking him all the way back to Julie's cervix.

As he lost consciousness, he had but one thought.

Thank God he wrapped it.

* * *

He saw a lot more than he ever wanted to.

His mind was foggy, but through his delerium he felt the steady pounding of Greg, felt the suction created by the steady in-and-out rythm of Greg and Julie's sexual encounter.

He thought, groggily, that he had enjoyed it more when both participants were female.

It struck him that both females had seemed to enjoy it more than his present hostess, who was certainly moist, but not overwhelmingly into the moment--and he had seen Julie into the moment.

But why should she be in the moment? This was just meaningless sex....

He heard Greg erupt with the sound of a thousand muffled firehoses--and felt Julie simply grind to a slow halt. The air grew less sultry, and slowly, slowly, the world around him drifted into quiet.

Jake slowly climbed to the surface, being careful not to wake his hostess.

The climb was not difficult, and he arrived at the gate to her private area without trouble, only to realize that they were not at his house, but instead at Greg's apartment. Carefully, he picked his way over the vista that was Julie, looking for somehting that she should have with her, and that she should take home.

He finally found it--a small teal purse, obviously bought to go with her dress. It was on the floor, but after the day he'd had, he was gratified to see the covers to the bed practically forming a superhighway right to it. A half hour later, he had nestled himself into the corner of her purse, among lipstick and perfume.

He had seen a lot.

He knew one thing. He needed to get home.

* * *

He wouldn't get home for another day, though. Julie insisted on staying with Greg for an entire day, making out, going out for pizza, making out, making out, and then for good measure, making out.

There wasn't much else for him to do, so he watched, and paid close attention.

And he learned something that surprised him.

Julie was miserable. He wouldn't have believed it if you'd told him, but he could tell. Little things--the way she laughed a little too hard when Greg told a joke, the way she tried to talk about football when it was clear she hated the game, the way she asked, almost pleadingly, for Greg to go down on her; the way she accepted the fact that he wouldn't as a fait accompli; the way she went down on him instead.

Somewhere, somehow, she'd gotten it into her head that love was sex. And she was getting fucked.

He couldn't let this go on. He liked Julie. Yes, she was easy, but she was also funny and smart, and she had a good heart--or Jane wouldn't have given her the time of day.

So late that evening, against his better judgement, he made the trek into Julie's ear, while she slept.

It was an ill-conceived plan, but as he sat there, huddled in her ear canal, talking in a soft voice he was sure she couldn't consciously hear, he knew he was doing the right thing.

(you're better than this, julie. you're better than him. you're beautiful. you're nice. you deserve better....)

He repeated it, over and over, as she slept. After a few hours, he finally exited, pausing just long enough to run a tender hand over Julie's face.

* * *

That morning, he awoke to raised voices.

"FUCK YOU, YOU DIDN'T MIND SUCKING IT LAST NIGHT."

"WELL, GREG, MAYBE I DID, AND I WAS DOING IT TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. THERE ARE THINGS YOU COULD DO TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER, BUT YOU'RE NOT MAN ENOUGH TO DO 'EM. YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT A GODDAMN MAGIC WAND ATTATCHED TO YOU. WELL, GREG, THERE'S NO MORE MAGIC IN IT FOR ME. IT'S BEEN FUN, BUT I'M LEAVING."

Jake was standing straight up. Could he be hearing this right?

"GOD DAMN IT, JULIE, I THOUGHT YOU LIKED SEX," said Greg, who was right now bidding for the most clueless guy of the year award.

"GREG...I'M BETTER THAN THIS. I DESERVE BETTER THAN YOU'VE GIVEN ME. I THINK...."

"WHAT, YOU'RE GIVING UP BEING A SLUT?"

Jake heard a sound like a building exploding. Then, simply, "YOU HAVEN'T EARNED THE RIGHT TO USE WORDS LIKE THAT, GREG. I'M LEAVING." Suddenly, the purse was jolted into the air, and Jake was flattened against the bottom by G-forces.

They moved quickly together. His stupid, ill-conceived plan had worked.

* * *

He reached his apartment at about seven that night.

He turned on the light, and looked around at the place.

It was a marvel. There were ramps and ropes and levers. There was a storeroom, a bathroom, running water, electric light. The lookout let in a bit of light a quarter-mile above him.

He looked around in wonder. He had built this, with nothing but time and luck and his bare hands. It had taken years. But he had done this.

Anyone who saw it and knew what little he had to work with would be stunned by his accomplishment.

But nobody else would ever see it.

If they did, they'd see some tiny chambers, a bit of food, and some string. They'd probably conclude a mouse had made a home here at some point, and they'd destroy it.

He had built this house, and it was a marvel.

But he could never share it with anyone.

He took out a bit of pencil lead, and wrote on the wall:

I am Jake Finney, I lived here from 1998 to 2001.

He thought for a moment. What could sum up what he wanted to say? He remembered a bit of Latin; he had memorized it once.

Homo sum: humani nil a me alienum puto.
I was and am a man. And I am not alien to you anymore.

With that business attended to, he doused the light for the last time.

He had three days, but he didn't want to take a second longer.

* * *

He reached her room at eleven. She was listening to the new Semisonic album, laying on her stomach and pouring over a quantum physics text. She probably had a final tomorrow. He would be distracting her. But he couldn't not tell her.

He approached cautiously. She wouldn't be looking for him. He ran to her elbow, and then to the inside of her t-shirt. He pulled himself along her back, across her brastrap and out into a sea of sweet-smelling hair. He pulled himself as quickly as he could to the refuge of her ear.

He heard her humming, slightly, a pretty tune. He hoped she meant what she had said before.

(jane,) he said, loudly.

As once before, everything was in motion. She had jumped up, and before she said anything, the music was off.

"JAKE...IS THAT YOU?" she whispered, incredulously.

(yes jane, it's me. i....) He found himself without words for a moment, but she quickly filled the void.

"I...I WAS HOPING YOU'D COME BACK, EVEN IF IT'S JUST TO SAY GOODBYE. I'M SORRY JAKE. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TRIED TO PRESSURE YOU, I...."

(no!) he cried, trying to stop the apology. (no, don't apologize. you don't owe me one. ever. i...jane...did you...i mean, would you...)

"WOULD I WHAT?" she said, cautiously. There was, if you knew her as Jake did, just a little bit of playfulness in the question.

(would you still be willing to take me to london with you? i know i'll probably cause you trouble, but...jane, i don't want to be free if it means i can't be with you. i want you to help me, to love me, to talk to me and laugh at me and be with me. i want to be with you wherever you are.)

There was a pause.

"SO YOU DON'T WANT ANY MORE SEX?" she said, brightly.

He waited just a moment before starting to laugh. And then she started to laugh. And the laughter merged somewhere between the macroscopic and the microscopic. And there, it made music.

* * *

They made love twice that night. It was all he could have wanted, and more.

He went with her to her test. He went with her all the day, hidden safely in her left ear. That night, they talked, and laughed, and joked around. And she gave him a gift.

It was a locket. She had said, "I KNOW IT SEEMS LIKE A CAGE...WHEN I GOT IT, I DIDN'T KNOW HOW YOU FELT...."

(do you have the key?)

"YES, I CAN UNLOCK IT ANYTIME."

(then i'm not worried.)

It was quite ingenious, actually. She'd worked hard for two months. It had a cushioned chamber for him to sit in while she walked, a small glass portal that he could look out of. And the coup de grace was a tiny wireless microphone, which sent a signal to a tiny hearing-aid sized device she could wear in her ear.

(how much did this set you back?) he asked, incredulously.

"NOTHING," she said, happily. "I OWNED THE LOCKET, AND I GOT THE LISTENING DEVICE FROM THE SEISMOLOGY LAB. IT WAS EASY TO MAKE. ONLY TOOK ABOUT FORTY HOURS."

He climbed in, and said, in the clearest his voice had sounded to her ever, "go ahead and put it on!"

The view was incredible. He could see out just over her collar, and he could look down at her breasts. He whistled, loudly, quite aware of which view he liked more.

The next few days flew by, and before they knew it, it was time for Jane to go. She hugged Jane and Kate--an impressive view, that--and then left for the airport.

He had left his house for good. It was a sad moment. He had loved that place. But it wasn't home anymore.

"jane," he said, staring out at the busy airport, "you know what?"

"HMMM MMMM," she hummed, softly, as a reply would get her looked at funny.

"i'm not leaving home. home is where you are."

She smiled, and rubbed the locket. She wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

It wouldn't always be easy, it wouldn't always be simple.

It never is.

In the fairy tales, they say people live happily ever after. But life isn't always happy, or easy, or fun.

The challenge is getting through the tough parts. It makes the rest of life infinitely more rewarding.

He was looking back on the events of the past four years. The escape, the house, the guys, the girls, Julie, Tanya, Lindsay, Kate, and Jane. Always Jane.

He was hanging around her neck as he had for two years. She was graduating with honors, with a job lined up at Laughlin Laboratories in Minnesota. She was going to work on a project with a Dr. Theresa Peterson. He had urged her to go to grad school, but she had said, cryptically, "GRAD SCHOOL CAN WAIT. THIS CAN'T. OR MORE TO THE POINT, I WON'T LET IT."

He didn't know what the future held, any more than she did. But he knew what he wanted it to hold.

They were alone in her old green car, and he said to her, "jane, i love you. i know that i'm not perfect, and i know i present special problems, but when i get unshrunk...."

"STOP. DROP THE LAST PHRASE, AND START FROM BEFORE THE 'WHEN I GET UNSHRUNK.'"

It was a playful answer to a serious moment. It was one of the things he loved about her.

He said, "well...i am happy where you are, and i am not happy where you aren't. and i don't know how long my life can last, but i want to spend every moment of the rest of it with you. will you...will you marry me? i mean...."

"DON'T YOU DARE QUALIFY IT, JAKE. I WILL MARRY YOU. NO MATTER WHAT." She lifted the locket up, unclasped it, and gently, sweetly, kissed him.

His was no longer a silent, lonely existence. He had someone, and she had him. That's all anyone can ask. And they knew it.

They would get married, but that is another story for another time.

One thing is certain.

They lived happily ever after.