Wacky Weed, Part One, also known as the section before the giantess sex

Very few people decide to become a bum. But, I, Milton Caulfield, was very few
people.

I was in my third year at Carleton and had decided early on to become a
philosophy major. Partly to piss off my parents, partly because it was an easy
major and partly because this really cute girl with dreadlocks, Josie, was in
this Sartre discussion section Freshman year and I really wanted to have sex
with her. Well, two years later, my parents had stopped talking to me, I was
failing half my classes, and the dreadlocks were shaved as the object of my
dick's desire was traded to the other team after she had hooked up with this
anorexic blonde TA from Cleveland.

Oh, and I started smoking a lot of pot. Depression, lack of parental guidance,
no poon, and weed can make you a bit intense.

In my readings for the classes I decided to go to, these dead guys kept spewing
these ideas about identity, and the importance of the self. Kinda made sense to
me. In one of my month long binges on this primo Norwegian Cowgirl Bud, (
supposedly it was fertilized by the processed feces of cute blond leggy Viking
chicks ) I decided to sell all my worldly possessions and live as a vagrant in
Northfield, MN. Why Northfield? Cuz my pot connection was based there. I may
have been headed towards being a bum, but I still wanted my daily buzz.

It was going pretty good. The profits from my computer and my wardrobe and my
old Dave Matthews CD's ( What was I thinking? Jesus, even a stoner has got to
be able to distinguish what's shitty music ) had been keeping me in a good
supply of wacky weed and I was happy as a clam. I spent every night in this
alley behind this one burrito place by the campus toking up and watching the
clouds. Even when there were no clouds. I was officially a bum, one of those
guys that suburban mom's point to in order to frighten their children into
paying attention in spelling and not beating up little Jimmy in the 3rd grade.


So, one day, my dealer Cowboy ( yeah, he wore a ten gallon hat and leather
boots ) came up to me and handed me a bag with about a joint's worth of weed..


"Mil, dude, you gotta try this shit. I know you've got that whole born again,
anti-capitalistic all pleasure Rasta thing going on, so you're, like, the dude
to come to try out new shit. You're like, a connoisseur or the cannabis, dude.
The fucking pope of fucking Weed, man."

Cowboy, in case you couldn't notice, did a lot of speed.

"Mil, dude, you're really nasty man. All your fucking hair and shit, with the
whole bum attitude, it'll fucking whack out your high, man. Dude, come to my
crib, get cleaned up, and fucking try out this fucking weed, man."

I agreed. I could use a shower in a major way. As a bum, I wasn't anti-shower.
It was just normally I didn't really have access to one. So I hopped into
Cowboy's hatchback Civic and drove to his mom's house across town. She was fast
asleep and his kid sister was at a friend's house. It was a funny family.
Cowboy's mom was actually a former Deadhead and was all into Cowboy's means of
employment. His sister Nancy, however, was more of a punk. Straight-edge, too,
if you believe it. Hell, I guess I would have been straight-edge if I didn't
love pot so much. She was in her fifth year of high school. Her bitch of an
English teacher had found one of her poems disturbing, since it graphically
described said teacher's death, so she had been suspended, making her fail all
her last semester classes. She didn't care too much, though. She was planning
on jetting to New York after graduation to follow the music scene for a while.
Become her own kind of bum, I guess. We got along pretty well, until I stopped
seeing her cuz of the whole bum thing.

So, we pulled into the driveway of the house and made our way through the shin
high grass to the front door. Inside it was pretty nice. Cowboy's mom was a
really good day trader, so they were far from starving. Really nice stereo
equipment was blasting out Phish as Cowboy's mom snored upstairs in her room. I
took a shower and cleaned months of grime off my body, then used Cowboy's
electric razor to give myself a nice buzz and a baby face. I looked kinda like
that Wilson guy in Royal Tenenbaums after he shaved off his hair. I wish I
remembered more about that movie, but I was really stoned at the time.

I threw away my ratty ass clothes and wrapped a towel around my waist. For the
first time in months, I was clear headed. The shower had helped push the
remnants of the last bowl I smoked out of my system. Cowboy was right, I'd be
able to give a better idea of his new shit if I wasn't still primed from my
last hit.

I walked, half dripping and clean as a whistle in to Nancy's room, where Cowboy
was waiting. He always loved smoking up in her room, especially since she hated
pot so much. He would blow smoke onto her pillow so she would have to go to bed
with Mary Jane filling her nostrils. Fun family.

Once again, Cowboy began to talk. That was our relationship. He talked. I
bought his pot. He was my best friend.

"Dude man, this shit, it's like genetically altered and shit, man. Fucking,
found some kind of natural amphetamine in the fucking rainforest and fucking
bred it with good old marijuana, dude. It's like, super reefer, man. I'm
thinking of calling it Wacky Weed, man. Fucking feds burned all of it except
what's in this bag and the few seeds I got in my fucking closet, man. They say
it's too fucking dangerous. No one's fucking smoked it before. The feds had
jumped in all Bruce Lee style, burning all of it in labs, not touched by human
hands. I won't bore you about how I got this shit, but dude, if you give it a
green light, it'll totally outsell that fucking Norwegian Chick Shit weed you
been toking."

My eyes were getting less bloodshot. I really wanted to smoke. Finally, Cowboy
handed me the bag and some papers and left the room. He didn't want to breath
in the smoke. He wanted me to be the very first to smoke this 'Wacky Weed.' I
checked the digital clock by Nancy's bed. 7 PM. I measured how good weed was by
how long I was euphoric afterwards. I rolled a perfect little joint and lit it
up.

It was like nothing I had smoked before. Like watching Waking Life on an acid
trip while getting blown by Pamela Anderson. I took off the towel from around
my waist and began to masturbate cumming until my balls felt empty. It was so
potent and I was so high, that I actually swallowed the last of the joint as it
began to die. I fell back naked onto Nancy's bed, listening to her stereo,
which I guess I had turned on while I was smoking. I kept cumming over and over
again, my balls aching, my entire body shuddering. I felt like my entire body
was being processed into gas and shot out my cock, but I was in too much
ecstasy to open my eyes.

I awoke, completely sober, no paranoia. That was a plus. Something new. I
opened my sleepy eyes and looked at the clock, which seemed a little farther
away than before. 1 PM. I had been out for 18 hours. A new record. I guessed
that Nancy had spent the night at a friends house. As my body awoke, I realized
I was suspended in something sticky. It smelled like...cum.

My eyes fully adjusted and I hopped up onto my feet. Or I tried to. What I
wound up doing was not moving at all. I was in some sort of a giant gel that
smelled like cum. Maybe I wasn't completely sober after all.

Then things began to make sense as I kept looking around, trying to crane my
neck around so I could see what was going on. I noticed that the goo I was in
was on Nancy's bed. It was as if I had been...

It was as if I had been shrunk and gotten stuck in a dried puddle of my own
cum.

Next time I saw him, I was going to tell Cowboy that this 'Wacky Weed' was
definitely NOT going to get my green light.

Time passed and I began to accept the situation. It wasn't too bad. It was
kinda cool, actually. I guess being a bum made the whole 'my life is ruined,
what am I going to do' thing seem not too important. In fact, the only thing on
my mind was how to get out of my own cum. It was kinda weird.

In stomped Nancy, shaking my world. The movements made my cock shake a bit. It
was still sore from the night before. She was dead tired, probably hadn't slept
all night. She was one to go to a friend's house, chill, maybe fuck a bit, then
crash back at her house for the next 24 hours. I would have guessed that this
was then the weekend, but, knowing Nancy, it could very well have been a
Tuesday. School was second to sex. I could agree with that.

She walked bleary eyed to her bed and noticed me. Or rather, noticed the cum
stain. She reached down with a long unpainted fingernail and scratched near me.
I thought I was about to be skewered on her nail. She brought her finger to her
nose and smelled. That could have been me, sniffed up her nose to drown in her
sinus cavity. How very strange. She knew what this stain was, and was none to
pleased. I remember Cowboy telling me about times he had sex on his sister's
bed and how angry she got at him for it. I'm guessing she thought this was her
brother's handiwork again. Especially with the smell of pot in the air. She
began to rub the whole stain and me with her hand with a look of vengeance in
her eyes. I guess she was not a fan of random cum stains in her bed.

I was finally dislodged from the sheet after being battered by her palm and
thrown through her room as she kept wiping away the dried cum. As I flew, I
made a very conscious decision to lay off the pot for a little while.

Part Two

When you're still in that place between sleeping and waking, the world moves
mighty slowly. I felt like I was staring at that goddamned wall-sized mural of
Johnny Rotten made from Internet porn for hours as I was catapulted from
Nancy's bed to her wall. I closed my eyes and wished I had a joint in my mouth.


Yeah, that whole decision to get off pot...that lasted until I hit that wall
like...well, a tiny man into a wall full of porn. It hurt and I was horny. I
wanted all the medicinal marijuana I could get my hands on. It felt like every
bone in my body was off on holiday as my heart slithered down to my groin as I
slid down the wall onto some clothing on Nancy's cluttered desk.

My eyes stayed open as a more intense pain filled my body. It was like every
shattered bone was being knitted back together by a 97 year old Alzheimer's
patient with arthritis in both hands. My kneecaps were being forged from
whatever spare flesh could be ripped from the rest of my body. Whatever living
material my body had was being consumed to fix every fractured bone, every
ripped muscle. My cock stood at attention and I watched as all the damaged
bone, ruptured organs, and torn muscles were shot out of my cock, dissipating
into thin air. The world around me began to grow even more.

I had no idea what the fuck was going on. I just hoped it stopped soon.

And I had a major case of the munchies.

I sat there, on Nancy's desk, trying to make some sense out of what was going
on. My only conclusion was that Wacky Weed had given me the first ever
Marijuana overdose and I was still hallucinating. Or dead. My haze that was my
current existence seemed to be some sort of Kafkaesque psychosis, becoming
insignificant, shrinking from the world as I was harmed by things outside of my
control. As long as I didn't become a bug and spend ten pages trying to get off
of my back with my legs dangling in the air, I was pretty sure things would be
ok. If my daydreams dissolved into an existential nightmare, I was pretty sure
that I would be dead before all was said and done.

While I continued to ponder my existence, Nancy was stripping down to her bare
essentials. By her bare essentials, I mean her nipple rings, belly button ring,
and various and assundry facial punctures. Groaning, she ripped off the sheet
with the remnants of my nocturnal emission and fell asleep. I situated myself
into a nice position on what I figured was some type of bandana or something
that was on Nancy's desk and half napped, half thought. Having your body put
back together takes a lot out of you. Literally. I had to be no more than the
size of one of those ants that would crawl over me while I slept in the alley.
Like, quarter an inch or something, for those of you keeping score at home.

I guess this would be the time to give y'all a better picture of Nancy. She was
one of those impossible beauties that was thin as a rail but had tits to die
for. If it weren't for her punk worldview, she woulda been the prom queen. Her
short hair was hand cut with a pair of scissors, but done with such a masterful
carelessness that it was more beautiful than any other hairdo. It was bleached
with specks of her natural red coming in at the roots. Her eyes were a
delicious green, usually masked by her horn-rimmed glasses. the various facial
piercings mentioned before were above her left eyebrow, her right nostril, her
lower lip, the ear cartilage on her right ear, with other ear piercings too
numerous to list. And, only because it fits in later on, her...erm...pubic
region was died hot pink and kept tidily shaved into a thin strip by a Bic
razor every couple of days. It appeared, from my perspective, that she was due
for a shaving pretty soon, with tiny red stumps becoming visible around her
groin.

Cowboy popped his head in later whispering, "Milt? Milly?" He noticed his
sister sprawled naked on her bed, stuck his hand down his tight jeans and shut
the door, sighing in pleasure. Like I said, fun family.

While I was in rapture staring at Nancy (and while Cowboy was no doubt whacking
off in his room next door) she got up grumpily. Her stereo was still on from
the night before. I hadn't really realized it since I guess I had gotten used
to it through the night. Groaning, she stood up. While she did, I saw her abs
flex ever so beautifully. I guess you could say I really liked her. She slammed
off the stereo and began to walk towards me. She reached out her hand and
grabbed me, or rather the bandanna-like piece of fabric I was resting upon. To
this day, I'm not sure what the fabric was or why Nancy decided she needed to
grab it instead of some other piece of cloth, but it was picked up into her
massive hands with her long natural nails and I tried my damnedest not to fall
through her fingers onto the floor below.

Instead, she sat on her bare mattress, brought the cloth up to her nose, and
blew.

Luckily, I missed the tons of mucus that came flying at me. However, I did fall
from her hand and landed on something hard and cold. I began to fall, but
grabbed on with all my might, dangling from some metal bar of some sort. Above
me was a monolith jutting out not skyward, but out into the city sized room
around me.

I was hanging for life to the hoop ring hanging from Nancy's left tit. I barely
help my ground as she tossed the hanky across the room into some random
crevice, but as she laid back down onto her bed with a sigh and a crash, I flew
hundreds of feet into the air.

I looked down upon Nancy in her giant naked glory. This titanic mass of woman.
I began to float down as Nancy spread her thighs ever so gently and closed her
eyes to sleep. Because of my low mass and size, I didn't fall at the normal
speeds, but more like a feather caught in an air conditioning unit. I looked
down upon her sweet pussy with her ever so slightly moist lips just begging for
company.

I was so enraptured that I barely noticed Nancy move her leg right into me as
she crossed her legs and fell asleep. This was probably going to sting.

Part Three

I looked with horny agony as the gorgeous pussy flew away from my grasp as the
force of the ocean liner sized leg pushed me back across the room.  I had the
wind knocked out of me, and was once again flying through the dark, but that
was about it.  Things could have been worse.

And they did get worse.  Cuz it?s not the fall that kills you.  It?s the
landing.

Especially when you land on the sharp end of a stud earring.

The sharp metal punctured my abdomen and I felt my body shudder with pain not
unlike when I saw my parents having sex.  With the babysitter.  When I was 6.
But that?s another story.  Anywho, I had thought that I was about to die on the
jewelry of a mountainous punk chick.

Instead, I felt my organs begin to rearrange in my body.  The pain began to
diminish and once again I saw ruptured spleens and torn appendages shoot out of
my flacid penis.  I shrunk slowly again, but seemed to be none the worse for
wear.  I was finally beginning to equate my own bodily harm with my shrinking.
The spike was now about twice as big as it had been, so I guessed that I was
about 1/8 an inch tall.  Yeah, that makes sense.  Like some sort of bad plot
device.  Well, it made more sense than some of my pot binge hallucinations,
when I thought that I was the tree God, commanding the local shrubbery to do my
bidding.  I had imagined these really hot tree nymphs who made up my harem whom
I fucked until I fell asleep in a bed of leaves.  When I woke up I was in jail
for indecent exposure.  Apparently I had been inserting my penis into the
knotholes of the trees outside the local preschool.  The cops don?t really like
that much.

Wow.  It?s amazing the tangents that come to you when you have a spike through
your chest.

And yes, the munchies had returned.  I had to suppress them, because there?s
not a big chance of getting food when you?re stuck in a parking garage sized
jewelry box in a room that seems to be about the size of the Minneapolis metro
area.

I tried to remove myself from the spike, but I couldn?t get any leverage.  I
attempted to pull myself by grabbing the metal jutting from my chest, but I
really lacked the strength to do so.  This left me some time to ponder some
things.  Like where my heart was, now that its typical location was now
occupied by quite a bit of steel.  Maybe I didn?t need one anymore.  Maybe it
now was in my elbow.  Maybe I was the heart.  Man, I really wanted a joint
about then.

I have a one-track mind, I know.  Well, four-track, really.  Pot, food, tits,
and pussy.  That?s all a man needs.  Really, it is.

The rest of the day went like this.  Nancy took a shower and really gave me a
hard on when she stood stark naked in her room.  She cupped her breasts and
gave a curse.  It turns out that her current piercings had developed some rust.
 She strung together four-letter word after four-letter word as she pulled them
out, usually with a scream of pain to acompany them.  She slapped on some
grungy ass clothes and had her mom drive her to urgent care for a tetanus shot.
 This really isn?t as strange as it sounds.  Nancy would keep those pieces of
metal in her for months at a time, forget about them, risk lockjaw, then rip
them out and get a shot.  If that isn?t punk, I don?t know what is.

When she returned a few hours later, it was getting closer to sunset.  I heard
the sounds of forks hitting porcelin as the family ate a dinner of Chinese
take-out downstairs.  I would have given my right nut for a spring roll.  I
shit you not.

Nancy burst into her room satiated with her full stomach and uninfected flesh.
She stripped off her clothes and crawled back under her covers, giving me only
the slightest image of her beautiful form.  When the rhythmic sound of her REM
breathing kicked in, I too was able to nod off, trying my best to ignore the
metal sticking out of me.

I awoke to the sound of Cowboy and Nancy?s mom.  She was grabbing handfuls of
clothes from the floor, Nancy?s bed, and the ceiling lamps.  She looked over at
Nancy, who during the night had kicked her covers to the floor, now curled up
naked with her pillow over her head.  Her mom stopped, put her free hand into
her pants, sighed, and left to do laundry.  At least I knew where Cowboy got
that from.  Sheesh.

A little while later, Nancy finally awoke and slipped on a bathrobe.  She shook
the sleep out her eyes and came to her mirror, which happened to be situated
right behind her jewelry box.  She was inspecting all of her previous
piercings.  The holes were healed, but they still looked pretty sore.  If I
knew Nancy, I knew that she wouldn?t be able to go on with her day unless she
had a little bit of metal jutting somewhere inside of her.  I guess you could
call her an addict for that, I guess.  Everyone has their vices.  Hers seemed
to have less side-effects, besides the monthly doctor visits.

She slipped the robe off of her shoulders.  I was so caught up in the moment of
staring up at her beautiful tits, her left one in particular, (which I had been
clinging to two nights prior) that I didn?t notice as she grabbed at the stud
that I was attatched to.  She brought it up to her eye stud-side-up so that I
was out of her view.  I could hear her mumble, curious about where she should
stick me into her body.

First, she brought me up to her ears.  But as soon as she touched the spike to
her lobes, she stifled a scream of pain.  Then she tried her nose and lips,
which elicited the same response.  I was so afraid that I was going to fall
into her gaping maw as she tried to stick my host into her lip.  I was so glad
she didn?t try to put me in her tongue.

A light popped into her eyes.  She dropped me to the desk below, giving me a
pretty bad headache, and ran to the kitchen to get some ice.  She came back and
rumaged in her desk until she found a sewing needle.  Then she grabbed the
stud, the ice, and the needle and brought them to her bed where she took off
her robe and spread her legs.  I was in heaven.

She took the ice and began to massage her clit.  I reached down and began to
rub my cock, not wanting this bizzare esoteric sex show to stop.  She held the
ice to her growing clit or a full minute or so.  Next, she grabbed the needle
and jabbed it right through her sensitive skin.

That made me wince in pain.  The things people do.  Sheesh.

Finally, she grabbed me and the stud ring.  She grit her teeth and thrust the
metal and me inside of her clit.  It was done so roughly that I felt the spike
tear through my left side as I was finally torn free from that damned ring.
She clipped the safety on to the end of the spike and let out a sigh.

It took me a few seconds to figure out where I was.  The world had gone crazy
as she had pierced herself.  It was a melange of jump cuts in a really bad film
school final project.  My vision was dark, my world hot and thumping with sex
and pain.

I finally figured it out.  I was stuck inside of this girl?s clitorus.

And my body began to knit each other together once again.  Out from my cock
shot out more dead flesh.  I was smaller again, maybe about half the size as
before.

This was either the strangest dream I had ever had or the gods really wanted to
fuck with me.  Either that or I had the worst fucking luck on the face of the
planet. 

On the bright side, there was now a little hole where the metal hit the skin
that I could crawl through.  The question was, did I dare try to brave the
world as a 1/16th inch tall man?  If my 20th century fiction had posed these
questions during discussion, I might still have been in school.
 

Part Four

I was hungrier than I had ever been before in my life. Pretty soon my stomach was going to start eating itself and I was pretty sure that wasn?t giong to be good for my long term health. But then again, I wasn?t really thinking about the long term. I was thinking about the short term, namely what the fuck I was doing in a mountain of a girl?s sex button.

Funny how giant genitalia changes your priorities.

After hours of sitting and trying to ignore the massive erection I was getting from the amazing aroma surrounding me, I decided that I had to get out. The tiny hole in the flesh between the skin and the piercing was closing up fast and life in a clit was becoming less and less exotic. Though more interesting than that movie Innerspace. Why the hell did the guy have to be injected in a guy? Hollywood would have made so much more money if they had injected him into Raquel Welsh. Sort of give her a chance to show off her range, from shrinkee in Fantastic Voyage to Hot Cave Chick in 65,000,000 B.C. to Wet Dream of any boy who lived through the seventies or early eighties.

So, anyway, I wriggled out of the inside of Nancy?s nether regions and floated down to the stripped bed below. When I hit, my stomach grumbled and I screamed out my great love for all foods. I?d have even eaten Thai food, though I still don?t understand why people put peanuts in dishes. They belong salted or unsalted in jars, and that?s it. But now, I?d have eaten it sprinkled on pizza, on an angel food cake, or even in a burrito.

God I could have gone for a burrito.

I didn?t notice the gigantic teenager get off of her bed. I did notice when the displacement of mass pushed me up thousands of feet into the air. I hung there, suspended like I was in a gel, too light to fall to the ground at any percievable rate. I watched as Nancy paced her room, finding a sleeveless black hoodie and ratty jeans before going out. Whether it was for school or for pleasure I couldn?t tell. I really had no gauge of time anymore. The only thing I saw was a stale pizza crust on a tomato-stained plate miles below me. I stared at it, wishing beyond wishes that I could have some.

I was in some sort of hunger delirium for a while. Minutes, hours, days, I wasn?t sure. Finally, Nancy returned with a half eaten bowl of ice cream, raised high above her head like some sort of prized treasure. And luck above luck, she lifted the bowl straight into me so I was then sitting in a mess of strawberry fudge. So I did what any hungry beyond reason man would do. I ate. And ate. And ate. I was like the Flash in that really bad TV series version of the same name. Except, where he raised his metabolism too high from his extraordinary super speed and had to eat a bunch, I had to eat because I shot most of my molecular make-up through my joystick.

Within moments, all the ice cream was gone. All that mass had to go somewhere. I was bigger. About 3 inches tall, with a stomach full of sugar. Sitting in a bowl that used to have a good scoop and a half of premium dairy. So naturally, when Nancy finished her dance and brought the bowl to her face, she screamed. She dropped the bowl to the ground and went running out of her room.

To make a long story short, Cowboy eventually found me, after I had grown to about a foot from eating the food scraps scattered about Nancy?s room. He explained that the guy he got the Wacky Weed from, who went by the handle ?God Machine? or something, wanted his weed back. He said that the product wasn?t very safe. The side effects I had experienced were now permament. Whenever I was injured, whenever I jacked off, or whenever I didn?t eat for a while, I would lose height, though not at the freakish rate that my first time had provoked. We explained everything to Nancy and Cowboy?s mom. Though Nancy was a little freaked out still, she came to terms with it. After going through several hundred dollars worth of fast food, I was back at my normally strapping 6 feet. And I decided to call my parents and re-enroll in school. I had a great idea for a story that might bring back existentialism from the grave of modern pop-psychology. Plus, if I was back at school, I could always count on the dining hall to replenish my height after a late night spank-a-thon.

The moral of the story is this: When you get high, make sure you have your munchies handy. They?re a bitch to get when you?re stoned like an 2nd century martyr. Also, finish your stories in a timely fashion. When you go months without writing a chapter, you really become loath to finish and make some sort of cop out neat and tidy ending. Anywho, this wasn?t the only experience I had with shrinking. There are many more, which I may write about some day.

Next time, maybe I?ll tell you about the hunger strike for peace I participated in with the girls of Kappa Kappa Delta. I could have protested forever, if you know what I mean. Now if you?ll excuse me, I gotta smoke this joint.