“Because, the transition, well, no pun intended, is enormous. There's a lot to learn, and it takes time. During my intake, orientation, and assessment, I was assigned to a rehabilitation team. There was the medical component, with doctors, PTs, and rehab specialists, and then there was the mental health and size transition therapists. Guests were given consideration of the makeup of the team depending on who they were comfortable with. My team was mostly made up of Bigs, mostly women.

"Why do you think that was?" I leaned in, genuinely curious about his perspective on navigating mixed-size relationships post-reduction. “I’m just assuming as a newly reduced man you’d have feelings about being around normal-sized women."

"Well, women just seem...easier to be around, somehow," Ian shared, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Nodding I added. "It's interesting. There's this idea that women are inherently more nurturing, though it's definitely not a universal rule. Women can be nurturing, sure, but it's not exclusive to us."

“I never really thought about it.” Ian replied. Ian's eyes met mine, reflecting a mix of curiosity and appreciation. "You know, it's odd. Before tonight, I’d always pictured…or well just pretended…us as a regular-sized couple.
But now, it's hard to see you as anything other than this leggy 23-foot woman. The questions you're asking—they're insightful. I appreciate your curiosity, really. It's just that...these aren't things I've pondered much until now. It does make me wonder, if the roles were reversed, and you were a Nexie, would you care about such things? Like would you who was on your care team? Like, does the idea of gender play into who you'd want helping you through something like this?"

I looked at Ian alarmed. “Oh, no, no, no! I couldn’t do the tiny woman thing. I just couldn't," I started, the words tumbling out in a rush. " When my genetic screening came back clear, it was as if I could breathe again. The very thought of being so... small…being at the mercy of giants, of losing my autonomy... I can't even begin to express how terrifying that prospect is to me." Mid-confession, I realized I was unveiling deep-seated fears from my childhood — fears of being a Nexie, and I abruptly turned away, a flush creeping up my cheeks. That was the heart of it, wasn't it? The gnawing insecurity that had taken up residence in the back of my mind, quietly festering over the years. I couldn’t face what Ian faced. Looking at him sitting there in a highchair looking up at me in his personal oversized world. It struck me then—this was the crux of my unease with him. Perhaps not the entirety of it, considering the complexities of having a physical relationship with a man who didn’t even come up to my knees. But I could see my childhood fears were a significant part, nonetheless. Being with Ian tonight, really being with him, had forced me to confront these fears head-on. It was as if he held up a mirror, showing me not just his world but the parts of myself I was too afraid to examine closely.

Shame washed over me as I looked down at him, the weight of my own words pressing down on me. "Who's the coward now?" I silently chided myself. My next words were heavy with remorse. "Ian, I'm so sorry. That was completely thoughtless and insensitive of me. There's no justifying what I said. I'm so, so sorry."

But Ian, with a gentleness that erased my feelings of guilt, simply said, "Don't be. There's no need to apologize. You were being honest, and that's important. I think every Nexie has felt or said something similar at some point during their transition. I know I have."

“I guess, though I feel awful, like I’m just this shallow bitch just judging and piling on you and making things worse between us.” I replied sadly. “Anyway, I think, you’re made of sterner stuff than me.”

Ian's response was immediate, a rebuttal wrapped in kindness. "Gwen, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You're much tougher than you think.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I replied doubtfully. “But to go back to your question, I'd probably pick a team like yours, or well anyone but male. Given my history with the male species being what it is—let's just say, not great— I’d hate to live in a world where they were four times my size.” I looked down at Ian, still embarrassed by my insensitivity. “Ian, I don’t mean to disparage your disability. You’re just asking these questions and well…I’m being honest.”

“I know.” Ian replied. “No one wants to be a Nexie.” Ian paused and smiled. “Well, almost no one.”

I didn’t want to spend any more time delving into my childhood pandemic fears and quickly put the conversation on a different track. "So, I get the whole opting for a female-centric team, but don't you think having more Nexies around would've been more productive? You know, to sort of guide you through the ropes?"

Ian nodded, "Yeah, there were a few Nexie clinicians, but a big part of the therapy was getting comfortable around Bigs—kind of a crash course in navigating a world where everything else is, well, gigantic."
"Ah, that makes sense," I said, nodding, my curiosity piqued over the rim of my wine glass. At Fricklin, they've started this whole initiative, kind of a big deal, really. They’ve rolled out mandatory Nexie awareness trainings for all of us. It's part of this big push to get ready for next fall. And you know what? I was surprisingly drawn in, so much that I've already signed up for a few more. But, let's be honest, they only skim the surface, leaving so much of the real experience of Nexie rehab and transition unexplored. So, from your experience, what was the most challenging part?"

"The counseling," Ian confessed, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "The team didn't stick to just one method—they used a whole spectrum, like CBT, IPT, Behavioral Activation, EMDR—each one tailored to match what each of us needed."

I blinked, feeling a tad out of my depth. "Okay, you might need to slow down for me. I'm not exactly well-versed in all the therapy speak. " I laughed, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. "But it seems like you managed to find something in that mix that helped?"

"Helps," he corrected me with a slight smile. "I'm still seeing a Size Transition therapist. Honestly, before all this happened, I couldn't tell you the first thing about psychological treatments. Now, I'm somewhat of an aficionado. It's been a tough journey, especially with the isolation. But I'm in a much better place now." He chuckled, a bit self-consciously, "I guess I shouldn't be unloading all this on our official first date, especially when I'm trying to impress."

But honestly, I found his openness refreshing. "Actually, I'm impressed by a man who knows when to seek help," I admitted. I've been toying with the idea of therapy myself. Trying to adjust to post-pandemic life has left me acting a bit like a hermit."

"Well, I certainly found counseling helpful.” Ian responded. “Though I confess, sometimes it was exhausting. There was group therapy, social skills training, and intimacy skills training," he listed, each item punctuated with a sigh that hinted at the sheer magnitude of it all. "If I wasn't being put through the wringer by a particularly sadistic PT, I was in the trenches with a therapist. Lucky for me, I was assigned Áine. She was a rock star. She really helped me get a grip on things during those first rocky months... "Plus, you know, the fact that she has these incredible long legs didn't exactly make my sessions a chore," Ian confessed, a blend of sheepishness and amusement in his tone.

A smirk play across my lips, as I looked down at Ian. "I'm not entirely sure 'doing the therapeutic work' is supposed to include hitting on your giant therapist," I teased, unable to resist the jab.

Ian's mock horror was practically Oscar-worthy. "Excuse me, I'll have you know I was the very model of a gentleman around Áine! I didn't hit on her—not once! I merely appreciated the scenery," he retorted, his tone riding the fine line between indignation and amusement.

I laughed and replied in my most posh Regency accent, “Well of course, Mr. Kennon, it would be most unbecoming of me to tarnish the esteemed regard in which your gentlemanly character is held, merely on account of your discerning appreciation for the more refined aspects of the gentler sex's most graceful appendages."

"Okay, are we seriously channeling Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy again?" Ian asked, barely containing his grin.

"Well, yeah," I replied, grinning. "You're giving off some serious pocket-sized Mr. Darcy vibes." And honestly, if Mr. Darcy had been about four and a half feet shorter, he'd be Ian's doppelganger, brooding looks and all.

Ian's grin didn't waver; if anything, it grew more mischievous. "Oh, so that makes you what? A troll-sized Miss Bennet?" he shot back, clearly enjoying our back-and-forth.

"Troll-sized? Excuse you!" I retorted with mock indignation, barely able to keep a straight face, "Why! Why...I ought to stuff you into my purse and hang you from a coat rack!" I exclaimed laughing. It was fascinating, really, how the night had unfolded—from my initial horror on going on a date with an Opa to finding such joy in our lighthearted teasing. Ian's reaction to my playful digs, his confidence and ease in himself… I confess I found that genuinely attractive.


Ian's laughter was warm and contagious. "Oh, well, that huge sigh of relief for me. For a sec, I thought you were going to drag me back to some dank, dark troll cave!" he says, still laughing.

My jaw dropped in mock horror. “Why you impertinent little bug!” And just like that, we're both doubled over in laughter, completely oblivious to anyone else around us.

As our laughter gently faded into the ambient sounds of the restaurant, I found myself gazing down at Ian, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of my wine glass. The moment felt suspended, almost ethereal.

"You know, I actually could," I murmured, the words slipping out with a mix of whimsy and introspection.

"Could what?" Ian replied.

"Fit you into my tote bag," I said, my voice carrying a quiet confidence. "I have this really cute Coach tote that you'd fit into perfectly."

Ian's laughter tapered off, and he regarded me with a seriousness that seemed to pull me into a deeper conversation. "How does that make you feel?" he asked, his tone gentle yet probing.

There it was—his question throwing my own observation back at me, making me pause. Was I pushing buttons I hadn't intended to push? "What, that I could pop you into my tote?" I responded, a trace of uncertainty coloring my voice.

Ian's expression softened, the earnestness in his eyes inviting me to truly consider his question. "Yes, exactly that. How does it feel, knowing you could easily tuck me into your cute Coach bag?"

The candor of the moment caught me off guard. "Honestly? I'm not sure," I admitted, letting out a small sigh. "But strangely, I'm starting to find a certain...acceptance in the thought." I paused, allowing myself to fully inhabit the role reversal of literally being the much bigger person. My gaze intensified. "And what about you, Ian? How does it sit with you, being so small that I could effortlessly lift you into my tote?"

Ian's response was quick, his grin returning with a playful glint in his eye. "Well, Gwen, that all hinges on how cute this Coach bag of yours is," he quipped. "I'm not about to become an accessory in just any old tote. I have my standards, after all."
I smiled at his witty comeback yet pressed for a genuine answer. "Ian, be real with me," I urged, seeking the sincerity that had underpinned our interactions thus far.

Ian's demeanor shifted to one of quiet confidence. "Gwen, I've been living in this reality for over two years now. I've got nothing left to prove. After all the hurdles I've overcome and the support I've received, I've come to realize that, size aside, my identity isn't defined by how easily I might fit into your handbag. I’m still a man and I am, and always will be, just me." Ian looked at me plainly, without shame, nor averting my towering gaze, his confidence practically radiating off him, making him seem larger than life—or at least larger than his 18-inch stature. And suddenly, I felt a wave of relief. Yes, I know I’m nearly four times his size, and I could easily toss him like a throw pillow, but I realized I couldn’t easily squash his ego and that meant something. Despite his voice, that could easily be mistaken for a squeaky toy and the sight of him handling his fork like an oversized prop, not to mention his struggle with the wine glass, I found myself feeling this unexpected pull towards him.

"You know, Ian," I started, feeling a mix of affection and a bit of self-reproach, "you've been incredible, really. Here I am, making awkward comments about tote bags and teasing you for being an Opa. I guess there’s this dysfunctional part of me that’s pushing you to snap. but then I end up feeling guilty and apologizing for being thoughtless, even though you're always quick with a witty comeback. I'm actually having a great time, but there's this expectation that you'd get upset with me because, well…Because you're so little."

Ian looked up; his gaze filled with nothing but understanding. "Gwen, why would I get upset?" he asked, genuinely curious. "I'm having a great time. You're being the amazing woman I've fallen for, and your sense of humor? It's one of the many things I adore about you. And it's not like I can change being a Nexie."

I sighed, thinking back to the year before we met. "Ian, before you, I went on so many disastrous dates. Guys can be so touchy if they feel outdone by a woman. When you first showed up, missing …well more than a few feet from what I expected, I braced myself for another letdown. I was very angry you hid this from me, but more than that, I was frustrated thinking you'd want me to tiptoe around your size to preserve your ego.”

“Gwen,” Ian started, "You don't need to walk on eggshells around me. I'm a big..."

"Big boy?" I couldn't resist cutting in, a playful arch to my eyebrow as I gazed down at him. The irony wasn't lost on either of us, and a smile quickly found its way across my face. "Well, Ian, you might not be big in the way most people expect, but your maturity and self-confidence more than makes up for it," I acknowledged, the warmth in my tone reflecting my growing affection.

I continued, the realization settling in. "And that's just perfect because just look at us. No amount of me trying to act feminine and delicate is going to make you feel any taller. I mean, sure, I have my moments, but the idea of playing the demure lady to an 18-inch-tall man? It's just not feasible." I let out a light laugh, "But you know what? That's totally fine. Being the quintessential 'delicate flower' has never been my strong suit."

Ian's response came with a softness, a reassurance that only he could provide. "Gwen, I've never wanted you to be anything other than yourself," he said, his voice sincere. "To me, you're still Gwen, just with a bit more...altitude."

I laughed at his joke and hearing those words from him. "Ian, that's exactly what I needed to hear," I admitted, feeling a significant weight lift off my shoulders. "I need to be able to have these conversations, to make awkward jokes, and yes, even to tease and push you a bit. It's all part of me trying to understand this...to understand us.”

Ian nodded, his expression open and understanding. "I get it," he said. "And I wish I'd been upfront about being an Opa from the start, instead of trying to hide it. And if I couldn’t laugh at this, the whole cosmic absurdity of catching a fucking shrinking disease, I don’t think I would still be here. So, tease away, I have a whole library of 50-foot woman comebacks to throw back at you.

"Oh, you just try it!" I shot back, laughing. “But seriously," I continued, a bright smile spreading across my face. "You've been absolutely incredible tonight. You've made me feel so at ease, so genuinely happy, which, after the rocky start we had, I wasn't sure was possible. I was worried our easy back-and-forth, that special vibe we clicked into right from the start, would just...vanish. But you've proved me wrong, and I couldn't be more thrilled.”

Ian mirrored my sentiment, "I feel the same."

Catching myself mid-ramble, I glanced down at my wine, a flush of embarrassment coloring my cheeks. "Oh, listen to me, just blabbering on and totally steamrolling your story."

“Well, I don’t have to finish.” Ian replied, “We can talk about something else. I feel like tonight’s been all about me.”

Quick to correct him, I insisted, "No way, it's not like that at all. Getting to know about your transition—it's a huge part of who you are to me, and honestly, it's incredibly important. I'd really like to hear more if you're okay with sharing?"
Ian's response was all warmth and encouragement, "I don't mind at all," he assured me. "And actually, your 'interruptions'? They're the best part.
"
Feeling my cheeks warm with a blush, I shifted my gaze, curiosity getting the better of me. "So, what else did you pick up during rehab?"

“Well,” Ian replied, continuing his story. “There was also orientation and mobility training. It's basically learning to safely move around without, you know, becoming a sidewalk pancake. They teach us to read the room—or, well, the street—reading people's body language, spotting those little signs to dodge Bigs without getting squished. They also taught us survival tricks like hugging walls or using gutters if things go sideways."

"Kind of like our trek to Céline's?" I ventured.

"Exactly," Ian confirmed.

Then it hit me, and I stared at Ian, absolutely mortified. "Wait, that was super dangerous for you, wasn't it?"

Ian started fidgeting, "Yeah," he confessed, "Being on a sidewalk for someone my size is pretty much like you walking down the middle of a freeway. We're supposed to steer clear of crowded places, especially at night…and places with teenagers and young adults. Oh yeah, and…umm… places with lots of bars or drunk people.”

"So, basically all of Afton," I said, dumbfounded.

Horrified at my own cluelessness, I buried my face in my hands. “Oh my God Ian! I made you walk on a sidewalk!”

He tried to reassure me, "Gwen, it's fine. You were upset, and you didn't know.". How could you know?”

But I was already beating myself up over it. "“You idiot! I replied angrily. No, that's not an excuse! Sure, I was angry, but putting you in danger? I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you."

Ian looked so guilty it made my heart twist. "I'm sorry, Ian. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just... I care about you a lot. Just promise me, next time, if I ask you to do something you know is dangerous, tell me! Okay?”

“I promise Gwen.”

“I mean it Ian. No matter what. If you have to kick my ankle or stab me with a toothpick…” I said, barely holding back a laugh.

“Gotcha”, Ian replied with a mock serious expression, “Note to self, keep toothpick on hand in case ginger ‘zilla goes on rampage and needs to be slapped down.” He looked up at me snickering.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Ian you are such an asshole.” I said, half annoyed, half amused.

I topped off my glass, the reality of Ian’s life hitting me. The world was full of everyday dangers for him that I hadn't even considered. "You know, Ian," I started, a bit of awe in my voice, "I've been through all these Nexie awareness sessions, thinking I had a decent grasp on things. Now, I'm realizing I'm pretty much clueless. Like, how do you even do it? Navigating sidewalks, opening doors, dealing with elevators and stairs in a world designed for 20-foot people?"

Ian gave a small, knowing smile, glancing down at his wine. "With a lot of caution and a bit of ingenuity, Gwen. I rely on various aids and strategies. I use a lot of the technology my company's investing in, but there are simpler things too, like using Uber or getting things delivered. And I've got an assistant."

"You mean, like a home health aide?" I wondered out loud.

"Not exactly," Ian clarified. "Anna's more of an administrative assistant, although her role's a lot broader than that. We're a team; she helps me with data research, trends, liaising with startups—the works. And yeah, she also lends a hand with the physical stuff that requires a 'Big.'"

"Does this include carrying you around?" I asked.

"Occasionally, when I concede," Ian admitted. "I prefer to walk on my own, though. There are times she insists, and I've learned to choose my battles wisely."

"But she works for you," I pointed out, half joking. "Shouldn't you have the freedom to be a 'wee idiot' if you want?"

Ian pretended to bristle at my insult. "Ah, there’s that word again."

"Zip it, tiny! You are a 'wee idiot,' and I'll say so if I please!" I shot back, playfully sticking out my tongue.

Ian laughed, surrendering with a raise of his hands. "Fair Play, you got me. I am, at times, a 'wee idiot.' As for Anna, she's incredibly skilled—an Economist and a licensed Nexie aid. We're more like friends, really. Her contract explicitly allows her to step in if I'm about to do something a 'reasonable person' would deem dangerous."

"That seems...extreme," I commented. "So, she can just veto your plans to go for a walk?"

"No, not quite. Anna doesn't boss me around. She can, however, offer her 'assistance' and she often does quite assertively. So, say I decided to take a walk, she might strongly suggest accompanying me. And if we encounter anything risky, like a swarm of rowdy college students spilling out of a bar, she might insist on carrying me to safety."

"Seriously?" My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Yeah, it's a bit complex. Because as I'm under two and a half feet tall, Virginia law tags me as a NExVID-12 survivor with 'diminished physical capacity'… well incapacitation due to reduction. This means I'm required to have a care and independence plan, either with a guardian of my choosing or one appointed by the state."

I stared at Ian, trying to wrap my head around it. "Hold on! You have a guardian who tells you what to do?"

Ian looked at me visibly flustered. I didn’t mean to, but it probably looked to him I was questioning his status as an adult. Which I guess I was. Other than the basic Nexie training and seminars I took at work; I wasn’t aware of how drastic these laws were. Yet here they were staring me in the face. My would-be boyfriend has a nanny. Did he need her permission to date me too?

"Gwen?" Ian's voice pulled me back from my thoughts.

"Oops, sorry, Ian," I apologized, snapping back to the moment. "I was just trying wrap my mind around this. What were you saying again?"

Ian's next words were aimed at clearing up any confusion. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Gwen. I chose my guardian, my parents, and we all agreed on the plan. I'm the one calling the shots in the end. Periboia Capital hires a lot of Nexies, so they've got a solid system for pairing us with assistants who help navigate the legalities while respecting our independence. Anna's more like a partner than anything else — definitely not a nanny."

He gave me a look, almost as if he read my mind. "You were picturing a nanny, weren't you?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Sort of. But she does have influence, right? She can 'insist' on things?" My eyes narrowed as I looked at him suspiciously. "What if you decide to head out alone and she 'insists' on tagging along?"

Ian leaned back, thoughtful. "Well, her gig is mainly a Monday-to-Friday deal, during standard office hours and my adventures tend to be more of a weekend affair. But on the off chance our views clash, we hash it out. Anna and me? We're a good team. I'm not exactly a thrill-seeker. I weigh my options, and she gets that—usually. If I were reckless, or if she tried to over-mother me, we'd just shake hands and go our separate ways."

"I see," I muttered, my mind racing with thoughts. Ian looked at me, trying to decode the mix of feelings I was poorly hiding. "It's just... your world is incredibly complex," I confessed. "Laws dictating guardianship, people constantly assessing the safety of what most of us take for granted, barriers at every turn. I'm starting to grasp the whole 'living in a world of giants' thing you mentioned. It's overwhelming."

I paused, biting my lip. The truth I was hesitant to voice was my uncertainty about diving into Ian's world. It was clear as day that, despite Ian's insistence on independence, he relied on others for basic things. This very date needed a bit of logistical gymnastics – a waitress finding him a highchair, me playing server with his dinner and wine. The real question for me was whether I was ready to step into the role of yet another caregiver in his life.

Ian's response was gentle. "I understand," he said. "For a Nexie, it's like being constantly under a microscope, needing help because the world wasn't designed with us in mind. That's pushed a lot of Nexies to carve out our own special communities, where we can just... be."

Mulling over his words, a new realization hit me. The debate around Nexie rights was one thing, but seeing the clear division in Ian's eyes was something else. He saw me as different. To him I was a 'Big,' a giant, even though we shared so much in common. Despite our shared heritage, upbringing, and hometown, it felt like a vast gulf lay between us. I found myself questioning, could a relationship between us truly bridge such a gap?

"So, Ian," I began, swirling my wine glass absentmindedly, "I've got to wonder then, why invite more 'Big' complications into your life? And I'm not just talking about my height here. Diplomacy isn't my strong suit. I'm the type to leap before I look, trying to fix things without asking, often ending up in a bigger mess. As a kid, 'bossy' was a label I couldn't shake off. And sure, I've grown, tried to curb that impulse to manage everything around me out of anxiety. But when it comes to us," I paused, a sigh escaping me, "it would be complicated."

I paused, a contemplative frown on my face. "Ian, I am passionate about Nexie rights and advocating for a world where size doesn't dictate one's ability to lead a fulfilling life. Yet, I can too easily imagine myself overstepping, aiming to 'fix' your challenges because, well, because you're so tiny. I know, I know, that sounds terribly 'big'-oted, doesn't it?" I allowed myself a small grin at the pun, hoping to lighten the mood. Ian listening intently smiled as well.

"But here's the rub, Ian. You'd have to stand your ground, and push back with all your might, and still, there might be times you might not “win”. Not because you're wrong, but simply because you barely reach my knees. It's a bitter pill to swallow, it's frustrating, and I sincerely want to avoid being that overbearing 'Big'...but there's always a chance I might slip up."

What I kept from Ian was my own hesitation. The idea of having to constantly police my own behavior, to ensure I'm not accidentally steamrolling over him due to our size difference, seemed like a massive, maybe even insurmountable, challenge. The thought of constantly second-guessing whether I'm being the 'bullying giant' in our relationship, felt like an uphill battle, possibly more than I was ready to undertake.

"I don't see you as a ‘complication’ Gwen," Ian reassured me thoughtfully. "You're strong-willed, sure, but it's never been too much for me. Honestly, I've actually enjoyed our little squabbles. We haven't really had a serious fight—aside from tonight, that is. And I don't think my being a Nexie would prevent me from holding my own against you. It hasn't stopped me so far."

"But Ian, that was all online. Until now, our whole relationship was virtual. Not to downplay that, because it’s real and it mattered. But being physically together changes everything. What does everyday life for us look like now? What if you want to do something that I think is dangerous, and I say no? Or if I just decide it's easier to move you aside or tuck you under my arm without asking. It’s not that I don’t respect you. It’s just sweety…” I looked down sadly at Ian and sighed. “You’re not even three pounds. In the spur-of-the-moment if I without thinking, just decided… I don't know, just pluck you up, well physically, you can't really stop me. I've never been known for my tact or awareness. You might end up resenting me for these daily indignities." I said, feeling a bit disheartened.

"That's a valid point," Ian admitted sadly. “I may. And I’m not even assuming there is a relationship from what we had before met in person tonight. But regardless of what we are, I don't see myself as too fragile to handle being accidentally 'woman-handled' by you, and I believe I'm fully capable of standing up to you when necessary. Our superpower has always been how well we communicate. Sure, Gwen, you might not always notice everything—especially from where I'm standing," he quipped, earning a small laugh from me. "But it's not like you're callous. You've got a big heart, even if you try to keep it under wraps," he said with a grin. "I believe we could work out the kinks, find our way around the physical and emotional hurdles, and establish what works for us after a bit of trial and error."

"Ian, I'm just not sure," I admitted, feeling a tug of uncertainty. My feelings for Ian felt like they were on a seesaw.

"I get it, Gwen," Ian responded with understanding. "Tonight's been a bit of a whirlwind, hasn't it? And yes, I’ve thrown most of those curveballs. I know we’re not going to solve everything tonight. But just being here with you, face to face, that's something I'm really grateful for."

I found myself chuckling at his choice of words. "Curveballs"? That wasn't exactly the first analogy that came to my mind.

"What's got you smiling?" Ian inquired, noticing my bemused expression.

"Oh, it's nothing," I said, trying to brush it off. "Just thinking this feels more like a rollercoaster than a baseball game. You know, with all its thrills, screams, highs, and lows," I explained, my voice trailing off a bit.

Noticing Ian's downcast look, I quickly reassured him, "Ian, listen, I'm not revisiting the tearful drama from earlier. In fact, I'm glad, too. It's really nice to finally meet you in person. And you look great! Your photos and all our video chats didn't do you justice. You're very cute," I added, being very sincere.

"Just cute?" Ian shot back, a teasing glint in his eye.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God!. "You're smoking hot, okay? Happy now, you little jerk?" I laughed, throwing my hands up in mock exasperation.

"That's more like it," Ian said, feigning a dignified air, clearly enjoying the compliment.

"Ugh, you're impossible!" I laughed harder. "I'd lob a scallop your way as punishment, but I'm pretty sure it'd send you tumbling from that throne of yours."

Ian's laughter doubled. "Try it, and I'll unleash a barrage of capers with sniper-like precision before your scallop even leaves your hand!" he threatened playfully.

I squealed and I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Ok, Ok!, truce, you tiny monster. I'm not risking a food fight in my cute new dress." I said, dissolving into giggles.

"Truce accepted," Ian agreed laughing.

As our laughter waned, Ian glanced down, a contemplative look crossing his face. "I'm really enjoying myself. I'm sorry the night starte..." he began, his mood shifting.

"No, Ian, please, no more apologies," I interjected. "We seem to be going in circles, and you're right. We can't unravel all of this tonight. I think I'd rather just enjoy the moment with you."

Ian looked puzzled. "Um, isn't that what we're doing?"

"Of course, that came out wrong," I corrected myself, realizing how convoluted that must have sounded. "I mean, let's focus on the date itself. We are on a date, after all," which seemed to baffle him even further.

"Okay..." Ian responded, clearly not following. "So, what would you like to talk about?"

"Wait!" I blurted out, a mix of frustration and realization hitting me. "Ian, I'm not trying to shut down the conversation. It's not that I want to avoid 'Nexie stuff'; it's just, tonight, my thoughts are all over the place, and I might need to pause and breathe. You know how I tend to overthink everything."

Ian laughed. "That's for sure. I still remember the saga of you buying your first car."

"Why did you have to bring that up?" I groaned, though laughter was bubbling up inside me. "Choosing a color was a nightmare."

Ian's laughter grew. "Exactly! I was there, virtually holding your hand through Zoom as you weighed every option night after night.
"
"Yeah," I acknowledged, the laughter fading into a fond smile. "You were incredibly patient with me," I said warmly. "Ian, you're an amazing boyfriend."

Ian's cheeks tinged with color. "Thanks. I guess I also have my moments."

"You do," I confirmed, feeling that undeniable bond between us.

I just sat there looking at him. There was the feeling again. That old spark I'd felt during our Discord chats and Zoom dates, the random texts that brightened my days, it was all there, cozy, and familiar like my favorite worn barn coat. Except now, there were butterflies fluttering in my belly, probably because Ian was actually within reach. Seeing him in person, so much smaller than me, yet feeling this tug of attraction—it was both wonderful and odd. There were moments, amidst our laughter and playful teasing, when I could just let go and soak in the joy of being together.

Yet, every time I realized I was fully present in that joy, my brain would kick back in, loaded with all those tricky questions about how a relationship between a 'normal' girl and a Nexie could possibly work. "Come on, Gwen," I mentally nudged myself, "Take your own advice - just be with Ian. He’s in almost every way, the same guy you fell in love with. "

Snapping back to the present, I realized I had blanked out and was staring at Ian with probably the goofiest look on my face.

"Gwen? You alright?" He looked at me, slightly bewildered.

"Whoops! Sorry, Ian. Just got lost in my thoughts for a moment there. I think that’s how I survived all the lockdowns, just being utterly zoned out. Who needs drugs when you've got a brain like mine?" I joked, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

Ian chuckled. "Find any hidden treasures in that brain of yours?"

"Nah, I just got sidetracked by how lovely this place is. Feels like we've been whisked away to a quaint café in the French countryside, doesn't it? These scallops are amazing. What do you think?"

“They’re fantastic!” Ian agreed, though his ongoing battle with the oversized fork had left his meal largely untouched.

"That fork's proving to be a bit of a challenge, huh?" I asked with a mix of amusement and concern in my voice.

Ian gave a good-natured laugh. "Yeah, it might be time to start packing my own utensils while I’m waiting for Afton to become more Nexie friendly.” Then, as if struck by an epiphany, he laughed and shook his head. "I’m such an idiot!" He shot me a playful look. "Don't you dare say it," he warned with a smirk.

Trying to keep a straight face, I asked, "Say what?" feigning innocence.

Shaking his head, Ian rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what. Hey, could you flag down Chloe for us?"

I looked up - As if on cue, Chloe zoomed past just as I signaled for her attention.

She pivoted to our table and immediately apologized, assuming we were inquiring about our main course. "I'm so sorry, your order will be out shortly!"

"Oh, no worries at all, Chloe," Ian reassured her. "The scallops are wonderful! Could we possibly get a cocktail toothpick, though?" Ian's request seemed to take her by surprise.
"A cocktail toothpick? Sure…Sure thing! I'll be right back with that," she promised, darting off once more.

Ian shook his head, amused at his own oversight. "I can't believe I overlooked something so simple as alternative tools. Toothpicks as fork substitutes are like, day one stuff in Independent Living Skills class," Ian mused aloud.

I nodded, impressed. "That's actually pretty smart."

Ian pointed an accusatory finger at me, his tone playful. "This is your doing, I bet."

"Mine? How's this my fault?" I protested laughing.

“I think, you’re using your overthinking powers to addle my wits!” he accused, teasing.

"And why on earth would I do that?" I managed to say between fits of laughter.

Ian tried for solemn but landed on adorably puzzled instead. "How am I supposed to know the evil machinations of your mind?"

"Oh, you've got me, Ian," I confessed dramatically. “I am indeed employing my colossal mind powers, thanks to my not-so-little giant enchantress nature, to scramble your wee idiot brain and make you even…dumber.”

"Aha! I knew it!" Ian, feigning shock. "But how's that even remotely fair? You've got giant strength, invulnerability, AND psychic powers?"

He sounded like he was describing a formidable NPC out of D&D. What? Don’t Judge me! Virtual D&D became very popular during the pandemic and really, isn't the whole 'nerd' label a bit outdated by now?
I leaned back in my chair, making a show of recrossing my legs, and smiled flirtatiously, "It seems like you've pegged me as a cloud giant, which, honestly, isn't too far off the mark for someone of my... considerable attributes. Being extraordinarily large, unfathomably strong, and supremely clever?" I shrugged, with a smirk.

"Anyway, It’s not my fault.” I said innocently. “Hate the game not the player, right?” My eyes narrowed and I looked at Ian seductively, a hint of mischief in my eyes. "So, what's it gonna be, short stuff? Shall I fry your brain with my psychic powers or simply crush you underfoot?"

Ian's laughter came to an abrupt halt, and he shot me this look, a whirlwind of emotions playing across his face. My own laughter fizzled out, leaving me with a warm flush of embarrassment. "Ian,
I'm really sorry," I blurted, as I stumbled over my words. "I got a little too caught up in the moment. I wouldn't actually..."

I mentally kicked myself. I went too far. The hitch is I'm totally clueless on how to flirt with a Nexie. With Ian, it's like navigating uncharted seas—he's so incredibly tiny, and I can't stop obsessing over it. I find myself making comments about his size, which he seems to either find amusing or maybe he just enjoys the back-and-forth of our verbal duels. Perhaps it's my own brand of cute aggression that he finds charming.

The truth is, in spite of this new reality, I’m still crazy about Ian, but my kind of crazy is definitely on the more fiery side. Our conversations have always felt more like verbal wrestling than hearts and flowers. Under normal circumstances, we'd probably skipped dinner and be tussling on his couch right now, but given our differences in size, well... it’s complicated.

I discovered that mixing my naturally aggressive sparring with Ian while also trying to wrap my head around the whole him-being-a-Nexie has led to moments of going overboard. I'd start off with playful flirting, trying to get a reaction out of him. And then, I find myself saying something totally over the top like, "What if I smushed you like a bug?" And suddenly, I realized, I’m crossed a line. Because for many Nexies, the possibility of being stepped on is an everyday fear for them.

But Ian jumped in before I could spiral further into my apology. "It's alright, Gwen," he said, cutting through my babble with a calmness that put me at ease. "I knew you were just joking. Though…It's not exactly the kind of comment you'd want to throw around a Nexie, but... I'm not bothered."

His inflection and expression shifted, hinting at a deeper interest. Was that… desire? I straightened up, instinctively leaning in closer to him. "Bothered by what?" I whispered, hoping my voice sounded as sultry as I intended. "By the idea that I could step on you, or the mention of my feet?"

Ian didn't say a word; instead, his face bloomed with an even deeper shade of red. In a perfect world, the one where our story was the plot of a romantic comedy and Ian wasn't a Nexie, I would have playfully nudged his ankle with my toe. But here he was, perched on his high chair, his tiny ankles out of reach, leaving my only option to gently bob my leg in a teasing motion, foot pointed just so, in a bid to give him a better view.

"Does this bother you?" I asked, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper, fully aware of the charged atmosphere between us.

In case you’re wondering, Ian has....well… let's say a unique appreciation for feet.

Yes diary, a few months back during one of our Zoom dates. We were deep into sharing our sexual likes, dislikes, and those little fantasies you usually keep under wraps. Towards the very end, Ian nervously shared his fondness for women’s feet. You could tell he was bracing for me to burst out laughing or pass some kind of judgment, but honestly, I was totally okay with it. To me, my feet are just that—feet. Mine are on the larger side, not exactly something I've ever celebrated, but I've never given them much thought beyond that. Ian, though, acted like he was confessing some deep, dark sin.

But here's my take: it's all just anatomy, right? Guys have their preferences—be it a girl’s ass, breasts, or legs. Labeling one interest a "fetish" and the others merely preferences seems a bit unfair. Finding out Ian was into my feet was actually kind of refreshing. Typically, the first thing guys zero in on are my breasts, and let's be real, that gets old fast. The catcalls, the unwanted advances, it's utterly exhausting.
But Ian? His in-person desire was to treat me to new shoes and foot massages, which, let's be honest, sounds pretty fabulous. Not to downplay it —Ian definitely appreciates my other... ahem, attributes just as much as any guy. But he handles it like such a gentleman.

So, I'm more than happy to play along, to indulge his foot fascination. That's why I treated myself to a pedicure and slipped into some stunning 4-inch heels.

Ian finally broke the silence, his tone laced with mock annoyance. "So, this is your game, Gwen? Waving your foot at me as if it's some kind of threat?" he said, trying to sound irritated but the playfulness in his voice was unmistakable. "I'm hardly so tiny that you could just step on me. And frankly,” he sniffed “I'm not the least bit bothered," he added, though I noticed a slight falter in his assured demeanor.

"Why would I ever do something like that, Ian?" I responded, feigning surprise. "Use my li'l ol’ foot to intimidate you? Oh, you're absolutely right, stepping on you isn't something I could manage even if I wanted to," I said, adding a touch of flirtation to my voice. "I'm relieved we've got that sorted. But tell me, Ian, are you sure this doesn’t bother you?" I subtly lifted my leg, gracefully pointing my toes in a dancer's demi-point, making my long legs seem endless. Leaning forward, I caught his gaze with a seductive look, gently biting my lip.

I playfully nudged Ian's highchair with my foot, giving it a gentle shake. "Oops," I squeaked in a girlish lilt. "I’m so sorry. Did I scare you, 'wittle' man?"

I couldn't suppress my smile, fully aware of the flutter I was causing in Ian. "Gwen, I know what you doi..." Ian managed, his voice wavering.

"What Ian?" I cut in, "What am I doing?" I replied childlike while playfully biting on my fingertip.

Ian's eyes were glued to my foot as it subtly caressed the leg of his highchair, his cheeks blossoming with a rosy flush that spoke volumes. "You're terrible, Gwen!" he exclaimed, his laughter betraying his feigned disapproval. "You’re such a giant brat!"
"It feels like I’m really bothering you, Ian," I murmured, my voice low and flirtatious. "Is this bothering you? Should I stop?" I challenged, my words dripping with an invitation for more.

He barely managed a "No," his voice thick with desire.

"Are you sure?" I pressed on, enjoying the playful tension. "Because Ian…I really don’t want to bother you," I added, keeping him locked in my gaze, compelling him to meet mine.

Ian's attempt at feigned annoyance was betrayed by his barely stifled laugh, his struggle to stay composed making his reactions all the more amusing. "I think I've had enough of your foolishness," he said, trying to sound stern but the smile creeping through suggested he was far from displeased.

I gently lifted my foot away from Ian's highchair, giving it a playful twist to offer him a prime view of my sandals. "What do you think of my heels, Ian?" I asked, a playful innocence in my tone as I teasingly bit my fingertip. "They're Sam Edelman's. I just had to have them when I saw them at Anthropologie last week, thinking they'd be perfect for our date." I let the words hang in the air for a moment before softening my voice to that of a tempting siren.

“I just thought a man such as yourself. A man of…umm… your stature would have quite the insight into women's shoes. After all, being at such a close vantage point to the ground must give you a keen eye for detail, especially for something as exquisite as a pair of designer heels," I mused, my voice woven with playful seduction.

"Do you like them?" I inquired, my tone dripping with honey.

At this point, I had completely demolished Ian’s cool exterior and reduced him to a flustered smile and endearingly brief responses. "Yes," was all he could muster, clearly caught up in the moment.
I lost myself weaving this web of seduction with Ian, each musing more teasing than the last, while my foot, the center of his attention, moved in a deliberate, seductive dance. It felt like I was orchestrating his reactions, each move calculated yet effortless. There's something about connecting with someone on that level, noticing how they're tuned into your every gesture. It was surprisingly…arousing.

Caught up in the moment, my gaze drifted from Ian to the gentle sway of my foot. Suddenly, a curious thought popped into my head: "Being a size 10 means my feet are a little over 10 inches long, doesn't it?" That made me glance at Ian, mentally sizing him up next to my foot.. My mind wandered off on a bit of a mathematical journey, comparing sizes. And then it hit me—my feet are more than half his height. "In Ian's eyes, my feet must look nearly three and a half feet long!" The awareness of my size, so stark and unadorned, left me momentarily taken aback. I suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness overwhelm me. "Oh my God, I'm fucking enormous!" I silently panicked. And just like that, the spell was broken; my foot came to a sudden stop, the heel of my sandal hitting the floor with a distinct clack. "No wonder they call us 'thuds,'" I thought ruefully.

“Wait.” I said out loud. Waking up as if from a daydream, I caught myself in a whirlwind of emotions. "Hold on, what's happening here?" I questioned myself, utterly perplexed by the rollercoaster of feelings I was experiencing with Ian. All in the span of a few hours. I went from being totally giddy, practically ready to pounce on him on our first real date. Then, feeling furious upon actually seeing him, wishing I could somehow make him feel even smaller— to belittle and humiliate him simply because he didn't match up to what I had envisioned.

Yet, after we sat down and talked, really talked, a sense of understanding washed over me, leading to a reluctant acceptance. I had quietly shifted Ian into the friend zone in my mind – a move that stung more than I wanted to admit, telling myself that this was all it could ever be. And now, in a bewildering twist, I found my feelings circling back, drawn to him once more. It's confounding. How am I falling for a man who stands at a mere 18 inches tall? How is this supposed to work in, like, any scenario ever?

Glancing over at Ian, I noticed his face, flushed with desire, looking as though he'd just been snapped out of a trance. "Gw...Gwen," he managed to get out. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, look, Ian," I replied dodging the question, because, honestly, where do I even start? "Our food's here. I'm starving. Aren't you?"