You sit on the cold, metallic floor of the locker, surrounded by your “little” sister’s gargantuan personal belongings, sweating up a storm around you, despite the coolness of your surroundings.  As per usual, you have no way to actually judge how much time has passed, but you’d place it at roughly an hour and a half that you’ve been sitting here, maybe even a little bit more.  It’s only a matter of time before Carly’s practice ends and she wears you home in her used gym shoes to complete the day-long lesson.  Already your muscles and back are sore; just leaning forward is extremely uncomfortable, and after you spent some time just walking around the perimeter of the locker just to try and get your mind off your impending doom, you realize that you’ve developed a painful burning sensation in your right ankle, forcing you to limp a little to get around.  And that was just from the six hours of Carly walking calmly around school.  And THAT was when she was wearing her felt-lined moccasins, doing no physical activity.  Now, however, she’s going to trap you inside her gym shoe, already sopping with her sweat, and then she’s going to cover you up with her blistered feet from a three mile run and a pounding basketball drill period.  You shudder, realizing just how far you’ve forced your body to go in the past almost-four days, narrowly avoiding death on several occasions.  You know that you won’t keep getting this lucky forever (“lucky” being the operative word for what you’ve been forced to endure to save your life).  This could very well be the thing that retires you from existence.

                Just by chance, something catches your eye, in the corner.  It’s only a flash, but it’s enough to catch your attention.  You look up high to the top corner of the gym locker, and see a small little patch of dim light, which is odd to you, considering the fact that there’s only three bar openings in the locker to allow light in in three sections on the base of the locker.  What’s even stranger and more interesting to you, though, is what the dim light seems to be illuminating.  The entire locker is a dark blue, which must have been painted a couple decades ago because the paint is peeling in several sections.  However, on the spot that the light shines in a little circle, you don’t just see peeling paint.  You see brown, crusty covering, flaking off heavily.  Rust.  And the layer actually appears thinner, as if there was a developing hole in the locker at the top corner.

                Which means there is potentially a way out of your current fate.

                Frantically, your eyes begin searching for the source of the dim light circle.  You realize that Carly’s purse, which she put in the locker, has a coin pocket in the side that Carly happened to leave open when she tossed it into the locker for practice.  A single quarter fell out of it, and happens to be sitting in a ray of light coming in through the opening in the door, bouncing a slight bit of the beam up to the corner.  You rush for it, heaving it up as if it were a weighted plate from your workouts and angle it to reflect the light where you want, standing in the ray.  You move it slowly, trying to aim for the corner with the sparse bit of light you have.  As you reflect it upward, inching it across the top corner, you suddenly see half of the beam disappear, hitting a jut.  There’s clearly an irregularity up there in the corner.  You walk as far to the side of the light source that you can while still beaming up the corner with the coin, praying that you can see far enough.  The light is fully cut off at this point.  There’s a break somewhere in that rusted corner, and thusly there’s a way to escape, at long last.

                You drop the coin with a little clinking sound on the metal as you walk closer to the side.  The light illuminating the floor of the locker allows you to see a small portion of the locker wall, leading upward.  These lockers happen to have small juts cut into a bit larger than holepunched slots on standard pieces of paper, except in the metal.  They don’t lead anywhere, but they do happen to be placed all along the side of the locker as far as you can see.  You’re willing to guess they continue up to the top.  Despite your aching body and hurt ankle, you once again become aware of the necessary steps to ensure your survival for the rest of the day, at least.

                Even for your size, the holes are still not quite large enough for you to comfortably fit your entire hand in, which definitely presents a problem.  The same is true for your foot.  Your plan is to climb this wall, as you so often do on the attached rock climbing wall at the fitness center, but obviously this time you have no emergency rope, it’s in pitch black for about 70% of the climb, and the grips are barely large enough for you to get any kind of support for yourself.  Not to mention how desperately you feel you cannot do it, having little energy left.  But you have to try.  You cross your fingers over each other, mostly utilizing your three middle fingers, and place them in the small jut in the wall, pulling yourself up and planting the front of your foot (the only part thin enough to comfily into the hole).  Then you begin to climb, placing one hand and one foot over the other as you familiarize yourself with the necessary weight to allow to hang downward as you go.  After about two minutes of climbing, though, you are exiting the dim light patch that shines on the wall, entering the entirely black part, where you can’t see ahead of you at all.

                Looking up, you can use the small dim circle of light on the corner as a guide, knowing what direction to go even if you can’t see the path.  Already your hands are sweating, both from the tiredness on your sore body and the fear overtaking you as you climb.  To you, you’re easily about three stories up at this point, and falling means falling onto a hard, metal surface, leaving little chance of survival in your condition.

                You continue pushing on through the darkness, seeing the dim light get closer and closer, your legs and arms beginning to object from the small amount of support they’re getting; however, you push on through.  Finally, as the patch comes within striking distance, you are forced to cover up the small patch of light you had as a reference with your body as you get closer.  Searching for another handhold, you don’t find one.  Willing yourself to not look down, you slide your hand around the dusty upper corner of the locker, searching.  Eventually, you brush up against the flaky rust, and it feels thin and brittle.  Planting yourself in the position of best support, you push against it with all your might, and feel it crack in a little spray of rusty dust, the chunk falling through to the other side.  You feel around the space.  It’s small, but you can feel it would definitely fit your body through if you were in the right angle.

                You shift your weight to the side, allowing the light to shine on the hole for one last second so you can get a quick visual in your brain before scaling it.  Then, taking a deep breath and ignoring your aching biceps, you go for it, grabbing the other side of the hole with an arm for support.  For a brief, stomach-churning instant of chilling fear you feel your toes almost lose the foothold, but you find it again, pushing upward so you are level with the hole in the locker.  Lifting a leg, you place it through to the other side while hanging tightly with your clammy hands to the rusty rim of the hole, sliding around to the other side.  After a brief search, your toes find the foothold on the other side and you are able to grasp it, flipping your entire body through with a careful contortion of your shape to fit, sending a small spray of rust dust down into the darkness.  You look down.  Your stomach flips over again as you remember how high up you are, probably about the equivalent of 8 stories or so, although you can only guess.  However, you can see that the locker door isn’t shut all the way, as a small crack of light is streaming in onto the back wall of the space.  You can get out.  Gulping, you know that this is going to be the difficult part.

                You begin down, using one foot at a time to guide the way down, searching for the next hold, hanging on for dear life with the toes of your other foot to stay up on the juts, and then putting your weight back down on the lower foot.  Just breathe.  Just breathe, you tell yourself.  One foot below the other, weight down.  One foot below the other, weight down.  Your hands get sweatier and you tighten your grip to lower the likelihood of slipping.

                After what feels like roughly a half hour of work, your foot touches glorious, cold metallic ground.  You let yourself fall down with a small clinking sound, letting your body readjust to having solid ground below you and not having to fear that a slight slip of your fingers would send you tumbling.  Not wasting another moment, you try to catch your breath while jogging to the crack in the door.  It’s small, but of course just perfect for you.  You go into a laying down position, sliding out like a fish onto the wooden bench just below.

                You look around quickly, getting a sense for your surroundings.  Across the strange cavern of the locker room, you can see identical dark blue lockers stretching on and around the corner.  Scattered around, you can see open locker doors, a water bottle here or a rumpled shirt there, just lying on the benches.  Immediately to your right sits a pair of basketball shorts, a light baggy containing toiletry items, and a humongous pair of green flip-flops.  For a moment, the flip-flops force you to do a double take.  You step forward, and in awe, your eyes lock to them, not entirely certain of why.  You look at the center, a small valley dug in where the ball and heel were placed, grime lining the zigzagging, creased design of them. 

After a moment, you wonder what it could be that’s drawing your eyes to these.  Somehow, there’s something different about them.  You’ve been near Carly’s flip-flops, and even though those were gargantuan, these are a different story.  For a moment, you wonder if you’ve shrunken even more, but of course that idea is quickly defeated once you look around the room, scientifically affirming to yourself that nothing extraordinary has happened to you in the last few minutes.  The sheer size of the flip-flops is really what’s bothering you.  Something in the shoe catches your eye.  You step forward to get a better view, the lamplight bouncing off a small, peeling black mark in the shoe, written in decaying Sharpie just under where the heel would be.

“JENNY”

You feel your blood turn to ice water, your breathing going up again.  Don’t panic, you tell yourself.  Just get hidden, stay out of sight, and everything will be…

At that moment, you hear a door slam somewhere around the corners of the long, winding canyons of blue lockers.  Footsteps, slamming, loud, but not like Carly’s, it’s not an authoritative step, it’s simply a powerful step, and even at this size, you can sort of distinguish the difference.  The pounding gets louder, and suddenly from around the corner, you see the skyscraping back of the absolutely monumental Jenny, walking backwards as she continues talking to one of her friends around the corner of this locker pod, placing one of those massive hands in a tight grip on the locker corner for balance.  Her form is incredibly monstrous, her long, smooth, muscular legs completely exposed, stretching on for what seems like half a football field.  Clearly an exaggeration, but to you, little seems like an exaggeration.  You watch as Jenny doubles over a little, laughing at something funny just said by her friend, her butt sticking out in the air, that massive ass that humiliated you so many months ago at normal size.  By default, your brain wanders… picturing what would happen if the same happened to you at this size.

Once again, you look down and see a stream of piss puddling on the wooden ground in front of you.  But you don’t blame yourself in the slightest.

Time seems to snap back to reality, and you look around, frantic, for a hiding place.  The locker behind you might work, but if Jenny happens to look in there, there’s no place to hide yourself.  It’s curtains at that point.

Seeing few other options and barely taking a moment to realize what you’re doing to yourself, you take a flying leap onto the flip-flop, sprinting over the squishy, dirty foam and then take a mad leap off the top, landing in the small, plastic tote of personal items.  You sink to the bottom, falling past what feels like a portable bottle of shampoo and a wadded up tissue.  You move a couple things aside, able to see a small crack of light and the area outside on the bench.  All you hear for a moment is your labored breathing until, with a loud smack that sends a shockwave into your body and sends you rolling over, Jenny’s ass comes slamming down, mere inches from the outside of the bag.  Your view is entirely consumed with the deep folds of her white basketball shorts.  You begin to tremble, wishing she’d just get up and go away so you can continue your escape plans.

But she doesn’t.  And after a minute of terrified watching and praying that your sister’s Amazonian and equally sadistic friend, now the size of the damned Chrystler building, will get up and leave, you see her fingers, grasping the sides of her butt at the top.  Wondering what’s going on, you suddenly see her fingers, locked into the rim of her shorts, descending.  And then the holey, porous material of the white shorts disappears, and suddenly you see, revealed on the wooden bench, the pale cheeks of Jenny, contained now only partially by her underwear, which stretches around her waist in a thin strap.

You hear a ruffling sound as Jenny’s shorts hit the floor, and then you see her hands struggling on the bottom of her workout penny, pulling it up and out of sight.  The cold runs from your spine, down your legs and into your numbed toes.  Please, please, please go away, just change and go away.

But she doesn’t, just like before.  And suddenly, your view is abruptly cut off at the opening as it is squeezed together by Jenny’s absolutely gigantic hand, her fingers twisting powerfully around the plastic bag and sending you into the odd-smelling, darkened pocket.  The ground underneath the thin plastic layer suddenly disappears, and your body goes flying upward, hitting the top of the bag and rolling onto the side of the tossed shampoo bottle as the bag comes to a specific level, probably Jenny’s waist.  It then begins to swing wildly, and you are tossed like a ragdoll around the bag.  With a final swing, you go slamming into the shampoo bottle hard, striking it with your eye.  Your vision goes blurry for a second, the eye you hit in particular seeing blue spots as you blink it away quickly.  You feel your eye, and discover a tough, bruised sensation; you’ve probably got a black eye there now.

And a second later, the bag is opening at the top.  Now sitting at the bottom, hiding under the wadded up tissues, you watch in horror as Jenny’s long, spindly fingers slide into the bag, letting in the light.  Out of the corner, you see her eye, peeking into the bag for whatever it is she’s searching for.  You know that you can’t stay hidden under the tissues for long.

Your heart pounding a mile a minute, you dig your sides into the plastic behind you, and suddenly find something rough and flaky feeling, dry and with small, net-like sections.  Then, your hand finds an opening in the side, a small hole.  Not wasting another second questioning what you’re doing, you’re forced to back up, squeezing yourself into the sizeable hole before you’re discovered.  There’s a great deal of waterproof foam inside, stretched firmly against the net-like material surrounding it in wings and dips.  You crawl further inside, your body pressed hard against the nets.  At least you’re hidden.  You watch Jenny’s meaty fingers sliding across the bottom right where you had been crouching a few seconds before, pinching at the plastic.  You shiver at what might have transpired if you were still in that spot right now.

Suddenly, her watch as her fingers slide over the ragged net-like material, pinching it.  You dodge your head to the side as Jenny grips it hard, pressing into the foam in the middle, your head now squarely between her pressurized pointer and middle fingers.  You straighten your body to make room, terrified anew, as you feel the object lifting up, Jenny’s grip tightening into the netting material, forcing it to go taut and holding you firmly in place.  You can’t move a muscle.  And then, as you come into the light, Jenny holding the object you’re now trapped inside of at her waist, your view shifts down, where you can see her absolutely massive size 10s far below, sitting like hungry panthers on the ground.  You cringe in pain just imagining what some of the previous day’s activities would have been like if Carly’s feet were that large.  Somehow, you manage to find something to be thankful for.  Somehow.

You suddenly go careening through the air as if on a strap-in seat roller coaster, rolling on the side as Jenny shifts her grip.  Your mind still reeling, you look around and realize where you are: the locker room group shower area.  From your perch at a lower diagonal angle to a level view with the room, you see another girl, also in her underwear since it’s a community show, already beginning to lather up, steam rising from the hot water as it washes over her massive, sweaty body, matting her short red hair to her neck.   You’re not sure you recognize her, but you definitely don’t feel like sticking around to try it.  And finally, the dizziness beginning to subside for a moment, the truth hits your mind like a train.  You’re currently trapped inside Jenny’s loofah, as she’s about to take a shower.

Suddenly, the thing you found yourself thankful for a moment ago doesn’t seem so great.  Nothing seems great to you at this moment, come to think of it.  Quickly scolding yourself, you actually catch yourself wishing you were back under the foot of your sister in her shoe, as at that point, she’s at least aware of you and partially not prone to killing you on purpose.

Could Jenny still be mad at you?  Surely not.  People forgive people after that much time.  Jenny’s a strong girl, she’d shrug it off.  Right?

You don’t have time to ponder it, as a minute later, you suddenly see a massive wall of lye soap, bubbles and streams of water sliding down its slick form, coming at you, Jenny’s long fingers pressed hard into the soft edges of it as she grips it, coming at you like a brick wall.  You shut your eyes, trying to prepare yourself.

But you can’t prepare yourself for the body shot you take next as the soap strikes you squarely, your entire body rammed so hard the wind gets knocked out of you while simultaneously sending painful stings all over your body.  You cringe, shaking, and actually make a small squeal of pain, but from the loudness of the showers it goes unheard.  Then, it comes again, mashing you backward into the foam behind you with a slam from its hard outer surface in the center.  You can smell the lilac scent already covering your body and most of the loofah, but you can taste it too, trickling down into your mouth from the net as you struggle to regain your breath through your mouth, the awful, bitter taste paining your burnt throat.

You feel a vibration across the foam and net, and you can see just to the right of your netted section, Jenny’s hand is ravaging the soap hard across the loofah to get it soapy.  Your body already covered in deep suds, you try to shake loose, being a little more slippery, but it’s still no use, having one of Jenny’s thick, muscular fingers mere inches from your head, pinning it in place with the tight net like a butterfly spread out on a pin box.

And then, you feel the trickle of warm water washing over your soapy body, easing the steadily growing soreness all over the net shape of your body as the rough material pressed down on you like a chain link fence.  As Jenny turns around, squeezing a little harder into the loofah as she prepares to face the shower, the hot stream swallows your face, followed by the powerful stream of warm water from the shower, striking you hard like dozens of pressurized firefighter hoses all spraying onto you.  You tremble, trying to draw away from the sting caused on all surfaces of your body by the heavy stream, but this is of course futile.

The vibrating stops, and Jenny’s arm reaches back, allowing you for the briefest second to see her nearly nude body in all of its massive entirety, stretching down her arm to her shoulder, down her flat abs and all the way to those incredibly long legs, ending with her truck-sized feet. This just lasts for a second, as suddenly you’re being yanked back in, and moment later, you’re being compressed directly between the loofah foam and the soft neck of Jenny as she scrubs the loofah all around.  You feel the soap on your own body coming loose and smearing onto Jenny’s neck, still somewhat greasy smelling from the practice, even with all this soapy haze.  She rubs hard, back and forth, rhythmically, and you are suddenly painfully reminded of Carly using you as her personal foot lotion applicant.  However, this is so much worse, as there’s of course no reason to hold back any of Jenny’s immense strength, and as she presses into her skin, harder and harder, you can almost feel her throat underneath, and it itself begins scratching at you in tandem with the rough nets of the loofah.  After rubbing raggedly on your entire body, around and around her neck and down to her somewhat bumpy shoulders, you feel a small tear in your chest as one of your wounds reopens in response to this brutality.

“You were great out there today, girl!” comes the almost musical voice of the red head from what seems like a mile away, as you close your eyes and try your best to ignore the pain, focusing instead on sounds rather than physical feelings.  This has little effect; with a hard scrape along Jenny’s bicep, the rolling hill of hard flesh underneath grinding along your helpless, raw form, you feel a second scratch reopen on your chest.

“Thanks, Allie.   Can you BELIEVE how hard coach drove us today on that 5K?  She was right next to my ear practically the whole time, yelling at me to get going faster!” you hear Jenny boom somewhere above you, although as you continue sliding around along her arms, feeling the muscular and warm grooves of her recently used muscles, it’s a little muffled sounding.  Your body careens in all directions, suddenly going straight down as you feel your heart drop into your chest as Jenny slides the loofah, dragging you right along, down her long and (at this size) curvy hip, the ground below you seeming almost to spin upside down.  A third scratch reopens.

“Oh, she’s just a slave driver, don’t pay any attention to her, and besides, you’re her star player, she needs you to look like an Olympic girl,” says Allie jokingly.

“Yeah, I know, but she still pisses me off a little…”

“Is something wrong?”

“Not really, I guess, my parents are just being kind of rough on me because I was out past ten last weekend on Saturday night.”

“TEN?  They sound like jerks…”

“They are, but it’s no problem.  I can handle them.”

“I bet you can!” laughs Allie.  She comes into view for the briefest second as you are driven back up Jenny’s other hip and into her smooth armpit, gliding upside down along her other arm, the stench from her run infecting you.  Your cheeks are stained with wetness from the shower, Jenny’s greasy sweat leaking all over you, and your own watering eyes as you struggle unsuccessfully to ignore the gnawing stinging in your upper torso.  Despite Jenny’s smooth skin, particularly in her armpit, the ferocity with which she rubs you into this spot still wears hard on you.  Your entire body is now just cringing continuously, in so much stinging pain and crushing bruises from almost every angle.  You close your eyes, willing it to end, just wanting the pain to conclude so you can breathe.

“I was feeling a little sorry for Carly today, the poor girl wasn’t making any of her 3-points…” you hear Jenny boom.

“I saw her.  Do you think something’s wrong?”

Jenny chuckles loudly.  “I’ll BET there is, and I’ll bet I know what it is, too.”

“What?”

“Her older brother.”

“She’s told me about him!  GOD, what a jerk.”

“I know, right?  I’ve actually met him, Carly and I were just trying to prank him a little because he threw Carly down a mud cliff on a camping trip.”

“What the hell!  How can he…”

“I know!  But that wasn’t all, after we got him, we were just gonna leave, and you know what he did? He got up and blew his stack at me, like it was just me that did anything.”

“Oh my God!  What did you say to him?”

You hear Jenny’s deep giggle again.  “I told him to take a hike and get a girlfriend.”

Despite the incredible pain and soreness ravaging you as you go sliding effortlessly down Jenny’s long, powerful left leg, a fourth scratch reopening, you almost want to laugh.  Jenny’s obviously not proud of the childlike response she gave to your yells after being released from the couch, so she clearly feels the need to cover it up now.

“You’re too nice, girl, I would have told him more than that…”

“Yeah, maybe I should have, but hey, you can’t reason with jerks like him.”

“No kidding!  So do you think Carly’s okay?”

“I think so, I’ll have to talk to her though…” says Jenny.  As the loofah reaches her foot, your heart goes into a second level of overdrive.  You are rammed along the bone of her ankle, your body compressing the numerous veins lining her foot top and sticking out.  Then, you’re suddenly along the top of her toes, being dragged across them roughly, each toe individually knocking your chin upward, running along your body hard as each passes quickly.  Her pinky toe curls upward as she pulls you across it, hitting your dick ridiculously hard and sending you into a blind, dizzy spasm of pain originating in your gut.  You want desperately to collapse on the floor and try to work through the pain, but you are still stretched perfectly straight and exposed inside the netted loofah, your dick actually prodding unhelpfully between two strings of the netting, ready to be smacked mercilessly by the passing vertical valleys and fields that encompass Jenny’s goddess-sized form.

Then suddenly, you note with horror that Jenny’s foot is actually lifting.  As it does, you can see her wrinkled, sweaty soles, soaked by the shower, with soap suds stuck in the cracks of her wrinkles.  As she lifts it and brings your body closer and closer, you unable to object or fight back in any way, the effect is like lifting up a coffin after a few decades, as if the sweat had been precariously trapped and contained underneath Jenny’s soles like an evil spirit, released finally for your detriment.

As in your rather surreal dream, the wave of smell is not quite as sweet or mild (mild being the relative word here) of your little sister’s.  Instead, it’s a gruffer, more earthy smell, as if Jenny was some gigantic defender of the forests who lived among the trees and the soil.  As it hits you, your nose can barely react before your body is being pressed against the deep, soapy wrinkles, jamming hard into you.  Even when wet, you can feel how thick Jenny’s foot flesh is, still managing to compress hard into your entire body all at once.  You feel dirty soap scum flakes getting into your throat as you struggle for oxygen, spitting it out as fast as you can, only to have it replaced with a layer of dried grime from Jenny’s heel, which you next find yourself being ground up against.  Out of instinct and desire for a single fresh breath inside this enclosed space of rotting sweat and dirt, you open your mouth fully, and feel a shallow, grooved wrinkle actually fill up your mouth, blocking your air and covering your tongue in the rancid, hard flavors of Jenny’s flesh.  Another scratch opens again.  You look down and see a similar effect to the ball of Carly’s foot, the thin, barely viewable trail of your blood from your chest being trekked along Jenny’s pale, filthy heel, the tiny crimson droplets becoming trapped hopelessly inside the deep folds of flesh.  She continues sweeping, your vision blurry as the shadowed wall of long foot flesh sways along you, driving you from the thick, dry heel into the gruesomely smelly sole, seeping Jenny’s walloping excretion into your defiant lips with each stroke.

Then, with a refreshing wave of fresh steam and air, you are yanked out from underneath Jenny’s oppressive ped, being whipped quickly through the air and up to her head, where you find yourself digging through the forest of dark brunette hair, matted so heavily together because of the sweat.  However, despite the uncomfortable feeling of having the thick hair strands stretching across you like barbed wire, Jenny doesn’t press nearly as hard into her hair as she did all over the rest of her disgustingly overworked body, and you finally have a moment to collect your thoughts, trying desperately to realign your pain sensors before the next brutal attack to your body.  You imagine that this is what boxers feel like near the end of the match, bleeding out of both eyes, their noses and hands broken, their bodies a swollen pulp.  You look down and that’s honestly not too far from what you are; you groan, a quick swish of brown hair rushing past your cheeks and slapping you as it does, allowing you to see the bruised and bleeding remains of yourself.  You can feel a thickening sensation around your eye as the black bruise forms around it. Absentmindedly and mostly out of raging sarcasm, you wonder if Jenny will mind terribly having your blood used in addition to the soap to wash her hair.

“I just… wish I could help her out…” booms Jenny suddenly.

“How?  With her brother, you mean?”

“Yeah, that’s right.  GOD, what I want to do to that stupid jerk…”

“Isn’t he bigger than you?”

You hear the chuckle and can almost picture Jenny smirking spitefully.  “Yeah, but not for long.  He’s only an inch or so taller than me, and Daddy says I’m at about 6’ 1 ½” now,” you hear her state proudly.

“DAMN, you’re one voluptuous piece of woman, aren’t you?” says Allie jokingly, in an overly dramatic voice as if speaking about a supermodel.

“Got that right,” comes the response, just as jokingly.

“So what are you gonna do anyway, beat him up?” says Allie with a laugh.

“Oh, calm down, Allie, I know I can’t really do anything.  GOD, I just want to so badly.  Just punch him in the face or something.”

“He’d probably punch you back; he sounds like the kind of guy who’d hit a girl.”

“Oh, he is!  He trips and hits Carly all the time; I don’t know how she puts up with it.”

“Seriously?  No way…”

“Yes way.  Boy, if only he was a little smaller…”

“He’d still probably hit you…”

“No, no, I mean a LOT smaller…”

“What are you TALKING bout, girl?”

Jenny chuckles.  “Oh, you know I’m just playing.  I can dream, right?   Seriously, think about it, if he was really tiny, like SUPER tiny.”

“What?” said Allie disbelievingly, evidently deciding to just put up with Jenny’s rant.

“Like, small enough to fit in my hand or something.”

You hear a loud snort from across the shower.  “Uh-huh, yeah, keep dreaming girl.  There’s a lot of guys I kinda wish were like that so they weren’t so freaking hard to deal with.  What would you do with him, anyway?”

Water whips your face as you are finally pulled from the matted forest of hair, Jenny’s fingers squeezing even harder into the loofah and actually cutting into your skin in a few places with the ragged netting surrounding the foam.  You squeal again in pain, feeling a new trickle of blood coming from a couple small cuts on your shoulders.  She laughs loudly and heartily.

“Are you kidding me?  I’d stick him up my butthole or something.”

“GOD, Jenny, you’re so GROSS,” says Allie playfully, making a pretend puking sound.  “Where do you THINK of that stuff?”

“Three big brothers, remember?  They’ve poisoned my mind, it’s a package deal.”

“Yeah, I can TELL!”

Your brain swimming, you look down once again at the floor of the shower far below as Jenny holds you at her side, her arm resting from the intense and tortuous scrubbing for a moment.  Ironically, you note bitterly to yourself, at least your wounds won’t get infected because of all the soap you just received all over your body.  You simply hang there, your body long ago having stopped trying to or being capable of moving yourself of your own accord.  You begin to wonder what will happen when this shower is over.  Have you got the strength to climb out of this loofah before Jenny puts it in her bag and carries you home?  What happens then?  Could she seriously mean what she said?  Surely not.  She’s a person, right?  People don’t do that to other people.

Then you remember the glaring example of your younger sister, and suddenly don’t feel so optimistic any more.

“Hey, Allie and Jenny!” comes a frantic yell out of nowhere from the entrance to the community shower.  You’d recognize those dulcet tones anywhere at this point.

“Hey, Carly, what’s up girl?  You feel okay?” says Jenny nicely.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Jenny, thanks… but I was just wondering…”

“Mmhm?”

“Did you… see anyone near my locker?  Did you see anyone open it?”

Jenny chuckles.  “Well, I was over there, because my locker’s over there, but I didn’t open yours, girl.”

“Okay, but…” says Carly. You hear worry in her voice, but somehow you get the impression she’s not necessarily worried about your own wellbeing.  “Are you SURE you didn’t see anyone?”

“Nope.  What’s wrong, did you lose something?”

“Yeah, kind of…”

“What is it, we’ll help you look for it, I’m done anyway,” says Jenny. 

“Okay, umm… that’s fine…” says Carly uncertainly.  You feel a weight, for now, fall off your shoulders.  You at least get this small reprieve before whatever comes next happens to you.  You’re almost angry at yourself for being somewhat happy in this moment, but you can’t help it.  Your world spins again as Jenny swings her arm, coming out of the shower.  She follows Carly out, and you watch as the waterfall of extra water and soap trickles down her slick, shining legs, to her ankles, where it falls off in massive puddles on the tile far below.  It’s like a rainstorm falling past your face, and you actually get a few facefuls more of droplets, still with the bitter soapy taste, dripping down onto your face and into your nose and mouth, despite all you do to block them.

A moment later, you feel the loofah drop onto the wooden bench, thankful that it’s not on top of you.  With the impact, you feel your back driven into the foam, and suddenly, you feel yourself released, the pressure of Jenny’s mammoth fingers no longer holding you taut in place, as you sink into the netty fibers of the loofah.  You have to move, now.  You manage to drag yourself along the foam, tripping several times around the uneven and claustrophobic perimeter until you reach the other side, where the hole is.  With a useless flop, you fall out onto the wooden bench again, Jenny’s humongous green flip-flops resting right where she left them.  You drag yourself forward, digging your fingernails into the soggy wood, and instantly realize this method won’t work, as you’re only serving to further batter your bleeding chest scratches.  Your body is so sore and in so much stinging pain in so many places, your brain doesn’t even know where to make you hurt.  Out of necessity, you roll over onto your back and begin to push off, now more slowly, using most your feet as you essentially backstroke along the wooden bench.

You have to hide yourself somewhere, that’s all you know.  You have to get away from Jenny’s stuff, and you have to keep away from Carly’s locker.  If you can just find a hiding place, nurse your wounds a little, and hold out until someone comes back allowing you to explain this nightmare, you have a feeling you might, somehow, survive this day.  You stop moving for a breather, now a few feet past the green flip-flops and Carly’s locker.  You can make it.  You know you can.

The voices have disappeared; they must have all returned to the gym, leaving you in peaceful and serene silence now in the canyons of lockers.  You grit your teeth, clench your fists and your abs.  Just like a workout.  Stay tight.  Stay tight.  You continue pushing, your slippery feet having a bit of trouble pushing you quickly, but you’re moving.  You see an empty locker up ahead of you, within reach.  You roll onto your side, using whatever reserves of strength you have buried inside your arms somewhere.  With a loud (to you) groan of pain and soreness, you push off, slipping for a second on the watery ground, but you stand, your legs quivering in the effort to remain standing.  And then you walk.  One foot in front of the other, your legs burning, your muscles stretched far too far, screaming.  You’re almost a little amazed that your dick seems to still be intact after the beating you just took.  Your hands fall onto the cold metal of the locker, and you push down, trying to pull yourself through the small crack.  Almost inside…

Cold fingers suddenly wrap around you, the soft flesh, instantly slapping into your wounds as they attempt to heal, squeezing.  Hard.  You feel a fresh little stream come from your chest as if you were just slashed across the midtorso with a steak knife.  You scream in pain, the agitated area compressed like never before, the muscle underneath the massive folds of flesh pressing in on you harder and harder.  You feel you might pop.

Wind whips your face and you’re suddenly face to face with the titanic Carly, volcanoes erupting inside her eyes, squinting, her eyebrows twisted downward into a terrifying and ugly frown, her lips quivering violently and pressing harder together in a grimace of vengeance as she squeezes even harder.  You feel your back pop as if you were getting a powerful back massage, but it’s quickly followed up with the feeling that you’re being pressed just a bit too farm, your innards almost folding together.  You look down and see tiny droplets of blood settling into the grooves of Carly’s finger.

“You… you…” she hisses, unable to get the words out as she continues applying pressure.  “You… you… you stupid, stupid, STUPID little boy…”

You don’t even have the energy to tremble anymore, so great is the pain becoming.  You don’t even have the energy to ponder more than three seconds ahead of time what’s surely coming up.  You look, and suddenly see Carly’s eyes tracing along the wet bench you just crawled across, her eyes returning to the soaking loofah.  “Wha…” she says, confused, and suddenly looks back at you.  “YOU… YOU… you were in the SHOWER, weren’t you?”

“I…”

“ANSWER ME.”

“YES! But, it wasn’t my fault…”

“You better shut up before I snap you in half like a little twig.  You got out of my locker, somehow, I don’t know how, but you did, and then you followed…” she says, taking a breath, unable to absorb it all.  “…FOLLOWED my FRIENDS into the SHOWER…”

“Carly, please, just listen to me, I can explain…” you choke out, your voice cracking.

“If you say another thing, I’ll put you back in my mouth, and this time, I really WILL chew your stupid, tiny little head off like I should have last time.  Got it?”

You nod, weakly.

“Good,” she snarls powerfully, gripping you just as tightly as she stands up.  “I was going to put you in my shoe, like we said, but I don’t think I’m going to do that anymore.”  She leans her face in toward you, her eyes narrowed, her breath hot on your freezing and bloodied body.  “You don’t DESERVE something so easy like that.”

You feel the trembling returning as Carly’s cold hand releases you into the dark fold of her athletic shorts pocket, your crumpled body landing with a final, painful plunk.