I wish I were small so that everything about you could be magnified one-hundredfold. My ultimate dream is to be your shrunken boyfriend. When I was my original height of 6'4", I spent it devoting myself to you; cooking for you, giving you the finest gifts, taking you to wonderful places, listening to you about your days and pleasing all your sexual fantasies. Until one day, like in the movie the Incredible Shrinking Man, everything changed. After a chemical spell, I shrink to size of an ant. I am in our bedroom. At first, I'm ecstatic that I should be so small and you'd be so much taller, so much more majestic than you are in everyday, regular life. However, I'd never get a chance to tell you because from all giantess stories I've read (the best ones, in my opinion), the giantess is unable to hear the feeble cries of a puny ant. Yet instead of panic, I take this opportunity to admire your objects and gauge your size in your absence. In my fantasy, we're both a little messy and have some of our garments on the ground still (from last night's furious escapades, why not?), so I wander over to your slippers. They're pink and embarrassingly goofy, a piggy's face is featured prominently on the front end, yet from my vantage point, the slipper is almost ten times larger than a cruise. It takes me nearly twenty minutes to walk around from the front of the shoe and ten to climb into it. I can feel the stale air and smell your divine aroma. Everything that is you engulfs me, thus I stand momentarily stupefied by the awesome scent of the woman I adore. I explore deep into the slipper, my eyes adjust to the darkness, but somehow I slip and tumble down the depression left by your big toe. You're not a dirty person, but from owning the slippers for years, they've accumulated a lot of sweat and whatever oils excreted from your foot in that time. My face lays against the base of your indentation. I've never in my life felt small, but to be so pathetic within the ditch your digit dug, the experience is ineffable--clearly, I can never appreciate you in the same capacity; I can never hold you, nestle with you, be 'the man' you want or the sub you crave. I can't even complain about your parents coming because I'd be crushed to death if your mother caught me at this size. The feelings are overwhelming because reality is a bitch. I'm interrupted as distant booms become steady thunder. You're home. I know your routine: you walk in, you drop your keys onto a table (occasionally the sofa depending on your present attitude), you pour water into the kettle and turn the stove on, you turn the television on for noise to block out, and you go to the bathroom. For the first time, I start to panic because after the bathroom, you'll head into the room and you'll kick off your heels to don the very slippers I'm in. I run desperately for the end of the shoe; why am I so small, or you so gigantic? I make it to your arch, and I stop to breathe (I really should have worked on those New Year resolutions like I planned), and I can see your legs and feet in the distance from the mouth of the slipper. My jaw drops open... you're... incredibly... inexplicably... beautiful. And not in the normal way. You're awe-inspiring. You're a celestial body... and you're going to fuckin' crush me. I can't run any longer, and I don't which direction is best at this point. So I burry into the fabric of the shoe. It's flattened, grey, but it'll do. I peel back some of the fluff, and I lay it over me. I'm in the arch, and thankfully you don't have flat feet, so I stand a chance at survival.  From afar, you're humming a silly tune (probably "Call Me, Maybe"--you wouldn't do it in front of me or anyone else), but the lilt is as strong as the roar of a big cat. Your casual hums reverberate all throughout my body. You spot the slippers and you saunter over--to me, my heart sails the tumultuous waves of each sound emitted from each of your steps--you're a walking Redwood. Do you know that moment when the girl you have a crush on at school is walking near you and your heart slows down and reality bends as she comes near? Now imagine she's infinitely larger than you and her steps mean your imminent death. That strange, terrifying feeling struck me then as you stood at the mouth of the shoe, balancing on one foot as your other enters the adjacent slipper. It's on I can tell from the reaffirming boom and the eery creaking noise of the slipper adjusting to your weight.  Suddenly you're balancing on one foot again, and I am in its shadow. It comes above me and slowly enters. Skin of your foot grazes the edges of the slipper--the slipper and I adjust to your movement. Out of rashness, I scream: "Poppy! Poppy! Please, Poppy!" The sound of my voice reverberates against the walls inside the slipper and your immense toes that are now above me. Futile. Just futile. I can't close my eyes because standing firm downstairs. I'm terrified and hot for every second of this. Your travels on and on, and I see the details, the lines in your foot, the relaxed wrinkles. I can smell your day's ardent work. It is fresh, hot, steamy and overwhelming. You come closer and closer....