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Saturday: 4’8”

I awoke from a nightmare, my palms sweaty from anxiety.  As I came to, I felt pain in all four limbs.  Soon enough, I realized that it wasn’t just from being held in this uncomfortable position all night; my limbs felt like they would be pulled out of their sockets as the ropes pulled on them tightly.  I had shrunk again, and any slack that I had last night was now gone due to my diminished stature.  I couldn’t budge an inch in any direction, feeling like I was about to be drawn and quartered. 

I heard some chatter and clanging of dishes downstairs.  Kyra and Steve must be eating breakfast, I figured.  There was nothing I could do but wait and hope that Steve would leave and Kyra would remember to free me.  After at least a half hour of waiting, I heard Kyra say goodbye to him and walk up to her room.  I didn’t dare make a sound, though, as she moved about her room.  Another excruciating five minutes went by, until she finally ducked her head under the bed and saw me.

“Daddy!  I forgot you were down there!” she said gleefully, obviously in a great mood and unconcerned about the torture she had put me through.  She untied my ropes and pulled me out from under her bed, putting her knees and hands on the floor and looming over me.  “To think, you were down there all this time and I had totally forgotten!”  I didn’t think it was so amusing.  “Steve is gone now.  Oh, Daddy, I had such a wonderful time with him last night!  I mean, it was a million times better than anything you’ve tried to do for me!  I’ll have to invite him over more often,” she beamed.  Seeing the terror in my face at the prospect of being trapped down there every night, she laughed and said, “Oh, Daddy, don’t worry, we’ll find some other sleeping arrangements for you.”  She playfully wiggled my nose.  “Now hurry up and get ready to go out; I have a big day planned for you!” she exclaimed, pulling me to my feet with ease.  I was now truly intimidated by her size as her body filled my vision.  “Well, come on then!” she said, giving me a playful shove out the door.

Glad to be back in my own room and away from my daughter, I collapsed on my bed.  But, realizing how thirsty I was, I went to my bathroom sink and started lapping up water into my mouth, not wanting to go downstairs for a drink.  I then used the toilet and also weighed myself on the scale.  81 pounds.  Jesus Christ, I was the size of a little kid now.  My reflection in the mirror only reinforced this notion, as I had long since lost all hair on my body except for a few stragglers here and there, and my face looked more boyish than ever.  I shrugged off my uneasy feeling and got in the shower.  Taking my time, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warm water pouring down my body.  Finally something that I enjoyed.

But my reverie was interrupted as I heard the shower curtain open next to me.  “Daddy, hurry up, you’re taking too long,” she chided gently.  Looking over, I saw that she had just finished her own shower and was standing before me in nothing but her bath towel.  She was leaning in to see me, showing a healthy view of her cleavage.  She turned and left before she could notice me looking up into her bosom.  I was about to wrap up my shower, but was haunted by the beautiful vision that had just lay before me.  I grew more and more aroused as I began fondling myself.

I had lost track of time.  Several minutes later, I heard the curtain snap open again.  “Naughty boy!” my daughter exclaimed, seeing what I was doing.  “Stop that this instant!  I told you to finish your shower quickly, not play with your little willy,” she chided, with a hint of annoyance.  She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the shower.  Still holding my arm, she bent over and turned off the shower, then pulled my towel off the rack.

She started drying off my naked body, but I told her, “Kyra, I can do that myself!”

“Well, fine then.  But I want you to dry off and get dressed right away, OK?  And no more playing with yourself.”  Blushing, I nodded in assent, and she stepped out and left me alone.  I did as she asked, and came down the stairs fully clothed within 3 minutes.

When I got downstairs, Kyra stood up and guided me over to the wall.  She pulled out the ruler and measured my height.  As she bent down, I was relieved to see that she was dressed casually for once: shorts, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes.  Of course, she was still definitely a looker, as her clothes still showed off plenty of her ample curves.

“So, you are now … 4’8” tall,” she stated, marking the wall above my head.  “I was taller than you by the time I was 7!” she exclaimed.  “And that puts you just shorter than the average 11-year old boy.”  There was something unsettling about her smile as she said this, but I couldn’t quite place it.

She continued staring at me with that odd grin, and I broke the awkward silence by asking, “So where are we going?”

“Well, I think your clothes have outgrown you,” she said, bemused at her play on words.  “We’re going back to the mall to get something more appropriate for someone your size,” she said with a glint in her eye.  “Now grab a snack and let’s go.”

As I ate some toast, I wondered what she meant earlier when she said I had a big day ahead of me.  It was just shopping, after all.  As we headed out to the car, I realized I had hardly driven all week and I thought it might give me some confidence back.  “Kyra, maybe I could drive?”

She looked down at me with an amused smile.  After pondering a second, she said, “Well, sure, Daddy, I think you can still handle it.”  She dropped the keys in my hand and mussed my hair.  I walked to the now-unfamiliar driver’s side, straightened my hair, and got in.  To my dismay, even after pulling the seat all the way forward, I could only barely reach the pedals by sitting on the edge of the seat.  I had to sit up straight to see over the steering wheel, and I had to stretch a bit to tilt the rear view mirror down.  But, just barely, I was able to pull out of the driveway and head for the mall.  Looking over, I noticed that Kyra had been smiling amusedly at my efforts.  I pretended to ignore her, and I felt good being behind the wheel again.  I felt like I had control of something for once.

We pulled into the parking lot and walked toward the mall.  I had trouble keeping up with her long strides, as she was walking quickly in her eagerness to pick out some new clothes for me.  We headed for JcPenney’s again and, sure enough, the same lady was there to measure customers.

As we approached, I noticed with dismay that she now towered over me – not as much as Kyra, but it was still unnerving, since I was taller than her when I saw her last Saturday.  I wasn’t happy to realize I had shrunk 14 inches in just this last week, and 22 inches since I first began shrinking.  “Why, hello again,” the attendant said, recognizing Kyra from last week.  “Back for more, eh?  And who’s this little guy you have with you?  I seem to remember him being taller.”

“Haha, that’s right, I brought my other brother last time.  This week it’s little Jimmy’s turn to get some clothes.  He’s sick of wearing these big hand-me-downs.”  The two of them laughed.  Jimmy?  My first name is James, but Kyra never called me that, much less Jimmy.  My parents used to call me Jimmy when I was younger, but I always hated it.  But I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the attendant.  I would talk to Kyra about it later.

“Aww, well this one is even cuter!” the attendant exclaimed.  “Let’s see your measurements, little guy.”  She tousled my hair then pulled my arms out for measurement.

Of course, all of my measurements had decreased substantially, even since last Wednesday.  “All done, have fun shopping!” the attendant said, pinching my arm playfully.  Ow, that kind of hurt.  I took the slip of paper with my measurements and headed for the men’s section.

“Where are you going, sweetie?” Kyra asked behind me.

“I’m going to get clothes, duh.”  Kyra just let me lead the way, cracking a bemused smile as I did so.  I looked around at different racks of shorts, looking for a size 26 waist.  I only saw a couple of 28’s, but no 26’s.

“Daaaddddy,” she giggled behind me.

“What?” I turned toward her, annoyed at my lack of success.

She had a men’s size chart in her hand and showed it to me.  I saw that 28 inches corresponds to size XS, and 26 wasn’t even listed.  Giggling, she said, “You’re not going to find anything small enough here.  We’ll have to get your clothes in the Boys section.”

“What!  No, no, no.  I don’t think so,” I told her.  I pulled up the first size 28 shorts I could find and held them to my waist, but not only were they too wide, but they were just too long and baggy all around; my skinny legs would look ridiculous sticking out of them past the knees.  And this was the extra small size!

Seeing my reaction, she said, “You know I’m right, Daddy.  Now put these back and let’s see what we can find in your size.”  I had to admit that she was right indeed; besides, there should be plenty of clothes that looked mature enough, even in the Boys’ section.  I reluctantly returned the shorts to the rack as Kyra took my hand and led me out of the Men’s section.

Kyra found another chart that listed Boy’s sizes.  “56 inches tall, and a 25 inch waist.  That puts you around size 10-12.”  I wasn’t sure, but I seemed to remember that Boy’s sizes more-or-less corresponded to their age in years.  I shuddered.

She dragged me to the Boys’ section and started picking out some clothes for me.  “Can’t I find my own clothes?” I complained.

“Hush.  I want you looking your best.  You’re out of touch with fashion.  After all,” she said, peering down at me assertively, “It wasn’t all that long ago that I was in middle school, you know.  I know what boys your size are wearing these days.”

My jaw dropped.  I could not believe what she had just said.   “Kyra, I don’t wanna wear boy’s clothes,” I whined.  “I want something more … mature-looking.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see.  But I think with your build and facial features,” she said, lifting her eyebrows, “you would naturally look better in more, how should I say … youthful attire.”  As I started to protest, she placed her hand over my mouth and said, “Let’s have you try them on first, then we’ll decide.”  She continued picking out clothes for me as I fumed.  But, I suppose what she said was reasonable, and once she sees the more grown-up clothes she’ll realize that’s what I should wear.  I let her do her thing as I perused some plain polo shirts and nice slacks.

“OK, Daddy, I picked some out that I think you’re going to like.”  She took my hand and guided me to the dressing rooms.

“I found some that I want to try on, too,” I returned, holding a few pairs of decent looking clothes – smaller versions of my usual attire.

“Haha, OK, I might as well let you try them on too.”  She entered a changing room with me and shut the door behind us.

“Um, Kyra, could you leave please?  I’ll show you when I’m done putting them on.”

“Oh, nonsense, Daddy, you know how much I’ve seen you naked.  Now don’t be shy.”  I became paranoid that someone nearby would overhear her scandalous statement.  I reflected that it was perhaps the first time I had ever wished she wouldn’t have called me Daddy.  But I didn’t see anyone in the adjacent stalls, and I decided the best course was to just change in front of her and avoid any more verbal outbursts from her.

Even though I kept my boxers on, I still felt uncomfortable as Kyra stood there with arms folded, watching me undress.  I quickly slipped on the pants and shirt that she handed me and looked in the mirror.  I still had the hairdo that you might find in a successful businessman, but as I looked down at the rest of me I only saw an 11-year old boy in the reflection.  The facial changes I had undergone over the past two weeks had seemed fairly minor until now; I had still been seeing myself as the same old me, just a bit younger-looking, like in my 20s or so.  But now that I was wearing skinny jeans and a tight-fitting t-shirt with an ‘Angry Birds’ design on the front, and with my skinny build and lack of body hair, I would have totally mistaken myself for a middle-schooler if I hadn’t known better.

Kyra smiled broadly at my look of shock.  “See, I told you this would look perfect on you!”  She stood behind me and draped her arms over my shoulders, rubbing her hands all over my chest and arms.  “It fits your skinny little body just right,” she said, looking down at my reflection in the mirror with glee.  “Hmm, we’ll just have to fix your hair, it doesn’t go with the rest of your look.”

I was too stunned to say anything.  I simply took the clothes off when Kyra asked me to and tried on several more outfits.  They all fitted me well and had the same ‘youthful’ effect on my appearance, as Kyra had put it.  After the fourth outfit, I finally summoned the willpower to ask my daughter in a wavering voice, “Can I please try on some of the clothes I picked out?”

“I don’t see how they would look better on you,” she stated with a frown.  “But, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try them,” she conceded, to my relief.  I eagerly put on a pair of khakis and a dark green polo shirt.  Tucking the shirt in, I looked up at my reflection.  Well, they fit well, and I thought I looked pretty decent in them, especially with my nice, clean haircut.  I did have to admit, however, that while I did look pretty sharp, I seemed less like a grown man on his way to work, and perhaps more like a … young teen, dressing nice for church or something, doing my hair up in a nice adult style that looked more … cute on my young face than anything else.  The now-baggy clothes I had bought on Wednesday hadn’t given the same effect, somehow hiding my youthful appearance in the folds of my clothes.  But with this new, fitted look, the effect was unmistakable.

Kyra noticed this, too.  “Aww, you look cute, all dressed up like that.  We’ll have to go somewhere nice so I can show you off.”  She pinched my cheek and stepped back, letting me undress.  She had me try on the remainder of the clothes I had picked, then the rest of her selections.  She liked how they looked, but kept saying, “Tsk.  I just wish I could see you with the right hairdo.”

I was getting tired of changing clothes by the end.  I pointed out that I didn’t need this many clothes, since my present rate of shrinking would render them useless in a few days’ time.  “Oh, good thinking,” she replied, and proceeded to mull over which 3-4 outfits would look best.  Without even asking for my input, she decided on the Angry Birds shirt, another shirt with a ‘Hey, Arnold’ logo, matching pants, and the khakis with the green shirt that I had picked out.  I also saw her sneak in a pair of full-length pajamas with little Spider Man logos.  At least she hadn’t made me try them on.  After deciding my wardrobe, she handed me the Angry Birds shirt and pants and said, “Here, put this outfit back on; I like this one the best.”

I did as she asked, but was surprised when she opened the door and walked out.  “Kyra, I can’t just walk out with this on!”

“Relax, sweetie, I’ll just tell the cashier to scan the clothes on you and it’ll be fine.  I don’t want to see you in those old ugly clothes again.”  I wanted to close the door again and change back, but she just stood there holding it open, waiting impatiently.  Reluctantly, I trudged out and she led me through the store to get the other items I needed: shoes, socks, and underwear.

By the time we got to the underwear, I was tired of shopping.  I pulled out some boxers that looked small enough and told her I was ready to go.  “Whoa there, little guy, not so fast.  I don’t think those are right for you.”  She plucked the pack of boxers from my hand, put them back, then pulled me over to where the briefs were.

“No, Kyra, I hate whitey tighties,” I told her.

“Now, now, everyone your size wears them.  Boxers are only for big boys.”  I didn’t know how she determined that, but as I started to argue she gave me a look that told me it was wiser to keep my mouth shut.  Well, I figured briefs won’t be all that bad.  I mean, I’ve worn them before.  Then I tried to recall when I stopped wearing them, and couldn’t remember for sure but I realized it was probably around my 12th birthday.  That was a depressing thought.

As Kyra held my hand and looked through the Boys’ underwear section, I looked over and saw a mother and her son.  She was holding his arm, picking out underwear for him as well.  I shuddered as I wondered if that’s how I looked, dressed as an 11-year-old boy, letting Kyra parade me around and choose what underwear I would wear.  By the time she had picked some out, I didn’t care what they looked like, I just wanted to get out of the mall and back to the relative safety of my home.

Still holding my hand, Kyra led me to the register and pulled out my credit card.  MY credit card!  I had forgotten she still had all my cards, after she took them a few days ago.  I guess I hadn’t had much need of them, trapped in her closet or under her bed.  “Kyra, please, can I pay for the clothes myself?  I mean, it’s my card you know,” I said uncertainly.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself about it.  Let me handle the money.”  She stepped up to the cashier and paid for my clothes.  Once we were out in the mall, she headed for a hair stylist a few shops down.  She had been holding my hand, pulling me around for a long time now, and I hated it.  But I couldn’t shake free of her grasp so I just followed along and tried to keep up with her gait.

She found an open chair and greeted the stylist, a very metrosexual-looking guy in his 20s.  “Well, what can I do for you, ma’am?” he replied.

“Actually, it’s little Jimmy here that needs a haircut.”

“Sounds sssuper!  Step right up, Jimmy.”

“It’s James,” I grumbled as I sat in the chair facing the mirror.

I saw the stylist feign an apologetic look.  “Don’t mind Jimmy, he’s just ornery from shopping all day,” Kyra told him.

“Ah, I see,” he replied.

Getting upset at the repeated use of my hated nickname, I again snapped, “My name is James!”

“Jimmy!” Kyra scolded.  “Behave yourself, young man!  That’s no way to treat the nice hair stylist.  Now apologize,” she ordered firmly.

I sat there pouting for a minute, but seeing both Kyra and the stylist staring down at me expectantly, I realized it would only get worse for me if I resisted.  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, looking down at my lap.

“I didn’t hear you, Jimmy,” Kyra chided.

“I said, I’m sorry!” I repeated, louder this time.

“Good.  He won’t give you any more trouble,” she said, speaking to the stylist.

“Apology accepted.  Now, what hairstyle should I give him,” he replied, not bothering to consult me on the matter.  Kyra described what she wanted, and he turned me around to face him as he went to work, reshaping my hair and snipping here and there as I sat there in silence.

“There, all done.”  He spun me back around toward the mirror.  I was amazed at what a little rearrangement and a touch of styling gel could do.  Instead of my professional-looking hairdo from before, with a part on the side and my hair brushed across the top of my forehead, I now had a slightly disheveled, slightly shaggy look with hair hanging down toward my eyebrows.  It reminded me of Justin Bieber’s hairdo, except a bit shorter.

The stylist removed the apron and I stood up in front of the mirror.  Oh my God.  The last remnant of my former maturity was now gone, and my transformation into an 11-year-old was now complete, at least as far as looks were concerned.  Kyra bent down and hugged me from behind, looking at my reflection.  “Aww, look at you, Jimmy!  You’re such an adorable little boy, aren’t you?” she cooed.  She turned to the stylist and said, “It’s perfect!”  Turning back to me, she said, “Now thank the stylist for doing such a nice job.”

They were looking down at me expectantly again.  Looking up at them, I felt small and powerless, like a –well, like a child.  “Th-Thank you,” I said meekly.  I shied away from him and hid myself partly behind Kyra, clutching her arm and trying to nudge her forward.  I felt nauseous and just wanted to get out of there.

“You’re welcome, Jimmy.  Come again!” he said.  Kyra looked down at me with a soft, caring smile, then draped her arm behind my back and gently pushed me out toward the mall.  She sauntered over to an empty bench and sat me down next to her, her soft legs pressed into mine and her arm laid behind my back.

She looked down at me lovingly as her hand moved up from my back and started caressing the nape of my neck.  My mind was flooded with an array of confusing emotions.  My conversion into a 6th-grader, the stylist’s condescending looks, Kyra’s gentle caresses – it was too much for me to process all at once.  I began to cry on Kyra’s arm, pulling myself into her warm embrace.  “There, there,” she soothed, wrapping her other arm around me in a hug.  She felt so nice, her arms draped around me, the top of her boob brushing my face.  The outside world was cold and scary, but here I felt warm and safe.

After a few minutes, Kyra pulled me back, patted me on the cheek, and said, “Everything’s going to be OK, Jimmy.  Here, I’ll make a deal with you.  I need to go to just a few more stores, and if you’re well-behaved I’ll take you straight home afterwards.  How does that sound?”

I looked up at her with teary eyes.  “Good,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

“OK then,” she said, satisfied with my compliance.  She took my hand and started leading me away.

“Kyra, can I please just stay here at the bench?  I promise I won’t move.”

“No, Jimmy, I don’t feel safe leaving you alone around all these strangers.  I want you near me at all times,” she stated, continuing towards a nearby store.

While we did only go to a few more stores, they seemed to last forever as Kyra tried on a wide variety of outfits.  Of course, I couldn’t stop her from buying some of her more risqué selections, but I was at least pleased that she picked some more conservative, professional-looking attire as well.  She let me sit outside the dressing room while she tried on several outfits at a time.  I remembered the episode in her dressing room last week and was happy to wait on the other side of the door this time around.

After the third trip to the dressing room, she emerged in a dark green long-sleeved button-down shirt, with only the top two unbuttoned, and a tight-fitting gray skirt that extended halfway down her thighs.  Pantyhose and 4-inch heels completed the outfit, and her hair was even done up in a neat pony tail.

“Wow, Kyra,” I told her, truly impressed.  “This is a great look for you.”  She looked not at all like a high-schooler; she had the elegant and professional appearance of an up-and-coming business exec in her mid-20s.

“Thank you, Jimmy, that’s very sweet of you.”  She took my hand as we walked to the register.  I immediately noticed the difference her heels made, as my forearm was now angled upward slightly to meet her grasp.

We stopped by the food court next, and Kyra ordered us some food: a Big Mac for her and a kid’s meal for me.  “I wanted to make sure you could finish your meal,” she explained.  “I’ll share some of my fries if you’re still hungry.”  I did indeed finish my junior-sized burger and fries, but with only a bit of stomach space to spare.  “Whoopsies,” she said, reaching over and dabbing some ketchup from my chin with a napkin.  As I was finishing up the last bite of fries, Kyra stood up and said, “Wait here while I use the restroom, then we’ll go.”  She emptied the tray in the trash then headed for the bathroom.

After I finished chewing, I wanted some soda to wash it down but Kyra had thrown my cup away already.  I decided to head in the direction of the bathroom where Kyra just went, looking for a water fountain.  I found that there wasn’t one at this restroom.  I hate how malls don’t provide hardly any fountains, hoping you’ll buy more drinks from the food court.  But I didn’t exactly have possession of my wallet at the moment, so I needed a fountain.  I saw the sign for another bathroom on the other side of the food court and headed there.  Damn it, no water there either.  I walked a short ways to the center of the mall, where the four branches converged.  Looking around, I didn’t see any more restroom signs.

“Little boy, are you lost?” I turned as a pretty lady in her late 20s stepped out of the booth she was working at and approached me.

“Uh … no, I was just looking for some water.”

She bent down, resting her hands on her knees.  “Does your mommy know where you went?” she asked, with a concerned expression on her face.

“Well, no, but—“

“You wandered off without telling your mother!” she exclaimed sternly.  “She must be worried sick about you!”  She didn’t give me time to protest as she grabbed my hand in an iron grip and walked in the direction I came from.  “Where did you see her last?”

Jesus Christ, this was embarrassing – but also, her grip really hurt.  “Oww …” I said, seeing no choice but to play along.  “Uh … next to McDonald’s …”

My hand started to ache as I was dragged back to the food court.  I saw Kyra standing by our table, looking about with urgency.  Spotting me, her eyebrows furrowed menacingly as she stomped up to me.  “There you are!  I told you to wait here!  For all I knew, someone came up and kidnapped you!”  She clamped her hand around the back of my neck and drew me towards her as my previous captor released my hand.  Kyra looked up and thanked her.

“Oh, don’t mention it.  They can just be so hard to keep track of at that age.”

“Tell me about it.  This one’s going to get it when we get home,” she told her, increasing her hold on my neck.  I shuddered.

“I don’t blame you; he deserves it,” the lady said, peering down at me disapprovingly.

Kyra thanked her again then headed in the direction of our car, not releasing her hold on my neck.  As I struggled to keep pace, I glanced up at the tall, confident, mature woman as she looked straight ahead with determination.  I had a hard time picturing Kyra as a sweet, innocent child now, and I found it hard to believe that I once had any authority over her.  We reached the car and she drove us home.

Once inside, she wasted no time in grabbing my arm and leading me to the couch.  “Pants down,” she commanded.

“Kyra, I’m sorry!  I was just looking for a water fountain and I was going to come right back, I swear!”

“That’s no excuse.  What if someone wanted to snatch you away?  You wouldn’t be able to stop them.”  She gestured down at my pants.  “This is for your own good.”

I began to tremble as she loomed over me, hands on her hips.  I couldn’t bear to look up into her face, so I hung my head and looked down at her wide hips and toned thighs in front of me.  What could I do?  Nothing.  Defeated, I undid my belt and slowly pulled my pants down to my ankles.  I started to pull down my tightey whities as well, but she told me, “No, those stay on, little boy.”

She sat down on the couch and pulled me across her lap, face down.  Two of me could have fit across her thighs, they were so big.  My body was shaking in apprehension as she sat there with her right hand on my butt.  Twenty seconds later, I began to think she was just bluffing, just to send a message with fear – but I was wrong.  She pulled her hand back, and I drew a deep breath in anticipation of the blow.  My eyes started to water even before she hit me.

I yelped as an incredible force descended upon my ass cheek.  The blows continued to rain down every few seconds.  I began to bawl and begged her to stop.  Jesus CHRIST, she was strong.  After the fifth blow, I moved my hands behind my back in a futile attempt at self-defense.  Kyra took both of my wrists in one hand and twisted my arms up behind my back, causing yet more pain.  She punished me with five more blows.  The amount of pain was almost incomprehensible, even though I still had underwear on.

She let me up onto my feet and ordered, “Stand in the corner, facing the wall.”  I stumbled over and leaned my head against the walls, rubbing my ass with both hands.  “Stay there,” she said.  Then, as an afterthought, she strolled up to me, yanked my hair back so that my head was craned up at hers, and told me with deadly seriousness, “And this time, when I tell you to stay there, YOU STAY THERE.”  I gasped when she released the pressure on my neck and cried even harder in the corner as Kyra walked up to her room.

I continued to sob uncontrollably for five minutes, my ass still burning like hell.  Kyra came back down and sat on the couch behind me.  “Come here,” she told me.  I meekly turned toward her and she patted her lap, causing me to cringe.  “Don’t worry, the spanking is over.”  I cautiously approached like a frightened dog and sat on her lap as she wrapped her left arm around my back.

“Now, Jimmy,” she said, tenderly wiping a tear from my cheek, “I only punished you for your own good.  As you get smaller and younger, I need you to stay near me in public at all times to protect you, understood?”

The teensiest part of me wanted to affirm that I wasn’t actually getting younger – but I realized how stupid it would be to speak out about this.  So I just slowly nodded up at her.

“OK then.  Now there are some things we need to clear up.  I want you to forget all about who you thought you were in the past.  From now on, your name is Jimmy and you are an 11-year old boy.  And one more thing…”  She then took a deep breath as she prepared to tell me something that would change my life forever.  Staring me directly in the eye, unflinchingly, she told me, “I am not your daughter any longer.  I’m your mother.”

My jaw dropped open in bewilderment.  I sat there speechless, staring up at my … my moth--  No.  I could not accept that.  I would not accept that.  “No!” I pleaded up at her, shaking my head side to side.

“It’s OK, Jimmy, everything’s going to be OK,” she whispered gently while lightly stroking the side of my face.  Completely overwhelmed with emotion, I burst into tears.  “There, there,” Kyra cooed, hugging me into her body.  She reached her right arm under my legs, then I felt my world shift as she stood up, holding me in her arms.  “You’re so light, Jimmy.  My own little boy.”  This prompted more tears from me.  I was only 81 pounds now, barely half of Kyra’s weight.  I wanted to get the hell away from this madwoman, but truly I could no more escape her than an eleven year old boy could escape his mother. 

She had gone WAY too far this time – she was off her rocker, crazy, insane – but what could I possibly do about it?  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  It seemed that in this case might makes right.  The utter hopelessness of my situation caused me to simply break down in abject sobs of despair.

She gave me comforting words and carried me with ease up the stairs and into her room.  Setting me down gently on the bed, she said, “I’ll be right back,” and walked toward her bathroom.  A few minutes later, she returned and picked me back up into her arms.  I noticed that she had put makeup on, as she gazed down at me with red lips, eyes darkened with mascara, and a hint of blush emphasizing her high cheekbones.  It had the intended effect of making her look older, more mature, more … womanly.  I smelled her sweet perfume as she strolled lightly up to her mirror and nudged my head toward it.  Through my tears, through the mirror in her room, I saw my small, frail body being held lovingly by an elegant, beautiful woman.

My life was in tatters, and I had no one to turn to, except … her.  I couldn’t think straight, otherwise I would have realized that SHE was the cause of all this pain.  But all I could think of now was that I needed someone to care for me right now, and she was here for me, her wonderfully warm embrace soothing my soul and helping me forget all my troubles. 

“What’s your name,” she asked softly.

 “J-Jimmy,” I replied.

“And who am I?”

“Kyra,” I responded.  But as I gazed up into her loving eyes, from somewhere deep inside me – whether out of fear of punishment, or something else – I was compelled to add one word.  “… Mommy,” I whispered.

Her eyes lit up as her lips parted in a delighted smile.  With a surge of energy, she squeezed me into her body in a warm embrace.  My head rested on her shoulder, and my hand clutched her opposite shoulder, causing my arm to press tightly into her bosom.  I buried my head into her shoulder as she sat on the bed and caressed my face.  I was unable to think straight, giving myself completely to Kyra’s embrace.

She rocked me gently for what seemed like an eternity.  It wasn’t long before I found myself drifting off to sleep in the arms of my mother, for better or worse.