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Wednesday: 4’0”

I decided to play it cool so I didn’t tip her off about my change in disposition.  I would act like the perfect little son she always wanted – for now.  She had made us breakfast again, and I thanked her and allowed her to feed me yet again.  Of course, I simply couldn’t help myself from getting aroused as she set me on her lap, my eyes inches from her breasts (which were seeming more and more enormous with each passing day as I shrunk), and fed me spoonfuls of her delicious meal.  So what if my breathing quickened; so what if my eyes fluttered in ecstasy; so what if I gave in to her touch and pressed my head back against her breasts to feel their soft weight on my shoulders – I told myself that none of this mattered because I was still resisting her 100% on the inside, and that’s what really mattered.

Just as we were about to leave the house, the phone rang.  “Roberts residence,” Kyra answered.  She had put me on her hip to carry me out, so now as she stood holding the phone I was able to hear the other end.

“Hello, this is Dr. Williams’ office.  Since we have you down for a possible appointment next week, we are calling to inform you that we will have to reschedule.  Unfortunately, Dr. Williams will be out of the office for at least a week.”

“Oh, my, I’m sorry to hear that!” Kyra sounded sincere, but I swear I saw the slightest hint of an evil smile on her lips.  “Did something happen to him?”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to say, but … well, he’s been in a car accident.”

“Oh, that’s terrible!  Is he OK?”

“He’s in the hospital right now, recovering from a broken arm, a few broken ribs, and some minor internal bleeding.”  I knew it was no car accident.  My eyes widened when I heard the extent of what Kyra had done.  ‘You MONSTER!!’ I thought in silence, looking at her in horror.

But she just kept playing innocent, replying, “Oh, no!  Did he say who did it?”

“Just some random driver.  Apparently they drove off after hitting him.”

“Those animals!” Kyra replied, but I saw in her face that she was pleased to hear how the doctor hadn’t ratted her out by telling what had really happened to him.  He was no doubt scared for his life, and I couldn’t blame him.

Kyra told her that she would call back later to reschedule.  Once she hung up, she turned her gaze to me and I quickly wiped the horrified expression from my face in favor of a sweet, innocent stare.  “Well, that’s too bad,” Kyra told me.  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon, and then at some point I can bring you in for your shot.”

She studied my reaction.  I replied in a conciliatory tone, “Whenever you want, Mommy.”  She beamed at my good behavior as we stepped out the door.  Fortunately, she didn’t notice my body shuddering in horror at the care-free way she was able to play off her heinous crime.

I didn’t complain as she dropped me off at the day care center again; I even managed to appear cheerful as she left me to another day of humiliation.  Although, despite my overall hatred of that place, I was surprised to find that I was more than happy to see Susie again.  When she first saw me that morning, she rushed over, said, “Hi, Jimmy!”, took my hand, and led me to her usual spot.  It was quite disconcerting to notice that she was now a full two inches taller than me, whereas we stood eye-to-eye yesterday, but nonetheless I was almost looking forward to playing with her again.  She was just so ebullient and happy all the time, and things were just so simple with her – none of the drama, sexual tension, condescension, or humiliation I had been routinely experiencing.  Although she was a child and of course saw me as such, nevertheless it was refreshing that she viewed me as an equal and carried out her day as if there was nothing wrong with me.

I ended up spending most of the day at her side, playing with dolls and LEGOs, running around outside, and sitting next to each other at lunch.  She didn’t notice our new height difference; considering all the growth spurts kids have at her age, her mind certainly didn’t register anything unusual about it.  Mrs. Walker came by every now and then to check on us as we played, and she was most pleased to see how well the two of us were getting along.

The day went by all too quickly.  Despite myself, I had a lot of fun with Susie.  It wasn’t like I wouldn’t rather be laying back on my recliner at home with a beer in my hand, watching TV.  But compared to the Spartan-like restrictions Kyra had imposed on my free time lately, spending the day playing carefree with Susie was a most welcome change.

Of course, when Kyra came to pick me up she was overjoyed to hear from Mrs. Walker about me and Susie’s burgeoning friendship.  As she drove us home, Kyra told me all about her day, especially about 3 different boys—two of them seniors-- who summoned the courage to ask her out on that particular day, and about how she delighted in turning them down while her friends watched.

Meanwhile, I was having the darnedest time paying attention to what she was saying, focusing instead on her miraculous tits thrusting forward from her chest.  In the middle of her conversation, she glanced at me and saw what I had been doing.  She burst out laughing and said, “Awww, wittle Jimmy just can’t keep his eyes off me, can he?  Well, since he’s been such a good wittle boy, I’ll even let him touch them if he wants.”

I snapped out of it, averting my gaze in embarrassment.  No way I would give in to that; it was exactly what she wanted from me.  I could resist her.

But a minute later, I had a change of heart as I cautiously glanced back over at her body.  It wasn’t a big deal really, I told myself.  It was just a simple act of reaching out and squeezing; it’s not like I couldn’t resist her if I wanted to … right?

I extended my arm, and only after leaning as far towards her as I could was I able to lay my hand on the underside of her boob.  Kyra chuckled but kept her eyes on the road.  I was having to strain to extend myself far enough, but I was able to give a nice little squeeze to the side of her breast, which still gave more than a handful considering each of her tits now easily dwarfed my hand in diameter.

What the hell was I doing?  Look at me, stretching across the seats like a fool just to cop a feel of Kyra’s tits!  How pathetic was I now?  I slumped back into my seat and brooded about this, stealing a few more glances over at Kyra until we got home.

But once we were inside, Kyra told me, “I’m sorry, Jimmy, but I won’t be able to spend time with you tonight.  Steve is taking me out for dinner, and I’m sure I won’t be back until your bedtime.  So I’ll still whip you up a quick dinner, and then I asked a babysitter to come watch over you.”

“Oh … um, OK.  But do I really need a babysitter?  I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Yes, Jimmy,” she repeated condescendingly, “you do really need a babysitter.  Even when you try to behave, you still get yourself into trouble.  You know that.”  I frowned but nodded in acquiescence.

“Anyways,” she continued, “since you’ve been so well-behaved today, you deserve your special treat again,” she said, raising her eyebrows seductively.  “And since I won’t be here tonight, and since I know you’ll be on your best behavior for the babysitter, I’ll go ahead and reward you right now.”  She bent down and picked me up, cradling me in her arms.

I worried that if I let her jerk me off again, it would only allow her to infiltrate my mind with bad thoughts again, eroding my resistance.  I couldn’t allow that.  “That’s OK, Mommy, I’d rather not.”

“Oh, really!?” she said, genuinely surprised at my refusal.  But then her face turned sweet again.  “Are you suurrree…?”  She squeezed my little chest into her bosom, and I knew the longer I tarried here the less chance I would have of refusing her.

“Y-Yes,” I said uncertainly.  She began to sway me gently from side to side, mashing my body into her tits then away from them, and back again.  “Well, maybe …” I added, feeling my resistance waning.

But she suddenly stopped and set me down.  “Suit yourself,” she said simply, turning to the kitchen to prepare my meal.  I sighed (or maybe groaned) in relief at my victory – it was a victory, right?

I stood off to the side and watched her work.  With her heels on, my eyes were now level with her waistline.  Among other things, I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of her legs – each of them was now not much smaller than my entire body as they swung like mighty pendulums, carrying Kyra from one end of the kitchen to the other.  Once, as her towering body rapidly approached me, I even panicked for a moment until she said, “Whoops!  Look out, Jimmy,” causing me to scamper away to a safer location, where I didn’t run the risk of being inadvertently swiped into by her legs and slamming into a cabinet or the floor or something painful.

When the food was ready, I waited for her to serve me, but instead she told me, “Steve will be here soon, and I don’t have time to feed you right now, sorry.  Grace can feed you when she arrives.”  I would have objected that I could feed myself, but I knew she would just remind me of all my spills and refuse my request.

She headed upstairs to get ready for her date.  Not knowing what else to do, I followed her up, although I climbed the stairs much more slowly, having to really lift up my knees and push up with effort to scale each step.  But I managed to get to the top, just a little winded, and I headed for her main bedroom.

She had already taken her clothes off and put on new underwear, a cute lacy black number, and she was just putting on her bra as I approached and clandestinely peered in through the cracked-open door.  But I had another moment of panic as she turned to look straight at me, apparently hearing me approach.

I thought she would be mad at me spying on her, but to my surprise she beckoned me forward invitingly.  I dumbly stumbled into the room and stood before her mostly-naked body, nearly twice my size.  She didn’t speak as she picked me up and plopped me down onto her bed facing her, inviting me to stare to my heart’s content.

Instead of putting a dress on, she slipped her 4-inch heels on and went to the bathroom mirror to apply makeup.  Having heels on in just her underwear was no doubt intended for my benefit, and I made the most of the opportunity.  Leaning sideways to get a better view, I was able to watch her through the open bathroom door as she leaned over, sticking her round yet firm butt out as she leaned towards the mirror and applied her makeup.  She would glance to the side from time to time and smile at me through the mirror behind her.  I would weakly return the smile and get back to my ogling.

She emerged several minutes later after spraying some perfume, her facial features expertly accentuated to give her even more of a radiant glow and allure than normal.  Pulling out a comb, and some hairpins, she stood before the small mirror on her dresser and did her hair, affording me a close-up side view of her dramatic curves which any man would kill for.  Her perfume wafted into my nostrils, reminding me of a warm spring day, with morning dew on the leaves, and an incredibly sexy woman standing before me.  Yeah, that’s a good scent.  She stood barely two feet away from where I sat at the edge of the bed, and the closeness of her supermodel’s body, blown up to ridiculous proportions, was more than enough to erode my resistance and grow hopelessly aroused before her.

By the time she finished doing her hair, I couldn’t restrain myself any longer.  “Mommy?” I asked timidly.

“Yes, Jimmy?” she replied sweetly, moving about the room.

“I’ve … I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh?  About what, sweetie?”

“Could you give me my … happy time now?”

Kyra laughed and licked her lips as she started pulling out an outfit from her closet.  “Well … I don’t know if there’s time anymore.  And you sure didn’t seem to want it 10 minutes ago …”

“But I want it now!  Please!”

“No, I think we’ll just wait until tomorrow night.”

“I can’t wait that long!”  She had me completely under her spell.  “I – I – I need you!”

She stopped just as she was about to put her dress on, and turned towards me with a wide, seductive grin.  “Well, Jimmy,” she breathed huskily, sauntering over to me, “I guess I could help you out …”

It occurred to me that this may had been her plan all along, in letting me sit there watching her – but I didn’t care at this point.  She leaned over, presenting her gaping cleavage just inches from my face.  After letting me enjoy the show for a few moments, she suddenly reached down and shoved my chest back with unbelievable force.  I lay flat on the bed as she climbed up on all fours directly above me.  She effortlessly dragged my body farther onto the bed and then leaned her own body down until she hovered mere inches above me.

I reached a hand up to grasp her enormous melons, but Kyra’s own hand shot out and pinned my wrist to the bed beside me.  “Tsk, tsk,” she said, shaking her head.  “You have to ask me nicely first.”

“Can I – please, can I squeeze your breasts, Mommy?” I pleaded.

“Very well.”  She released my wrist, and both of my hands now shot up to fondle her.  My hands looked unbelievably small and puny as I explored her tits hungrily.  She remained still, watching my passion with evil delight.

“Would you like me to make you cum, Jimmy?”

I nodded fervently and exclaimed, “YES!  Please, I need you!!”  I felt her hand completely envelop my shaft and balls and rub up and down.  Almost instantly, I began to come, filling my pants with warm fluid.  The entire process, from the time she threw me back against the bed to the time I climaxed, couldn’t have taken more than 30 seconds.  I reflected that if she had really went for speed and started rubbing my crotch right off the bat, it would probably have taken all of 10 seconds to make me come.  “Good boy,” she commended, getting up and dressing as I lay on her bed, panting and sweating.

By the time I had recovered and sat up, she had finished putting on another of her excruciatingly sexy dresses, the yellow summer dress that fit her like a glove and showed off every curve she had.  Seeing the growing wet spot on the front of my pants, she said, “Let’s get you changed.”  But, to my dismay, just at that moment the doorbell rang.  “Oh!  That must be Grace.  Come on.”  She pulled me off the bed and took my hand, not giving me the chance to protest about changing clothes as we went downstairs.  All I could do was tug on her hand a bit, but she just smirked at me and led me forward anyway.

“Hi Grace!” Kyra said, opening the door.  There stood a pretty blonde girl who looked to be about Kyra’s age – though certainly she wasn’t as advanced beyond her years as Kyra was.  Still, she was decent looking, with modest curves and proportions, except that she was clearly quite petite and stood only level with Kyra’s chest as they went in for a quick hug.  I guessed her to be just over 5 feet, maybe 5’2” – but petite or no, she still towered over me.

“So, is this the kid?” she asked in kind of a bratty voice, in my opinion.  As she stood there chewing bubblegum, dressed in a preppy little outfit, I knew she had to be one of the more popular girls at school, probably the type who would walk around with several uglier girls attached to her hip like parasites, bossing them around and just generally acting bitchy, I mused.

“Yep, this is Jimmy.  He’s my little cousin, and my uncle left him here with me while he and my dad went on vacation together.  He’s pretty well behaved, most of the time.  But if he acts up, just let me know.”

“K, cool,” Grace replied after blowing a bubble.

Kyra turned to me and said, “Be good for Grace, OK?  She’s one of my best friends in school and I don’t want you to give her a hard time.  Got it?”

I nodded.  Then, for the first time, Grace looked down and saw the wet stain on my pants.  “Eww, did he piss himself or something!? Gross.”

“Yeah, little Jimmy hasn’t really learned to control himself yet.  Don’t worry, he should be able to change himself.  Just make sure to keep an eye on him, though.  He gets himself into trouble when no one’s around.  Oh, and his dinner is on the stove, and if you want any yourself, go ahead.  And here are the passwords for the TV and computer if you want them.”  She handed her a paper.  “Jimmy’s not supposed to watch more than half an hour.  And he shouldn’t stay up too late, definitely not past 9:00.”  A car pulled up outside and honked.  “Oh, that’s Steve!” Kyra exclaimed.

“Go get’em, girl.  Work that bootay,” Grace said, shaking her butt at Kyra jokingly.  Kyra busted out laughing as she waved goodbye and walked toward Steve’s car.

Grace shut the door and didn’t so much as look down at me as she turned and plopped herself down onto the recliner – MY recliner (well, it used to be mine, anyway).  Flipping on the TV, she entered the password and turned it to MTV, proceeding to ignore me completely for the time being.

Humiliated by so easily passing for a child once again, as well as humiliated by the wet spot Grace had seen, I went upstairs, cleaned myself up, and changed into some dry clothes.  Coming back down, I walked up to her and said, “Um, Grace, I need to eat now.”

“Whatever, get it yourself,” she quipped, waving her hand at me dismissively.  I wasn’t sure I could reach the food on the stove, but I decided to try.  I walked over and reached my hand out.  The stovetop stood just a little lower than shoulder-height, but my arms, barely longer than one foot now, couldn’t quite extend all the way to the back burner where the skillet was located.  But after getting up on my toes and leaning forward, my fingers just barely managed to flick the handle towards me.  Now I was able to wrap the tips of my fingers around the edge of the handle and pull, just barely having enough of a grip to slide the skillet off the burner and up to the edge of the stove.  Fortunately the food had cooled quite a bit so it was safe enough to handle and was OK sitting off of the burner.

But I found a new predicament, one that was truly insurmountable.  “Grace,” I called out.  “I can’t reach the bowls.”  She ignored me.  I tried reaching up and could almost reach the knob on the cupboard door, but I knew that even if I did manage to open it, there was no way I could actually pull a plate down.  I called again as nicely as I could, “Grace, can you help me please?”

“WHAT?” she snapped from the living room, entering full ‘bitch mode.’

“I need help getting a bowl,” I replied sheepishly.

She grunted in frustration and stormed over to the kitchen.  Reaching right over me, she opened the cupboard and pulled out a bowl.  “And a cup!” I interjected.  She ‘graciously’ pulled out a cup and handed me both items.  “Thank you!” I said, trying to sound as nice as possible.  She didn’t respond, walking back to her seat in front of the TV and turning up the volume.

Fortunately, the utensils were in a drawer at shoulder height, so I was able to get those myself and scoop some food onto my plate over the brim of the skillet.  In her hurry, Kyra had made Hamburger Helper, reminding me of the old days when I would regularly prepare such lazy meals.  She didn’t make a whole box, though, as that would be way more than I could eat these days.  But even the half box she made was more than enough for me at my new size.

I filled my bowl and sat on the couch, happy to be able to eat in front of the TV again, like I always used to.  But I soon regretted this decision.  Grace smelled the food in my bowl and said aloud, “I’m hungry!”  Turning her gaze to me, she said bossily, “Give me that.”

I shook my head no, telling her, “There’s more on the stove.”

“Come on, I just want to taste it,” she said in a whiny, bitchy voice.  I sighed but obliged her, bringing it to her seat.

She pulled the bowl towards her and took a bite with the fork.  “Mmm, not bad,” she said.  Then her strong hands latched tightly onto the bowl and pulled it from my grasp.

“Hey!” I exclaimed.

“This bowl’s mine.  Get your own.”

I stomped angrily back to the kitchen as she turned her attention to the TV.  I was about to scoop up the rest of the Hamburger Helper into the bowl, until I realized … I didn’t have one.  “Grace, I need another bowl!”  I was starting to get agitated.

“Whatever, little dude.  You can have my bowl when I’m done.”  What a B-I-T-C-H.  I stomped back to the TV and waited impatiently as she slowly ate MY dinner.  I wasn’t sure if she was purposely eating so slowly, or if she was just absorbed in her show, but it seemed like she would never finish, waiting a good 30 seconds between mouthfuls.

Finally she was done and reached the bowl out for me to take it away.  I promptly did just that, going back to fill it again with the last of the Hamburger Helper.  I sat back down on the couch indignantly and started eating.

“Hey, bring it here,” Grace told me.  What?  Bullshit, this was my bowl.  She snapped her finger impatiently, but I sat there and took a bite.  “Don’t make me come over there,” she warned.

My resolve wavered, but I didn’t give in.  “Screw you!” I said.  That was a mistake.

With a huff, she stood up and stormed over to me.  I tried to hold the bowl away from her, whining, “Stop it!” but her arms were too long and too strong.  She easily wrested it from my grasp then slapped my wrist hard with her hand.  Fuck, that hurt!

“You do NOT talk back to me, understand!?”  Holding my wrist in pain, I nodded grudgingly as she took my second bowl back to her chair and ate it.  I had no choice but to sit idly by as she slowly chewed up the last of my meal.  She probably could win an award for worst babysitter ever, but there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

Eventually, she said, “I’m full.  You can have the rest.”  I eagerly scampered over to see what she had left me.  Not much.  Mostly sauce, with a few bits of noodles and hamburger here and there.  I looked at her angrily, but she didn’t even notice as she was focused on the TV.  Downtrodden, I slumped back to the couch and scooped up every last bit I could, even licking the bowl for maximum efficiency.  I then went back to the skillet to scrape up any fragments I had left behind.

At least it didn’t take much to fill my tiny stomach these days, and what little I was able to eat did help my hunger, but it wasn’t even a third of what I needed, and it was mostly sauce anyway, which was poor sustenance.  I sat back down on the couch and tried to ignore the rumblings of my tummy, but soon enough I couldn’t take it anymore.  “You ate all my food!  I need something to eat.”

“Shut up!” she spat.

I couldn’t just give up so easily, though.  “Seriously, I’m starving!  Make me something else.”  I had no respect for this girl, and I hoped that she would eventually get tired of my whining and give in to my demands.

But she wasn’t one to let people tell her what to do, especially not little kids like me.  “Stop whining!  Gawd.  Get over it.”

“Just make me a hot pocket or something.”  I was getting pissed off.

But she was getting pissed off too, and she was the one with the power to do something about it.  Turning her attention away from the TV for once, she glared at me and yelled, “I already told you, the answer is no!  Now if you don’t shut your little mouth this instant, you’re gonna regret it!”

I was growing worried, but I had to test her limits.  “No!” I shouted back.

“That does it,” she snapped.  Pulling out her phone, she started dialing a number.  “I’m telling Kyra about this.”

“No!” I exclaimed.  She had played her trump card and won.  My attitude had immediately reversed in only a second’s time.  “Please don’t!”

She eyed me superciliously and said, “Well, well, looks like I’ve found your weakness.  You had better stop acting up from now on, ‘cuz we would hate to have to interrupt Kyra on her date, wouldn’t we?”

I nodded obediently.  Damn right, I would hate to interrupt her.  “Good,” she replied, turning her attention back to the screen.  I sat there fuming, silently shouting obscenities at her in my mind, but she paid my dirty glances no heed.

I got up and scrounged around the kitchen for something to eat.  Unfortunately, the fridge was almost empty, and all of the snack-like items in the pantry were on the upper shelves, way out of my reach.  I was forced to eat a small serving of leftover vegetables from the fridge and some crumbled bits of crackers at the bottom of a box of Wheat Thins.  I was still hungry afterwards.

When I went back to the living room, I saw that Grace had her phone out and was having a conversation via text message.  Since she wasn’t paying attention to the TV, and since I loathed MTV, I asked, as sweetly as I could, “Grace, would it be OK if I changed the channel?”

“No!  I’m watching MTV, Gawd.”  I didn’t press the issue.

A few minutes later, she finished texting then pulled out some nail polish and started painting her toes.  After a minute, though, she got a call on her cell phone.  Geez, does she ever put her phone away?  She must be one of those girls who runs up the phone bill with a million minutes and texts.  “Crap!” she said, painting a bit of her skin in surprise at her ringing phone.  “Arghh,” she growled.  Looking at me, she said, “Hey, come hold this.”  I walked over and held the brush for her as she answered the phone.

“Hey, Britta!” Good, at least it wasn’t Kyra.  But Grace cupped her hand over the speaker and told me, “Wipe that up,” then continued talking to Britta.

Still holding the brush, I sighed and pulled a tissue from the box on the end table, then carefully dabbed the spot where she missed her nail.  Having cleaned it up, I walked over to set the tissue on the table and put the brush away in the small bottle.

But Grace grabbed my arm and, turning her phone aside, told me, “This might take a while.”  I was glad since she probably wouldn’t care what I did when she was distracted.  Not that she really cared much anyway.

But she had other plans.  “So why don’t you help me get my nails done?”  She asked sweetly enough, but I shook my head no.  Why the hell would I want to do that?  “Hold on a minute, Britta,” she said into the receiver, then set her phone down on the armrest.  She turned and peered at me threateningly, saying, “Are you sure about that, Jimmy?  I think you really ought to reconsider.”

I got the message.  Gulping, I nodded my assent, and she picked up the phone to say, “Sorry about that.  The little kid I’m babysitting was being a brat.”  As she chatted away, I reluctantly picked up the nail polish and trudged over to where her legs were laying stretched out on the recliner.  This is bullshit.  Who gave her the right to treat me like this!?  But then I realized: of course, Kyra had.  She was the one who had set me up with her as my babysitter, and she must have known what type of sitter her friend would be to me, too.  I had to just hold my frustration in as I pulled out the brush and started painting her toenails.

She had only just started the first nail, so I had 9 ½ left to do.  Never having done this before, I was fairly clumsy at it, but what the hell did I care if her nails weren’t perfectly painted nice and smooth around the edges?

Well, as it turns out, Grace cared.  A lot.  In the middle of her conversation, she whined, “Hey!  You’re making a mess!  Do that one again.”  I wanted to just move on to the next toe and get this done with, but her insistent stare convinced me to take more care in my work.  I redid her big toe, making an effort to paint it as precisely as possible.  One benefit of my size was that my hands were now much smaller, allowing for more precise work, despite the unwieldy size of the brush in my hand.

But just as I was finishing up her big toe, Grace laughed at something her friend said, causing her to unconsciously curl and uncurl her toes.  This caused me to smear a big splotch of paint on the skin above her nail.

It took her only a few moments to look down and see what I had done.  “What the hell!?” she blurted.  “Look what you did to my toe!”

“You moved!” I protested.  “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Oh, so it was my fault?  Are you blaming ME for YOUR screw-ups?”  I started to protest but she cut me off.  “Don’t let it happen again.  …Sorry about that Britta, this little boy is, like, trying to paint my entire toe or something.  Anyway …” she resumed her conversation as I sighed, retrieved another tissue, and wiped up the mess that ‘I’ made.

I finally got her big toe cleaned up and neatened, so I moved on to the next one.  She just wouldn’t stop wiggling her toes, though.  I’m sure it wasn’t a conscious action, but as she chatted with Britta they would move about every few seconds, making it almost impossible to avoid messing up her nails.  She would look down from time to time and see another splotch of missed polish and shout some complaint or insult at me.  I just took her verbal abuse and did the best job I could.

After much toil, I finished her left foot, although it was not nearly as perfect as it would have been if she had kept still; no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get it any better with all that damned wiggling.  But, seeing that I was moving on to her other foot, she leaned forward for a closer inspection.  Greatly displeased, she told Britta, “Sorry, girl, I’m gonna have to call you back.”  I heard her phone snap shut and her bitter voice ring out, “You’ve got to be kidding me!  Is that really the best you can do!?  I know you’re a little kid, but it looks like a 2-year-old did my toes!”

“That’s not fair!” I shouted.  “I can’t do it right when you keep wiggling your toes all the time!”

Her eyes widened in disbelief.  “Oh my God, are you still trying to blame all this on me!?  Freakin’ unbelievable.”  Before I could get another word in, she lowered the footrest on the recliner and took the brush and bottle from my hand then bent down to the ground, muttering, “Can’t say I’ll be giving Kyra a good report on your behavior.”  At least she was finally getting off her lazy ass and painting her own nails.

But I was dead wrong.  Instead, she pulled the brush out and began painting MY toes!  “Now for a taste of your own medicine!” she snorted, smearing a few globs of paint sloppily across my toes, intentionally putting about half on my nails and half scattered around on my skin.  “Hey, I’m Jimmy, look at me trying to paint a girl’s toes,” she mocked.  “Looks good to me!  Derp derp.”  She was making an awful mess of my feet.  I tried to pull a foot away but she just mocked even more.  “Heeyyy, quit moving your toes, I can’t paint it when you move your toes.  Wah wah wah.”  Even though I stepped back, she just reached forward and painted them even sloppier.  I realized the best I could hope for now was to keep still and mitigate the damage to my toes.

It didn’t take her long; God knows she didn’t try to do a good job.  When she was done, she put the brush back in the bottle and leaned farther to mockingly blow on them, sending a cool breeze on my toes to dry the nail polish.  When she raised herself back up, I looked down in dismay as I saw streaks of pink glittery nail polish going every which way across my nails and running past them onto my skin.  She didn’t even fill in my nails, leaving patches of their surface un-painted.  I counted myself lucky that she had restricted her rampage to the environs of my toenails, not venturing too far toward the rest of my feet.  But still, my feet looked far too ridiculous to be seen in public.

She lied back against the recliner and put the legs up again, telling me imperiously, “I would make you redo all my toes, but unfortunately I don’t have any remover with me, and my toes are too dry now to really clean up.  So I’ll just have to do them again tomorrow, you little brat.”  She snorted, continuing, “Do you think you can do my other foot without making it look like a toddler did them?”

Now that she was off the phone, I knew it would be much easier.  I nodded.

“I’ll hold you to it.”  I sat there dumbly until she said, “Well, get moving!  Geez.”  I began her other foot, doing a very precise job, as she leaned over and watched to make sure it was acceptable.  Satisfied, she opened her phone up again and called Britta back.

“No!” I exclaimed.

“What the hell are you whining about this time?” she sneered.  “Are you trying to tell me I can’t talk to my friend?  Huh?  Are you ordering me around?”

I hung my head in defeat and muttered, “No, ma’am,” as Britta picked up and the two of them got back to gossiping.  My work immediately became just as difficult as before, but this time I tried a new approach.  Certainly, the closer to the edge I painted, the more risk I had of running over when she suddenly wiggled her foot unexpectedly.  So I figured to just paint the middle of her 5 nails’ surfaces for now, and come back later to do the more precise edge work, maybe with a dryer brush for less risk of splotching.

She didn’t look down until I had finished the first stage on all 5 toes, and she immediately assumed that I was settling for that as my finished product.  “That’s not better, that’s 10 times worse than the other foot!!!” she yelled.  I tried to explain what I was doing, but in her frustration she immaturely thrashed her leg about while giving an aggravated groan.

Amidst her thrashing, she brought her foot down a few inches to the right of where she had it before.  As it happens, a few inches to the right was exactly where I was holding up the bottle of nail polish in my hand.  The heel of her foot hit the bottle squarely, knocking it clean out of my grasp and sending it careening to the ground.  The velocity and angle at which it hit the carpet caused it to bounce and spin forward, allowing a sizeable blob of goopy nail polish to fly out and land around my feet.  I looked down in horror at the pink, glittery liquid that was splattered some against the side of my foot, some on the bottom of my pants, but most on the carpet between my feet.

“Son of a bitch!” Grace screamed, slamming her phone shut.  “Look what you did!!”  I was too shocked to point out that it was completely her fault.  She grabbed some tissues and quickly knelt to the floor to clean up what she could.  I started to step back to give her room, but she snapped, “Stay still.  You’ll just make a bigger stain on the floor.”  Brusquely, she scrubbed at the floor, and only once she got as much as possible did she move up to my foot and pants to clean them roughly as well.  Looking at the deep stain that still marred the carpet, Grace cursed and said, “Kyra’s dad is going to kill me for this!!”  I understood the irony of that statement much better than she did.

She stood up before me, and even her supposedly short 5’3” or so frame towered head and shoulders above me.  I started to back away but she grabbed my arm like a vice.  Picking up her phone, she dialed a number, and I could just make out the sound of a familiar voice on the other end.

“Kyra, this is Grace.  I’m so sorry to bother you on your date, but Jimmy has just spilled nail polish all over the floor and I don’t know what to do.”  She sounded genuinely worried about leaving a big stain on my floor; of course, she was really worried that her big scary 6’6” father would fall into some kind of rage and tell her own parents, getting her grounded and who knows what else.

And maybe I would have, under normal circumstances.  But I, being the puny 4’0” weakling I was now, being completely mistaken as a young child, could do her no harm at all.  I merely winced in pain as she clamped down on my arm.

I heard Kyra say something in reply, no doubt astounded at my misbehavior.  Grace answered, “Of course it was his fault.”  Whether she truly believed that, or was simply lying to get out of trouble, I knew that her word was now worth more than mine, certainly in Kyra’s eyes anyway.  “And he’s been causing me trouble ever since you left.  … Uh-huh … yeah … OK, sounds good.  But are you sure it’s OK?” Grace asked again.  “I mean, your dad isn’t going to, like, hurt me or get me grounded or anything, is he?”  I heard boisterous laughter on Kyra’s end as she assured Grace that no, her dad would do nothing of the sort.  “OK then, sorry again about interrupting you.  See ya tonight.”

I gloomily pondered for a moment and realized that I definitely would have gotten Kyra’s friend grounded for something like this, back when I still had any fatherly authority, that is.  But now, instead of punishing someone else, I would be punished, for something that wasn’t even my fault.

Grace hung up the phone then peered down at me.  I just had to plead my case to her, to try to convince her to take some of the blame.  “Please, Grace, can’t you just tell Kyra it was at least partially your fault?  I mean, you were the one who kicked around and knocked it out of my hand!”

She sneered, “Well, I was only kicking around because you did such an awful job doing my toes.”

“But I wasn’t done with your toes yet!  That was just the first pass, and I was going to come back for the edges, honest!  And it was all because you kept wiggling your – Ahh!”  She redoubled the strength of her grip on my arm, causing me to cry out in pain.

“Shut up, you little brat!  How dare you blame me again, after what you’ve done!”

My eyes beginning to water, I cried out in desperation, “Please, just tell her you did it on accident!  She won’t be mad at you!”

She clamped down even tighter, prompting another shriek from me.  “That’s a nice little story, Jimmy, but I’ve got a better one.  After I painted my own toenails, you snuck around the couch, stole the bottle, and tried to paint your own toenails, obviously doing a great job of it.”  She pointed haughtily at my own toes crisscrossed with childish streaks of paint.  I gulped.  This wasn’t sounding good for me.

She continued, “Then, like the little kid you are, you carelessly spilled the bottle, letting it dump onto the carpet.  So, little man,” she continued with a victorious grin, “which story do you think Kyra is going to believe?  Your outlandish tale about ‘trying your hardest’ while I kept kicking my feet around like a kid, knocking the bottle down”-- she raised her fingers mockingly into quotation marks as she said this –“or my account of how YOU acted like a kid and knocked it over carelessly?  Hmm?  The word of a 7-year-old child against her high school classmate and close friend?”

Grace had thoroughly defeated me.  There was indeed no chance in hell that Kyra would believe me over her.  My only response was to break down and cry like the little child I was.  I was embarrassed to be crying and giving in like this, but I couldn’t help it.

 “Pshh,” she scoffed.  “You think crying is going to get you out of this?  Fat chance.  Kyra gave me strict orders to put you in bed right now, and she told me she would deal with you when she got home.”  This only brought on more tears as she began to haul me up the stairs, my arm starting to numb from the tightness of her grip.

She basically threw me into my room and slammed the door, threatening, “And don’t even think about opening this door again!”  As she walked away, I lay in a heap on my floor, sobbing so hard I had trouble breathing.  Where did I go wrong?  Why couldn’t I just go back to the way things were yesterday?  It was so unfair; I had done nothing wrong!  It was all that bitch Grace’s fault!  But, thanks to her, I cowered in darkness, waiting nervously for Kyra to come home and deliver my punishment.

I lay there for what must have been 2 hours, not wanting to move.  But eventually my lethargy was overcome by my need to relieve my bladder.  I cautiously got up and crept forward, pressing my head to the door to listen.  I could hear the TV playing downstairs, but no sounds other than that.  With infinite care, I slowly pulled the door open and tiptoed the short distance to the bathroom.  That was another benefit of being so small: my 51-lb body didn’t make a sound as I walked.  But, no matter how silent I was able to be so far, I was confronted with the fact that peeing into the toilet would inevitably produce some noise.  My best bet was to shut the bathroom door.

I began to pull it shut, but, alas, it complained with a loud creak.  I froze; I heard nothing moving downstairs.  Letting out an almost inaudible sigh of relief, I turned to face the toilet, knowing I would have to risk it with the door open.

At my height of 4 feet, I didn’t have much clearance over the rim of the toilet, but on the plus side it wasn’t a long way down so it wouldn’t make as much noise.  I aimed for the back of the bowl to minimize splashing, although inevitably I wasn’t able to completely avoid it, and besides, it made some sound even against the back.

I had really had to go, and it took some time to finish up and put my Johnson away in my pants.  I turned as I was pulling my pants up, and – Oh, hell.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you little runt?  I thought I told you to stay in your room!”  I beheld her silhouetted form, standing just outside the door, hands folded across her chest.  She must have snuck up just as quietly as I had, and over the sound of my peeing I didn’t hear her approach.

“I had to pee!” I exclaimed.

“I don’t care,” she scoffed.  “Kyra gave you strict orders to stay in your room, and you broke them.  Period.  I’m going to have to report this, too.”

“But that’s not fair!” I whined.  “Just tell her I had to pee; she’ll understand!”

She said thoughtfully, “Well … no.  Not gonna happen.  I think I’ll tell her … ah, yes, I’ll tell her that you were trying to sneak into her room.”

“WHAT!?  You can’t do that!”  Little did Grace know just how much of a dire situation her words would put me in.  Sneaking about in Kyra’s room uninvited was about the worst possible thing I could do, in my daughter’s eyes.

“Of course I can,” she laughed, “and I will.  And if you aren’t in your room in 5 seconds, I’ll think of some more things you did wrong.”

I clenched my fists and fumed.  But she just stood haughtily and counted, “5 … 4 …”

I bolted towards my room.  The only problem was, she was standing in the doorway, blocking my escape.  “3 …” she laughed down at me as I tried to slip past her.  “2 …”  I gave up that route and lunged between her spread legs.  “1 …”  Frantically crawling past her, I made a desperate lunge for my room, but it was too late.  “Time’s up!” she said mirthfully.  “That’s gonna cost you.”

 “I hate you!” I yelled, as I darted for the door and slammed it behind me.

I heard her giggling through the door.  “Tsk, tsk, Jimmy.  That little outburst is gonna cost you, too.  But I might spruce it up some for Kyra’s benefit.  Hmm … how about, ‘I hate you, bitch!’  Or perhaps, ‘Fuck you, bitch!’  Oh, this is gonna be fun!”

I slammed my fist on the wall in frustration.  Was there anything I could do about this?  No, I realized there was not.  Unless, maybe if I showed Grace I was really, REALLY sorry, she would ease up, maybe forget these last lies.  I saw the shadows of her feet through the slit below the door and knew she was still standing there.  “Grace, I’m sorry,” I said, crying (and not faking it, either).

There was a pause, then I heard Grace reply, “Come out here and say that to my face.”

I opened the door timidly and stepped out to meet her.  But as soon as I left my room, she burst out laughing, exclaiming, “I can’t believe you just fell for that!  You left your room again!”  Turning pale in despair, I spun around and retreated back into my room, shutting the door.  “You’re making this too easy for me, Jimmy!” she jeered.  “Just wait ‘til Kyra hears about this latest offense!  I’ll have to come up with something good.”

I collapsed in anger, despair, frustration, and a hundred other emotions.  My life had spiraled completely out of my control now.  It was bad enough when my own, voluntary rebellion against Kyra’s authority resulted in punishment and humiliation.  But even now when I wasn’t doing anything wrong, when I obeyed Grace whenever I could, I was still going to receive my punishment, probably no less severe than if I were actually guilty.

I eventually trudged over to my bed and collapsed, waiting sleeplessly for Kyra to return.  But she never came.  Probably fucking her boyfriend, god damn it.  Around 11:00 I thought I heard the TV turn off, but I wasn’t about to go out of my room to check.  Hearing no other sounds, I slowly drifted off into an uneasy, nightmare-riddled sleep.