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Thursday: 3’10”

“Jimmy, get down here!”  Kyra’s stern voice snapped me right out of my slumber.  I rubbed my eyes and saw that it was 8:30, which was the time we usually left for the day care center.  Shit!  Fortunately, I hadn’t even bothered to remove my clothes last night, so all I had to do was jump off the bed and run downstairs.  Kyra was looking as incredible as ever in another tight button-down shirt with a short skirt and heels.  But she was pissed – and even more terrifying than ever, since with her heels on and with me having lost another two inches overnight, I was a little dubious that the top of my head even reached her waist anymore.

I approached her rapidly, scared enough just from waking up late and having to face her – but I would soon learn that I was in a lot more trouble than that.

“Do you know what this is?” she queried, holding up a piece of paper that was full of writing in red ink.  I shook my head.  “Grace left this last night.  It is a list, a very LONG list, of all the naughty things you did when she was here.”  She frowned as she read the first couple lines to herself.

It seemed my daughter had likely spent the night at Steve’s and had just arrived here to pick me up, so she was only now reading over the entire list.  It would also explain her letting me sleep in so late.  “And I must say …” she continued ominously, scanning the page, “I find your behavior absolutely appalling.  I am very, very disappointed in you, Jimmy.”  She placed one hand on her hip as she set the paper down and glared.

I cowered under her in fear.  It was a testament to how cowed and afraid I was of her nowadays that I didn’t even bother trying to defend myself – somehow, I knew she wouldn’t believe me, or even if she did she would only use it as an excuse to punish me all the same.

So, quiet and afraid, I lowered my head and whimpered softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, your punishment will have to wait until this evening.  You’re already making me late for school as it is.”

My stomach rumbled loudly.  I still hadn’t eaten anything substantial since lunch yesterday; that ‘dinner’ last night had hardly counted as a snack.  “Can I please grab a bite to eat first, Mommy?” I asked as nicely as I could.  “I’m really, really starving.”

She scoffed loudly, and with a look of contempt she read the first entry in Grace’s log of my (supposed) misdeeds: “ ‘Jimmy refused to eat the food you made him, and then he wouldn’t stop telling me to make him something else.  I said it was your food or nothing, so he just took the skillet and dumped the whole meal down the drain.’ ”

“WHAT!!??” I said, appalled.  “That’s a lie!  I never did –“  WHAP!  I felt an incredible pain on my cheek as Kyra’s hand descended from nowhere and slapped me across the face.  I staggered backwards, dazed, my mind reeling as all I could think of for the next several seconds was how terribly my cheek burned from her blow.

“I can’t believe you would do something like this!”  She was furious and completely ignored my plea that it was all a lie.  “After being so well-behaved these last two days, to have gone and done such horrible things!  I really thought you had changed, Jimmy, but now I see I was COMPLETELY wrong.”

I had already made the mistake of defending myself once already, on impulse … but apparently I still hadn’t learned my lesson.  “Mommy, no!  I have changed, you have to believe me!”

I was truly desperate, but she wasn’t buying it at all.  She wasn’t even giving my words the slightest consideration, as if they held no credibility in her eyes whatsoever.

“Come on,” she barked, setting the paper down on the counter and yanking me out the door with her. 

Fuck my life.

For now, Kyra seemed more concerned with getting us where we needed to be on time than with punishing me now.  But I knew it was only temporary – my punishment would surely come sooner or later.

We sat quietly in the car for most of the ride, until Kyra broke the silence.  “So, I’ve read about the incident with your dinner, and I know you spilled nail polish on the floor.  I hope for your sake that, when I read the rest of that note tonight, I will find that those were the two worst incidents of the night.”  She cocked her eye at me inquiringly.

I had to avert my eyes in shame.  Not shame at anything I had done wrong, of course, but shame at … my utter helplessness, as I could do nothing to prove Grace wrong and win back Kyra’s affection or at least temper her anger.  I only prayed that those were indeed the worst things she had written, but I had a sinking feeling that I was in for a looonnnggg night.  Grace had no doubt enjoyed making up shit to get me in trouble, and she had probably only been getting warmed up with that first line Kyra had read.  I could just imagine Grace sitting there last night, grinning wickedly and writing horrible lies with her red pen just for the fun of it.  That horrible bitch.

We sat in silence after that.  Wiping some tears from my eyes, I glanced over at Kyra, now bigger than ever to my eyes.  As we sat, I was only eye level to her unbelievable rack, the two huge swells straining the buttons of her shirt.  I was at just the right angle to see through the gap in the taut fabric between two of the buttons, and I caught a delicious glimpse of her white bra holding in her immense left breast.

My eyes lingered too long.  “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kyra snarled.

Hurt by her sudden outburst, I whimpered, “Y-You said I could look at you.”

“Yeah, you can look at me, but ONLY when you behave yourself.  And that’s clearly not the case, is it?”

“No,” I sighed.  “I’m … I’m so sorry, Mommy.”  My only chance was to be as apologetic as possible, but even that probably wouldn’t be enough.  I spent the next few minutes with my head turned completely towards my side window to avoid any possibility of my eyes straying where they weren’t allowed, fearful of the consequences.

We arrived at the day care, and Kyra hauled me roughly through the door by the neck.  All she told Mrs. Walker was, “If Jimmy gives you even the SLIGHTEST problem today, let me know,” as she shoved me towards her and walked briskly, heels clacking, out the door.

It was incredibly difficult, but I swallowed my pride as best I could and made sure I was extremely well-behaved that day.  I went along with whatever I was told to do, playing the part of a small, helpless child at every turn without question.  I even managed, with tremendous effort, to avoid pestering the supervisors for food before lunch.  My hands were shaky from my critical lack of nourishment, but I did my best to soldier through it as I held out until noon.

Thank God Susie was there, though.  I don’t know if I could have handled the mental and emotional turmoil from the last 16 hours without her there to help me forget all my worries.  I lost myself in the little games we played; childish though they may have been, they were a most welcome distraction.  I was aware how humiliating it was to so willingly play along with this little girl, but it was certainly better than the alternative of sitting alone and dreading what was to come that evening.

Everything was just so simple when I was with Susie.  I reflected that she very well could be my best friend in the world at this point.  No, on second thought, that distinction definitely still belonged to Amy.  Susie was nice to hang out with, but with Amy I felt I could share anything, and she was the only one who knew and truly empathized with my situation.  Besides, as much as I hated being punished for spilling on Amy’s clothes, I was relieved that the whole incident was 100% behind us now and we could resume our friendship like old times … at least, that’s what I hoped.  I wondered when, if ever, I would be able to see her again.

Lunch came and went, and I did decide to risk it and ask nicely for another serving.  I was refused, though; the staff was apparently very sensitive to overfeeding us kids, what with all the childhood obesity hysteria.  But, like yesterday, the rest of the time flew right by, and soon enough I was in the car with Kyra heading home.

She was still sour about my alleged misdeeds last night, and a nervous knot grew in my stomach as I watched her drive in heavy silence.  That wasn’t all that was wrong with my stomach, though: I was already very hungry for dinner, since I wasn’t allowed to eat extra at lunch, plus I had worked up an appetite playing with Susie all day.

When we stepped inside the house, Kyra revealed that she had plans that evening.  Being very short with me, she said, “I’ll be heading out in a couple minutes to go to the mall with Amy and Becky -- or Ms. Adams and Ms. Johnson, to you.  We shouldn’t be gone too long.  I called Grace”—I shuddered at the mere mention of that colossal bitch –“but unfortunately she couldn’t babysit you today, and since I can’t get anyone else on such short notice, I’ll have to leave you alone while I’m gone.  Can I trust you to stay out of trouble this time?” she asked, eyeing me imperiously.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said obediently.

With a hint of mistrust, she replied, “Alright.  Now we both know I could easily lock you in your room, or perhaps tie you up under my bed again while I’m gone”—I shuddered at that painful memory from the other day—“but I’ve decided just this once to let you roam freely on your own.  Think of it as a chance to partially redeem yourself from yesterday and to show me you can actually behave yourself if you actually try.”

“Yes, Kyr—I mean, yes Mommy,” I replied nervously.

“I think you know what will happen if you disappoint me even further …” she added ominously, absolutely towering over me as she stepped a bit closer, the top of my head no higher than her pelvis.

I gulped, nodding fervently.  As Kyra turned towards the stairs, she saw the paper on the counter, the one soaked in blood-red ink and reeking of lies.  “I’ll have to wait to read this until tonight, to decide how severe your punishment will be.”  I gulped loudly.  She grabbed the paper and, looking for some place to keep it out of my reach, decided on the top shelf of the pantry.  A good choice, considering even I hadn’t quite stood eye-to-eye with that top shelf back when I was an impressive 6’6”.

Within a few minutes she was ready to leave.  But just as she was stepping out, my stomach growled with the worst pang of hunger yet.  Despite myself, I practically whined, “What will I do for dinner?”

Kyra looked back at me with scorn and snorted.  “What, you’re so dependent on me now that you forgot how to make your own dinner?  I’m sure there’s another Hamburger Helper or something in there.”

Mmm, yeah, just great.  Hamburger Helper, minus the hamburger.  My favorite.

“Just try not to burn the house down, OK?” she added sarcastically, leaving through the garage.

Well, it could be worse, I thought.  Alone time has been hard to come by lately, and now I won’t have to deal with Kyra for the next couple hours.  I breathed a sigh of relief then walked to the kitchen.

Man, it was becoming a real chore to do anything in the kitchen anymore.  I had to use two hands and push off of the counter with my foot just to open the damned fridge.  But, just like yesterday, the fridge was almost utterly devoid of anything useful.  Now that Kyra was in charge of things, she seemed to be slacking on errands like going to the grocery store.  In my mind, it only highlighted how unprepared and unsuited she was to actually run a household successfully; she didn’t have the maturity for it, despite her outward appearance that seemed so convincing to everyone.  But alas, there was nothing I could do about it.  And standing here fretting over it was doing nothing to help my dreadful hunger.

I turned next to the pantry but already knew what I would find: all of the shelves within reach contained staples like flour and sugar, as well as a canola oil and other assorted cooking supplies.  What the hell was I supposed to make, a roux?  All of the food I could actually use was located on the top two shelves, more than a foot above my outstretched hand.

Well, that just bloody figures, doesn’t it?  My eyes moved between the pantry and the fridge, searching for some answer to my conundrum.  My eyes rose to the top shelf of the pantry: there, as Kyra had indicated, was the last box of Hamburger Helper.  The only solution, the only way I could have any semblance of a real meal tonight, was to climb.

As I cautiously reached up to grab the shelf just above me, I began to feel like this was a bad idea.  The shelves were the kind that simply rested on the brackets, held in place by little notches, rather than being securely fastened with screws.  Normally, the shelves worked perfectly fine for their usual duty of holding things placed atop them – but my hands holding and pulling them at one end gave them a small but non-negligible risk of sliding or flipping out of place and causing a spill.

I was about to scrap the whole plan, but just then my stomach rumbled ferociously.  There was no way I could hold out without food for another, what, 2 hours?  3 hours?  Hell, maybe more, considering how long it takes women to shop for clothes.  And I already felt weak from hunger; if I waited any longer, I didn’t think I would even have the strength to pull myself up for the food anymore.  And besides, I really didn’t weigh that much anymore, so it would probably be fine.

My hands were already beginning to shake, more from hunger than exertion, as I slowly hoisted myself up off the ground, clamping my hand on the edge of the shelf in front of me.  I had to climb up two more shelves to reach my goal.  The first one proved fairly easy as I lifted one foot, then the other, up to the next level, then did the same with my hands.  The shelves seemed stable as I climbed, which I guess wasn’t surprising given my paltry weight of 45 pounds.

As I raised myself up a second time, though, my hands almost slipped off the top shelf.  In a brief moment of panic, I looked down at the ground, now a considerable distance below me.  I probably would be OK if I fell, but every foot of distance was to my small body more like a foot and a half or more, and on top of it I was scared of heights.  But the crisis was temporarily averted as I managed to stabilize myself again.

I could see the box of Hamburger Helper sitting on the top shelf, although still out of my reach.  I cautiously lifted my feet one at a time up to the next level and stood up straight so that the top shelf was chest-high.

I reached out and grabbed the box then tossed it over my shoulder so I wouldn’t have to carry it coming down.  The box hit the floor harmlessly.  But before I began lowering myself, I noticed something I had forgotten was there: the paper.  That’s right, Kyra had put it there out of my reach.  Well, not out of my reach anymore…

I tilted my head sideways to skim through it.  “Refused to eat dinner … put it down the drain … blah blah blah … what’s this!?  ‘Kept trying to take the remote from me to change the channel while I was watching MTV.’  Bullshit!  I only asked once, and VERY nicely, to change it while she was busy!”  But, amidst my agitation, I didn’t realize that my grip on the shelf was slipping.

“SHIT!!!” I exclaimed as I flailed my arms about, trying to find something to hold onto to keep from falling.  But my hand settled on the piece of paper, and as I was starting to fall backwards the paper allowed my hand to slip right off the shelf.  I made a last desperate lung for the shelf, grabbing the edge with both hands.  Unfortunately, though, since my body was moving away from the shelf, the sudden force applied by my hands was just enough to tilt the plank of wood forward off of its supports, bringing it, the food it was holding, and my body all crashing down in a messy heap on the kitchen floor.

I cried out in pain as I landed hard on my ass, with the shelf falling on my ribcage for an added bonus.  I thought I might have broken something as I writhed on the floor amidst the scattered boxes of food.  I finally rose to my feet and brushed myself off, still aching in front and back but at least with my bones intact.  As I found my bearings, I looked with dismay at the mess I had made.  There were probably 10 boxes strewn about, and a couple of the cereal boxes had opened during the fall, spilling flakes all over the floor.  It was actually amazing how far some of the flakes had made it from the point of impact.

God damn it.  I cursed at my own stupidity as I set about cleaning up the floor.  My nagging injuries sang out in pain whenever I bent down, making it a long and arduous process.  But at long last I had set all the boxes on the counter and swept up all the spilled cereal into the trash.  The real problem, though, was the shelf.  The oblong plank of wood felt heavier than I had anticipated, thanks to my miniature-sized muscles, and it quickly became obvious that I would never be able to hoist it all the way up there without dropping it or myself again, probably taking another shelf with me in the process.

But after I had lifted the board and leaned it against the wall, I realized that that wasn’t even the biggest problem.  That damned paper lay there on the ground, crushed awkwardly under the edge of the board, leaving it crumpled and slightly torn, and it didn’t take me long to realize what this looked like: that I had tried to climb up and take away the paper, resulting in my fall.  My only hope was to get the paper looking as nice as possible and pray to God that Kyra would believe the truth.

I spent a good deal of time laying it flat, trying to straighten it out, but the wrinkles just wouldn’t really go away.  What’s worse, a large piece had been torn from the bottom, taking most of the last sentence away.  I looked for tape but couldn’t find any, so I just had to be satisfied with setting the piece, unsecured, in its place at the bottom of the page.  I decided to put it on the highest remaining shelf to look less suspicious, but while I had the chance I read what Grace had written on the page.

Oh. My. God.  If Kyra read this, she would literally kill me.  The things Grace wrote ranged from mere exaggerations of the truth, to pure fabrications, and boy they were bad.  I was appalled by the unadulterated malevolence exhibited by that unholy bitch, Grace.  It seemed that Kyra’s own twisted morality had rubbed off on her as well.

What should I do?  Should I leave it for Kyra to read, or should I … destroy it??  My punishment would be severe indeed if she found out I deliberately got rid of the evidence of my supposed crimes.  But I feared my punishment would be worse still if Kyra actually read what was written.  Either way, it was sure to end very, very badly for me.

After much deliberation, I decided to put it back in the pantry.  Kyra would be able to read all the horrible things about me, but if I destroyed it she would probably just call Grace up and have her recount every word.  Hell, she might even come up with new, more malicious lies.  It took a while for me to climb back up the shelves, but I was much more careful this time.  I couldn’t avoid crumpling the paper up some more in my hand as I did so, though.  I reached up and slapped the paper up onto the highest remaining shelf and hopped back down.  Ow!  Bad idea.  My back sang out in pain, still messed up from before.

My stomach grumbled painfully.  The only bright side to my fall was that I now had access to food.  I grabbed the Hamburger Helper box and pulled out the skillet from the bottom cabinet.  But, standing up straight, I found out that my shoulders were now only level with the stovetop, making even the simple task of lifting the heavy cast iron skillet up to the burner quite difficult indeed.  And forget about reaching the knob to turn the stove on!

I dragged a chair over from the dining table, although it felt like it was made of lead.  Even climbing onto it was a challenge now.  How freakin’ helpless was I now!?  But, after climbing up, filling a cup with water, getting down, moving the chair, getting back up, and reaching as far as I could to turn on the burner, I finally managed to cook and eat my meager dinner of sauce and noodles, sans hamburger.

I spent the next 2 hours in melancholy as I resigned myself to my impending torture.  I had absolutely nothing to do around the house to distract me; Kyra had systematically blocked me from all forms of entertainment.  Hell, not just that, she had stolen all of my belongings, leaving me with no possessions except 3 kid’s outfits and a bed.  I wore a perpetual frown as I sat on the couch in boredom and apprehension.

8:30 rolled around.  I had the brilliant idea to go to bed early, hoping to postpone my punishment and thereby giving Kyra an extra day to cool down after reading the paper tonight.  I put my pajamas on, with socks too to keep my feet warm, and I crawled into bed.  But I wasn’t in bed 5 minutes before I heard the garage door open.

“Jimmy, come down here, you have company!” Kyra called out amidst giggling.  I surmised that Amy and/or Ms. Johnson had stopped by to pay me a visit.  Sure enough, as I stepped out of my room I saw all three of the ladies down below, smiling and laughing after a fun ladies’ night out.

“Jimmy!!” Amy squealed when she saw me emerge from my room.  She rushed up the stairs towards me in excitement, a couple of shopping bags in her hands.  As I slowly descended the steps, she swooped down and wrapped me up tightly in a delighted hug, sweeping me off my feet in the process.  “How are you!?” she asked, her face inches from mine.  In her excitement, she probably didn’t realize that, after standing up straight, she was now holding me in her arms like a child, effortlessly supporting my puny 45-pound body.

“Uh … good,” I replied dumbly.

“Glad to hear it!  I thought I’d stop by and try on my new clothes for you to see how you like them!”  With giddy energy, she scaled the last two steps with me in her arms then finally bent down to set me on the ground.  She wasn’t as tall as Kyra, but at a respectable 5’9” in flats she still absolutely dwarfed me, my mouth about even with her navel.  Amy playfully ruffled my hair as she stepped around me and into the bathroom, giving a cute little wave before closing the door.

“Jimmy!” Kyra impatiently called again.  I painstakingly descended the stairs, needing my hand for support as I dropped down one step at a time, each of them not much shorter than my knee.  Kyra and Ms. Johnson watched in amusement at my difficulties over such a routine task.  As I got to the bottom Ms. Johnson beckoned me closer.

“How’s wittle Jimmy doing?” she asked, mussing my hair and clearly treating me like a child.

“Good,” I managed to reply sheepishly.

“Kyra tells me how well-behaved you’ve been.  I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised, Jimmy, after your disgraceful behavior on Monday.”  I gave an uncomfortable nod.  “As a little treat, I went ahead and picked out a nice new outfit for you.  In fact, all three of us chose it together.”

I didn’t respond, so Kyra chided, “What do you tell her, Jimmy?”

“Oh, uh … thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, little guy,” my former boss responded condescendingly.  She reached down and pinched my cheeks with both hands while rocking my head back and forth.  “Adorable,” she said with a sly smile.  “You remind me so much of one of my own kids when he was just starting elementary school.”  I could do nothing but stand there and submissively accept her humiliation.  As a final insult, she wiggled my nose playfully with her fingers and said, “You know, I like you SO much better at this size.  You were SUCH a big, annoying asshole before.  Isn’t that right, Jimmy?”

Mrs. Johnson apparently felt no more need to temper her words in front of me, unlike before when we used to work together.  I grimaced and averted my gaze; the humiliation was just too much to bear.  But Ms. Johnson wiggled my nose more insistently and repeated, in an even more child-like voice, “Wittle Jimmy used to be such a big annoying asshole, DIDN’T HE?”

She just kept wiggling my nose and making me feel so small and pathetic, that I finally just had to put an end to it.  “Yes, ma’am, I was such a big annoying asshole.”

“Aww, yes you were!” she cooed.  “But don’t worry,” she added, “it doesn’t even matter what you say or do, whether you’re an asshole or not, ‘cuz you’ll just be cute and adorable no matter what!  Harmless wittle Jimmy is just too itty bitty to cause any more problems for anybody, isn’t he?”

I didn’t know how to respond, other than dropping my head in shame once she released my nose.

Kyra snorted and smiled in amusement at all of this, of course, but then suggested calmly, “Becky, let’s have a seat until Amy comes down.”  The two of them headed for the couch and started some ‘grown-up’ talk, leaving me completely out of the conversation.  I stood there dumbly as they completely ignored me except for the occasional glance my way.

To my relief, my best friend emerged a few minutes later from the bathroom.  As she came down the stairs, I couldn’t help but be impressed.  She had on a tasteful black pants suit with a white collared undershirt and 3-inch heels.  She even took the time to do her hair back in a neat ponytail.  The overall effect was very professional yet elegant and pretty goddamned sexy at the same time.

“You look fantastic!” I exclaimed truthfully.

Amy blushed a little, looking down coyly and replying, “Why, thank you James!”  She sauntered over to me and twirled around to show off her backside as well.  I nodded in sincere approval of her clothing selection.

“Enjoy it while you can, Amy, it’s only a matter of time until he ruins this one too!” Ms. Johnson joked rather meanly, drawing laughter from Kyra.

But Amy, my friend, merely smiled at her boss and replied, “James won’t let that happen, I’m sure of it.”  She then leaned way down to plant an affectionate kiss on my forehead, having to bend her knees to get low enough.  “Would you like to see the other outfits I picked out?”

I nodded eagerly, but Kyra interjected, “First, let’s have Jimmy try on HIS new clothes!”  Amy nodded in consent then stood back up and turned me around to face the other two, placing her hands gently on my shoulders.

Kyra reached down into her bag and pulled out a set of me-sized clothes.  “Come here,” she told me.  Amy nudged me softly towards Kyra as she held up a shirt, a horribly gaudy black and yellow shirt with a huge logo of Wolverine from X-Men, holding his claws up and giving a corny growl.

I recoiled from the childishness of the design, complaining, “What!?  I … I hate it!  It’s—”

Kyra gave a stern look and said, “Jimmy, don’t be rude!  Ms. Johnson picked this out specially for you, so you are going to put it on, and that’s final.”

I looked up at Amy to back me up, but she just gave a slightly pained look and said, “Sorry, James, they just didn’t have any, um … mature clothes in your size.  This was the best we could do.”  Though I was still leaning back against her hands, she easily overcame my resistance by propelling me forward again, towards that stupid shirt and Kyra’s waiting smile.  Part of me wanted to be mad at my friend, but she really did have a point: I couldn’t avoid kiddie clothes at this point.  And yes, these seemed to be especially ‘kiddie’ and embarrassing, but I had to assume that Amy had had no hand in that.

Instead of Kyra handing me the shirt, though, my daughter told me to raise my arms up as she set the shirt on her lap and reached forward to pull my pajama top off.  I protested, “Can’t I change in the bathroom?”

Kyra sighed.  “Come on, Jimmy, it’s not a big deal.  We’re all adults here,” she said, deliberately gesturing to the other two ladies but not to me.  I turned to gauge their reactions: my former boss was of course more than OK with this degradation, but Amy had a troubled look on her face.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if he just went upstairs to change?” Amy offered.  I gave her an appreciative glance, happy to have one woman on my side.

Kyra gave another sigh, saying, “Well, I don’t really see the point, but go ahead Jimmy.  And wait – here are your pants and underwear, too.”  She held out a pair of corduroy pants with an elastic waist, as kids often wore, and a pair of briefs also bearing the X-Men logo.  I huffed but didn’t bother to complain about the underwear selection, snatching them from Kyra’s hands and marching up the stairs.

But it wasn’t easy going, as I kept tripping over the long pants during my climb, slowing me down even more than usual.  After about 4 steps, Ms. Johnson called, half mockingly but half serious, “I wasn’t planning to spend very long here; could you try speeding it up, Jimmy?”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I shot back in a huff.

“No need to snap at me,” she scolded.

Kyra interjected, “She’s right, Jimmy, this is taking way too long.  Just come back and change down here, OK?”  It was more of a demand than a request.

“No, I can make it!” I replied, stumbling up to the sixth step.  I heard heavy footsteps behind me as a shadow fell on the stairs.  Before I knew it, two huge hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me back, holding me in the air with the clothes still in my hands.  Kyra roughly set me on the ground, causing my back pain to flare up again.

“You’re wasting time, Jimmy.  Just do it already!” Kyra demanded impatiently.  I looked to Amy pleadingly, and she seemed like she wanted to protest Kyra’s treatment of me but also didn’t want to wait forever for me to get up the stairs.  So she kept silent.

Seeing my hesitation, Kyra took matters into her own hands and gruffly pulled my shirt up, her strength lifting my arms up against my will.  “Stop it!” I whined, but I was unable to keep her from pulling the shirt up through my arms and off my body.  I stood before these three women, embarrassed by my partial nudity and by the way Kyra had achieved it.  Mostly, I was embarrassed that Amy had seen it.

Thankfully, Amy’s better judgment kicked in.  As Kyra was starting to yank my pants down, Amy interrupted, “Jimmy, why don’t you just go behind the counter to change?  We won’t be able to see you there.”

Kyra stopped, still holding the waistline of my pants.  I eagerly assented to this compromise, and Kyra reluctantly released my pants.  I scurried over to the kitchen, bringing my new clothes along.  Although I still felt exposed and somewhat violated having to change in the same room as these women, they at least couldn’t see more than my head over the countertop, and it was greatly preferable to being stripped naked in front of their eyes.

The ladies squealed in delight as I emerged from the kitchen with my new outfit on.  “He looks adorable!” Ms. Johnson exclaimed.  Kyra added, “It’s a bit too snug right now, but tomorrow it should fit perfectly.”  Even Amy liked it, smiling at me and saying, “You look nice, James.”

Bullshit!  I looked nice … for a child, but not as an adult.  Amy should know better, but instead she didn’t seem to dwell much on this distinction.

My face reddened as I approached the ladies.  Kyra and Ms. Johnson twirled me around in their hands, tugging at the sides of my shirt and inspecting the fit.  “Very nice,” Kyra said, complimenting Ms. Johnson’s selection.  She pulled out another outfit from the bag, this one a light blue shirt with a Spongebob Squarepants design in front, with matching underwear as well as a pair of khaki shorts.  “I picked this one out.  Too bad this won’t fit you yet; we intentionally got a smaller size so you can wear it after you shrink again.”  I hated how she talked about my shrinkage so casually, as if it were only natural.

Then Kyra pulled out a third outfit, the worst one yet.  The shirt was bright green, displaying the four Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in a big design covering the entire front.  The shorts were just as bad: also displaying the Ninja Turtle emblem on the right leg, they were of a soft grey material with a bright orange waistband, complete with a green cord that ties in front to keep the shorts from falling off.  “This is for in a couple days when the other ones are too big.  Amy picked it out for you!” Kyra told me cheerfully.  I darted my eyes at Amy in shock and disappointment.

Suddenly Amy seemed a little hurt by my look and told me defensively, “Well, I’m sorry if you wanted to look more grown-up, but I had to go to the toddler’s section for you and this is the best they had.  Actually, I think the colors match your eyes very well.”  I should have known better than to show dislike for something a woman picks out for you, especially Amy who was sensitive about clothing.

Kyra laid a heavy hand on my shoulder, whispering, “Apologize” into my ear.

It was painful to say it, but I managed, “I’m sorry, Amy.  Thank you.”  Amy sighed but grudgingly accepted my apology.

After an awkward silence, Kyra said, “Ooh, I have to try on my outfit, too!”  She excitedly grabbed her other shopping bag and galloped upstairs, taking about a tenth of the time it would have taken me.

Amy chuckled after her.  “That Kyra is a hoot!  And so nice, too.”  I could hardly believe anyone would call Kyra ‘nice,’ although I suppose she treated others just a bit differently than she treated me.  But most of all, I couldn’t believe that Amy seemed to be falling for Kyra’s deceptions.

“Oh, absolutely!” Ms. Johnson agreed.  “You’re so lucky to have her,” she added, looking at me.  I gave a fake smile and nodded.  “So, little fella, what have you been up to today?”  She leaned in with a condescending smile as if listening to a little kid.

“Um … not much,” I replied, although my mind immediately flashed to the recent debacle in the pantry.

“Aww, come on, speak up.  Where did you spend the day?”  She turned to Amy and added, “I’ve been wondering what Kyra does with him when she’s off at school.”  I didn’t want to answer.  “Well … ?”

“At a … a …”  The humiliation was overwhelming.  “At a daycare center.”

“WHAT!?” Amy exclaimed.  “She put you in with a bunch of kids all day at a daycare center!?”

Amy put her hands to her mouth in shock.  This seemed to finally bring Amy to her senses and realize how much Kyra had been crossing the line with me.  “I can’t believe Kyra would actually do that to you, James.  Oh my goodness.”  She reached for my arm and pulled me closer.  “I’m so sorry, James, I had no idea.  I’ll talk to Kyra about it, and I’ll do anything in my power to make sure you never have to go back there.  I’m sure there’s a better place for you during the day.”

I was overjoyed to see that someone still stood up for my rights as an adult.  Even though Amy had been subtly treating me more and more like a child, probably without even realizing it, it was comforting to know that she still knew where to draw the line.  “Thank you, Amy, I can’t tell you what this means to me,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears of hope and joy.  She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me in for a passionate hug.

Ms. Johnson scoffed at this whole exchange and told Amy, “What’s the big deal?  The little guy obviously can’t take care of himself.  That’s exactly where I’d put him: in a daycare center with other kids his size.”

Still holding me to her, Amy looked at her boss over my shoulder and argued, “But you can’t just treat James like a child!  He deserves better.”  Well, she didn’t quite come out and say that I was an adult, but I guess it was implied … right?  Amy pulled me back from our hug in time to see Ms. Johnson rolling her eyes at us.

We sat in silence for a moment until the door opened upstairs.  All three of us turned our heads to watch Kyra come down the stairs.  First her head appeared, draped in her straight, flowing dirty blonde hair, then as she walked forward her dress came into view and … OH MY DEAR GOD.  I had a minor seizure as my eyes drank in the sight before me.  Kyra, looking down confidently from the top of the stairs, was clad in a purple dress which ended merely an inch below her inseam, revealing the entirety of her impossibly long, toned legs held up by a striking pair of white high heels, as well as a glimpse of her hot pink thong, which itself was slightly visible through the sheer silken fabric of the dress.  Raising my eyes, I almost wondered if the dress was in fact painted on, so tightly did it cling to her curvaceous form.  An audible gasp escaped my mouth as I raised my gaze further still, beholding the two perfectly round orbs jutting out from her chest, seemingly unaffected by the downward pull of gravity – they almost seemed to stand up on their own, as if unrestrained by a bra.  As Kyra began descending the stairs step by step, her features growing ever larger in my view, my eyes almost popped out of my head as I realized, not only was she wearing no bra, but I could just barely make out a slightly darker indentations in each breast – her nipples.

By the time she had reached the ground floor, I was beginning to tremble as adrenaline coursed through my veins from head to toe.  She twirled around for show, revealing her bare back with just three thin lines of fabric running across under her armpits to hold the dress on.  A thin spaghetti strap also extended from the top of her dress around the back of her neck.  The neckline was high enough to cover all her plentiful cleavage, but this only added to the effect of the dress; from the way the dress was molded to her body, her body was as close as possible to being fully nude while still technically covered in fabric.

Amy and Ms. Johnson cheered, giving cat calls and saying, “Hot mama!” and “Steve won’t be able to take his hands off you in that!” to which Kyra replied, “Ha, like he could ever keep his hands off me anyway!”  This brought a round of boisterous laughter from the ladies.  I, of course, remained utterly speechless, gaping in awe at the sight – it was honestly one of the sexiest sights I had ever seen.  The outfit itself seemed almost slutty, but given Kyra’s natural assets it almost seemed acceptable for her to show them off like this – if she’s got it, she might as well flaunt it, right?  Except … I was still her father (biologically, anyway) and I was fully aware that no part of me should be condoning her outfit like I was in my mind right now …

My daughter strutted right up to me, the incomprehensible height difference only multiplying the immense effect her body had on me.  As she stood two feet in front of me, I found myself staring straight ahead at the outline of her tiny pink thong just barely showing through her dress.  In her heels, her legs stood about as tall as my whole god-damned body.  With supreme confidence, she put one hand on her hip and cocked her leg slightly to the side in a sexy pose and asked down to me, “So, I’ve heard from the other two.  How about you, Jimmy?  Do you like my dress?”  She peered down at me inquisitively, although from my stunned expression and slightly trembling limbs she already knew the answer.  But she wanted to hear me say it in front of them.  “Well?”

Dear god.  I was lucky to be facing away from Amy and Ms. Johnson so they couldn’t see the look of awe stamped plainly across my face.  Even more importantly, though, they couldn’t see me tenting my pants in arousal.  I just prayed they didn’t notice my body shaking, either.  My throat felt like a desert; I breathed the words but nothing came out.

“Aren’t you going to tell Kyra how wonderful she looks?  After all, we need a guy’s opinion,” my former boss told me.

Amy added understandingly, “It’s OK, James, don’t feel embarrassed.  We’re all adults here.  You can tell Kyra if you think the dress is attractive, from an unbiased male perspective.”  My eyes widened as I knew I was cornered, with no way out.  Meanwhile, Kyra had just been standing there, loving the entire show, knowing exactly what her body was doing to me.

After a few raspy attempts at speaking, I finally managed to croak, “You l-l-look really g-good.”  The two women behind me cheered playfully at my show of approval, making no indication that they realized the cause of my difficulty speaking.

Kyra laughed and smiled down at me with great relish, able to see exactly what she was putting me through right now.  With a secretly mischievous gaze, she stepped forward and pressed me into her in what to Amy and Mrs. Johnson probably looked like nothing more than an innocently appreciative hug – but which I knew was designed to wreck my composure even further, with her crotch all but pressing into my face …

“Well,” Kyra said after a moment, “now that that’s settled, would you two lovely ladies care for a drink?”  They assented, and Kyra headed for the kitchen.  “I have some wine, or there’s a liquor cabinet if you’d like something a little stronger.”  MY liquor cabinet, with MY booze, that used to be completely off-limits to Kyra – who, by the way, was still several years underage!  But the two other women seemed completely comfortable letting her drink; it was clear that they viewed her as older than she actually was, as an equal, despite being only in high school.

“I’ll have wine, thanks,” Ms. Johnson replied.

“Me, too,” Amy added.  Then, as an afterthought, she looked down at me and added, “Would you like something, Jimmy?” as if it was almost foolish to ask; after all, I had the exact size, looks, and attire of a 6-year-old child.

Ms. Johnson snorted derisively while Kyra laughed and said, “Really, Amy, you’re offering alcohol to HIM!?”  Amy was about to protest that I was technically still an adult until Kyra added with a devilish grin, “Besides, Amy, don’t you know that wine stains just as bad as tomato sauce??”

Amy picked up on the allusion immediately, remembering all-too-well the horrible spaghetti incident in which I ruined her favorite outfit in one fell swoop.  I watched her try to mask a scowl as she answered, “Point taken.”  That was the end of that discussion; I would have to be an idiot to press this sensitive issue with Amy.

So that’s how it would be now – my daughter allowed to drink alcohol while I myself was forbidden.  As Kyra headed for the kitchen, though, I was still facing away from the couch, my boner still at full mast.  “Why don’t you come have a seat, James?” Amy invited sweetly, patting the cushion next to her.

I had to think fast.  “Um … I’ll just sit on the floor, thanks.”  I sat down, and only then did I turn around, much better able to hide things since my crossed legs held my shorts up nicely between my legs.

“Oh,” Amy replied, surprised and a little hurt.  “OK, then.”

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Kyra, like a good hostess, got the conversation rolling by asking Ms. Johnson, “So, Becky, what can I expect when I come to work next week?”  This set off Ms. Johnson talking about various responsibilities Kyra would have, etc.  Fortunately, as Kyra was getting the wine, she was too focused on Ms. Johnson to notice the shelf lying against the wall and boxes of food lined up in front of the pantry, the evidence of my mess-up earlier that I had been too small and weak to put back in place.

Kyra returned with three glasses of wine, handing two to Amy and Ms. Johnson and of course leaving me without.  “Mind if I squeeze in here?” Kyra asked.

“Not at all,” they replied, scooting aside to make way for Kyra on the large two-seater couch.  Then the three of them resumed their conversation, leaving me on the outside looking in as I sat on the floor below in my X-Men shirt and watched the three of them with their elegant grown-up clothes and glasses of wine, chatting away about their grown-up jobs and their grown-up lives.

I tried to pitch in when I could.  For instance, one of them mentioned one of my former coworkers, Kathleen, who was not well-liked in the office.  “Boy, am I glad I don’t have to work with her,” Amy said, to which Ms. Johnson snorted and replied, “Lucky you; I’m the one that has to put up with her crap all day.”  Seeing my opportunity, I interjected, “Yeah, she’s a real stuck up bitch, isn’t she?”

The three of them went silent and turned their heads to me, as if I had said something mortally offensive.  “Language, Jimmy!” Kyra scolded.

Ms. Johnson gave a grunt of disapproval at me and turned back to Kyra.  “As I was saying, you should avoid her as much as possible.”  As they went right back to their conversation without me, it was as if I was merely inconveniencing these three adults with my childish – and potty-mouthed – pleas for attention.  But I listened in disbelief when, just two or three sentences later, Ms. Johnson referred to another employee as “a real asshole,” to which Kyra smiled and Amy replied, “Oh, I know!”

WTF!?  So when I swear, I get scolded, but then they sit there and swear freely, calling coworkers names, and suddenly it’s perfectly OK!?  What a crock of shit!

Nonetheless, I tried again, this time leaving the profanity out of it.  Ms. Johnson asked Amy a fairly technical question about how long it would take to perform a certain task her research.  I was intimately familiar with such work, so I jumped in and, in a fairly long statement, responded with what I knew was a knowledgeable and accurate assessment of the difficulty of the task and what it would entail, and what the best approach would be to deal with it.

I actually managed to grab Amy’s attention during my reply, although evidently Ms. Johnson quickly lost interest in what I was saying and wanted an ‘expert’ opinion from Amy.  Not that Amy was unqualified, but I knew this stuff like the back of my hand.  Still, Ms. Johnson clearly no longer had any respect for my intelligence, and partway through my response she simply turned to Kyra and started up another conversation as if I wasn’t even there!  It was the most blatantly insulting thing I had ever experienced.

I would have pulled my hair out if Amy hadn’t kept her attention on me.  With folded hands, she waited patiently for me to finish, but once I did she told me, very courteously, “That’s an interesting point you made, James, and I’ll certainly take that into account.  But I think it would be more efficient if, instead of that, we –“ but then Kyra grabbed her attention to ask her a different question that came up in their side conversation.  Not wanting to be ignored, I spoke up, “Amy, trust me, this is the best way –“ but she held up a single finger and told me, “Hold on a second, Jimmy,” as she turned back to Kyra and answered her.  But Amy never got back to me.  I guess I just wasn’t enough of an ‘adult’ to warrant these women’s attention, I mused with dismay.

I sighed loudly, partly for attention, but partly because I was just so incredibly frustrated with how I was being treated.  I had given a damned good idea to work with, but my former boss didn’t even listen, assuming I was incapable of any serious adult discussion.  But Amy’s response surprised me the most – she tried to cover it up with a generic conciliatory reply, but really she had just told me in a nice way that my idea was crap and that she now had a better grasp of how things worked than me.  Her lack of respect for my professional abilities stung me to the core.

 

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