I was talking to Zoey, trying not to let my gaze fall into her cleavage.  We'd hooked up once already, and I didn't know of any reason why might not do so again, but that night we were talking about somebody else.  Zoey was sitting on her favorite couch, the only one at the meet-up precisely to her scale.  At just a hair under five-inches-tall, Zoey didn't have much use for all the Barbie-scale stuff people had donated.  I was standing on the back of the couch so I'd be head-level with Zoey.  Being all of a half-inch-tall meant I almost always had to find a perch to talk to anyone.

"Twelve inches, at least," said Zoey, her predatory eyes fixed on her quarry, Horst.  He was surrounded by both male and female admirers, none taller than his shoulder.

"I hear he wears lifts," I said casually.

"Don't be petty," she said, glancing back at me.  "What would he use for lifts?"

"Better question is: who would he use?"

Zoey's eyes went wide.  "Seriously?

I nodded.  "You meet all kinds here.  Don't judge."

A mammoth shape loomed overhead, casting everyone into shadow, even Horst.  I looked up at the new arrival.  At least five feet tall and probably taller, she was easily the biggest person in that area of the meet-up.  She bent down and surveyed our group, her eyes coming to a rest on Zoey.  Then she narrowed her gaze to me.

"You're Omar, right?" she boomed, clearly unused to modulating her voice for tiny ears.  Many people flinched, but I could see Horst willing himself not to.

"That's me," I replied loudly, and Zoey snorted at getting it from both directions.

"I'm Mikayla," said the woman 128 times my size.  "I'm a friend of Siara's."

Okay, I thought, this could go all kinds of interesting places. I held up both my hands.  "Cool," I said, "I'll be right with you, Mikayla."  I turned to Zoey, who had already pursed her lips in impatience.  Mikayla was a little non-plussed at being put on hold, but she managed not to fidget.

"Hey," I said at tiny-volume.  She exhaled sharply and looked at me.  "Do that thing with the eyelashes," I said.

Zoey relaxed her lips, then tucked her chin and batted those big baby blues at me.  I raised my eyebrows and nodded.  "He doesn't stand a chance," I said.  "Go get him."

She grinned and said, "You'll be okay with Gigantor here?"

"Once I get her back on the reservation, we'll be fine."

Zoey turned her cheek to me, and I had to put my hands on her jaw and cheekbone when I leaned out to give her a peck.  She barely gave me enough time to push off and find my footing on the back of the couch before she stood up and shimmied over towards Horst.  Yep, I thought, he's done for.

I leaned back to take in all of Mikayla, who had stood back up and folded her arms in front of her.  Her bright green dress stopped just above her knees and struggled to contain all of her curves and slopes.  Not even I could find a thigh gap in there, or, at least, not until I had made one for myself.

It was her hair, however, that commanded my immediate attention, even at my low level.  Dark and shifting, it sprayed in at least three different directions.  I wondered what it smelled like.  I decided not to worry about what Siara might have told her; I needed to get closer.

I raised both my arms straight up and waved them a bit, and her eyes flashed in recognition.  A slow smile crept across her face as she bent forward and extended a hand, palm up.  It would have been safer had she plucked me with her fingers, but I appreciated the nod to my dignity and stepped into her hand.  At my size, even her open palm held a measure of concavity.

She stood up and brought me to her face in a single swift motion.  Her eyes were on me the whole time, so I didn't dare check out her chest, but her dress wasn't any more concealing than Zoey's, and I could sense the canyon yawning beneath me.  Her palm was level with her clavicle, her fingers pointed away from her face but curling back slightly over me.  I bent one leg and set it forward on the heel of her hand and did my best to return her immense gaze.

It was like looking into the sun an hour after sunrise over a tropical beach.  Her hair formed a dark and fluttering corona, sending out wafts of cocoa butter.  The breath rushing through her proud nose swelled and sighed like the tides.  The only things darker than her hair were her eyes, hungry and piercing, leaving afterimages that held me even when I looked away.  Her wide smile was bright and kind, and then I glimpsed her tongue shifting behind her teeth.  That's right, these waters have sharks.

"Wanna get a drink?" I asked.

She looked around, noting the Malibu Resort playset we had stocked with booze, the airplane-size bottles inverted and mounted on the wall.

"Back in the lobby," I added.  "I bet you'd like to sit down."

She cocked her head in mock indignation.  "Why?  Am I that daunting standing up?'

I shrugged.  I was more concerned about Mikayla's privacy, but tourists always like to hear how scary they look to us tinies, so I played along.  She looked back at the group around Horst, and I could tell she was trying to see if Zoey was watching.

I didn't say anything, but eventually I walked back to the hollow of her hand and lay down, my arms stretched out for additional traction.   Mikayla looked back at me and smiled, then set off back towards the lobby.  She quickly gave up on holding her palm flat while she walked, curling her fingers around and beneath me.

Mikayla refrained from letting her arms swing, however, so I could peek through her fingers and watch her enormous rack bounce along next to me.  Some tourists have no compunction about carrying tinies in there without asking permission, but I got the sense Mikayla was still finding her feet.  Unlike others who've taken that ride, I was small enough not to need Dramamine.

We reached the lobby and Hayely set her hand down open on the bar, letting me disembark before she sat down.  "What are you having?" I asked.

"Hurricane," she said without hesitation.

Jenn was working the bar, and she caught my eye and nodded.  "I'll have a kamikaze," I said, and Jenn reached for one of the racks of tiny glasses they pre-pour at the lobby bar, twenty at a time like in a bottling plant.  Jenn knew I drink single malt when I'm serious, so she served me from the virgin cocktail rack.  I had to keep my reflexes sharp for what was coming up.

"So," I said to Mikayla, "is this your first meet-up?"

Sheepish smile.  "Is it that obvious?"

"You're doing fine.  Nobody else saw you step on that girl."

"What!?"  Her smile fell and she lifted each foot in turn, searching the bottoms of her shoes.

"Relax, I'm sorry," I said, biting back my laughter.  "That was awful of me.   You're actually much more considerate than most, and you didn't deserve that at all."

She put her foot down and looked down at me, one hand gripping the bar and the other clutching her small but very solid-looking purse.  Her eyes flashed like lightning from a storm too distant to hear, and an ominous tremor passed through her lips.  Then she tilted her head and put on a serene smile as she retook her seat.

"Siara said you were quick," she said, molesting her straw with her lips and tongue.

"How's she doin'?  I haven't seen her since New Year's."

"Cross-fit binge.  She hooked up with a guy she met in there," said Mikayla, nodding in the direction of the ballroom.  "He's cool with everything she does, but she decided she needed to limber up.  All I hear from her now is her daily fitness scores."

"Not the scores you're interested in."

"I know, right?"  She set an elbow on the bar and rested her cheek in her hand, then took a big sip of her drink.  She was looking right at me, but I doubt she realized just how fascinated I was watching her swallow.

"So what about you?" I prompted.  "Do you work out?"

She reflexively started to answer, then pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at me.  "What do you think?"

Okay, I thought, she can have this one.  "Oh, you look pretty toned.  You got a treadmill at home?"

"Sort of," she said, nodding and smiling. "I have a DeskCycle, so I can pedal while working."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"The unsuccessful kind," she said with a rueful grin.  We shared a laugh.  "I didn't come here to talk about work."

"That's cool," I said, letting the subsequent silence just drag out.  Her silly grin faded, and then she sipped and swallowed again.

Finally, I said, "Thinkin' about having a look around the ballroom?"

She tilted her head and her eyes went wide.  "I already had a peek," she said, shaking her head.  "They're so big."

I was briefly tempted to make a snarky comeback, but I'd had a lifetime to get used to the size community, and it was all so new for Mikayla.

"It's really actually very mellow," I said.  "Everyone's just looking for some kind of connection.  You're safer in there than you are on the subway."

She lowered her head, trying to gauge my sincerity.  "Is that what you had with Siara?  A connection?"

"You know Siara.  She's kind and thoughtful, but she's gotta try everything once, and then it's on to the next thing."

"What about Barbie back there?"

"Don't let Zoey hear you calling her that," I shuddered.  "We're just friends."

Mikayla folded both her forearms onto the bar and rested her head on top of her hands.  It was the closest I had yet gotten to the dark pools of her eyes.

"Siara said you were cute," she said, "but she never said how sweet you are."  Standing there, five inches in front of Mikayla's house-sized face, feeling her warm words wash over me, I wished I could hold onto that moment forever.  Greedily, I fished for more.

"What else did she tell you about me?"

"Well," she said, wagging her eyebrows and flashing incisors that were taller than me, "she said that you knew how to find...a woman's..."

Chicks today, I thought, so impatient.  "A woman's what?" I deadpanned.

The more embarrassed she became, the wider her grin spread.  By the time she could manage a reply, I was as familiar as I cared to be with her back molars.  "You know," she squirmed, "her <i>spot</i>."

"Siara told you that?" I said.  "You two must be tight."

Her eyebrows shot up and stayed up, and she let me see her tongue tap the back of her teeth.  "So it's true, then?"

"It's no great mystery," I said, looking down and shaking my head.  "The trick is just to pay attention to her responses.  Just like with anyone you care about."

"Hmmm," she mused, relaxing her eyebrows and letting her lips roll back over her teeth.  I looked back up into her eyes, finding neither urgency nor satisfaction.

I wanted to get closer, but a couple more inches and I'd force her to go cross-eyed.  Had to move fast after that.  Making sure she could still see my smile, I started my approach.  "I can't tell you how fine you look up close," I said, strolling towards the right side of her face.

She lowered her eyes reflexively, and I seized the opening to hop onto the back of her hand and stroke the underside of her jaw.  Her head, neck, shoulders, and arms all went tense.  "Relax, it's cool," I soothed, "I'm alright here next to you."

While I waited for Mikayla's response, I took in all her scents: apricot from her shampoo, coconut—I think—from her lip gloss, and then her natural salts and tangs.  Everything was warm.  Then her cheeks shifted as she smiled in spite of herself.  "How can I feel your fingers?" she whispered, "they're so tiny!"

Feeling her voice resonate through her throat next to me and her jaw above me, I knew I had to touch her at her deepest part.  "That's just the beginning," I said, "Imma give you what you came here for."

She struggled not to make any sudden movements.  "What, right here?"  Her whisper gusted with alarm.

Gazing up into the canopy of dark frizzy hair that had entranced me from the first, I spotted a bower where I might repose forever.  "Hold still," I said, "I need to get closer."

No one who has ever seen a flea should be surprised at how fast tinies can move or how far we can jump.  In a flash, I bounced from the back of Mikayla's hand up to her right ear, settling my back against the hollow just outside her canal, my feet resting against the inside of her tragus, that nub of cartilage that can be folded over the opening.

Her pulse and her breath surrounded me, and I took a deep breath before launching into my best Barry White impression (this close to the eardrum, it's a real challenge not to sound like a mosquito).  "Just sit back," I said, "no one will know how close we are."

As warm as it was next to Mikayla's throat, I felt her blood rush to her ear before I heard it as the heat radiated from every surface of my perch.  If I hadn't been worried about losing them in her canal, I would have shed about half my clothes.  I almost didn't notice that Mikayla had lifted her head from the bar and was slowly leaning back.  I hoped she wouldn't try getting out of her chair.

I started by blowing on the fine hairs surrounding me, just outside her canal.  I heard her breath catch, and I knew she was staying put.  Then I started to slide my feet back and forth along the back of her tragus in alternating "strides," like a cross-country skier.  I reached back with my arms and stroked the sensitive folds of skin, making sure to spread my fingers as widely as possible.

I gazed into the dark opening in front of me, scarcely more than an inch from her naked central nervous system.  Mikayla's accelerating breathing and heartbeat reverberated from every direction.  Sweat—mine or hers, I couldn't tell—splashed on my neck and ran down my back.  Desire takes us to strange places, I thought.

Needing a rhythm, I started humming Billie Holiday tunes.  When I got to "Lover Man," I leaned forward and reached into her canal, tracing my fingers along the interior walls and kissing the rim.  That was when she started whimpering.  She tried to keep it subdued, but her skull amplified everything to me.

Between the fragrance of her hair, the heat of her blood, and the encouragement of her cries, I'm afraid I got a bit carried away.  I licked the inside her canal, and there might have been some humping; it's all a bit hazy.  Either way, Mikayla seemed to enjoy it, as a huge shudder welled up from below and her head slumped forward, and then everything tilted on its side.  Reorienting myself, I found her canal was now beneath me; she had lain her head down right-side-up.

I climbed out of Mikayla's ear and slid down the front of her neck, then walked forward along the bar, circling around to her face.  She was still breathing heavily, and her eyes were half-closed.

"You okay?" I asked.

A fatigued chuckle escaped her, and she brought her head back upright for a brief nod.  This time I was content to simply bask in her gaze.

Finally, she recovered some composure.  "Does this sort of thing go on at every meet-up?" she asked impishly.

I shook my head.  "Only to the lucky ones," I said, and took a bow.