Two days later I was laid out, tiny and prone, on Rachel's belly, listening to the deep bubbling of her stomach, a sound which traveled through tight abdominals and a thin, insulating layer of fat to become a soft echo in my ears. Her fingers tapped next to me, little waves of force rocking me up and down. Buddy Holly played through her tinny, plastic radio. I had already given her a thorough foot massage, and had been summarily shrunk down both as a reward for my hard work and for the ease of our pre-game relaxation.

            “Why is your tum so cute?” I planted a kiss on a freckle.

            “I do a lot of crunches.” She said sarcastically.

            “Hm.” I rubbed my face into her smooth skin.

            “Ah!” She twitched, “Careful, that tickles!”

            “Oh yeah? Then how about this!” I blew a raspberry into her peach fuzz.

            “Stop!” She said, her massive hand slapping down on me instinctively, like a sudden, freak storm, a thunderclap of skin on skin that left me seeing stars.

            “Okay, you convinced me, jeez.” I moaned.

            “Sorry, sorry, I just don't like being tickled.” She leaned up on her elbows, causing me to tumble slightly.

            “Duly noted.” I said, head still spinning a bit, “By the way, are you doing any special preparations for the game?”

            “Nothing too different, but I think I have an idea about how to turn my luck around.” She said, sly smile creeping over her lips.

            “Yeah, what's that?” I asked.

            “Oh, you'll see.” She said, “Speaking of, we should probably start getting ready. You want to have a cig before we go?”

            “Yes, please.” I peeped.

            Rachel picked me up between two fingers and sat me on her sill, leaning to crack open the window an inch. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, dragging deeply and exhaling towards the outside, watching as she opened her gym bag and pulled out her cleats. She waved them towards me like a cat toy, before putting them down and taking the rest of the bag into the bathroom. Minutes later I finished my smoke and tossed the tiny filter out the window, wondering briefly if anyone ever found those, just as Rachel emerged fully dressed. Like a predator sneaking on its prey, she slinked towards me, bare toes dragging on the carpet, before snatching up my tiny body.

            “Ready, Microji??” She smirked.

            “You know I am.” I said, peering down into the cleats which steadily came closer, “But only if you stop calling me that.”

            “Never.” She said, dropping me onto the spongy insole, “By the way, you'll never guess what I found hiding in my closet.”

            “Hm?” I turned and looked back up at her.

            “Check it out!” She reached off somewhere I couldn't see and then held up a pair of socks triumphantly. They were ordinary tube socks, I thought at first, but as they slowly rotated from her movement's inertia, I saw the dirty undersides, nearly black, pressed thin in places, worn dozens of times without washing: the lucky socks.

            “Oh!” Was all I could manage to say.  

            “See? If you're lucky, and they're lucky, then we'll have double luck for the game.” She said, sitting on the edge of the bed. I watched as she pulled one sock over her foot and leg, grimy soles flexing, releasing motes of dust only visible in the sunbeam cutting through the window. Had Rachel forgotten what happened the last time she covered me with her socks? Or did she just not care? Had her competitive nature, her desire to make up for that lost game, given her some sort of selective amnesia?

            “Ah, it's like an old friend.” She cooed, using her toes to grip the back of the cleat I was in. The other sock went on, and I imagined what it would be like to be caught up in those fibers dense with dirt and old sweat, not just today's exudation, though that too would soak the fabric and inevitably leave me gasping for air. Despite the perverse excitement brought on by that clearly fatal possibility, I found myself windmilling my arms in a blind panic.

            “Armadillo!” I shouted, invoking, for the first and only time in our relationship, the safeword. This was a supremely ironic gesture, as it turned out, for at exactly the same time I said it, someone else did as well.

            “Fucking Armadillos!” Kelly yelled as she kicked open Rachel's door, her rendition of the word completely overshadowing mine so that Rachel was none the wiser, “We're gonna kick their asses!”

            “Hell yeah, we are!” Rachel rejoined, using her toes to lift the cleat, rolling me to the tip. Before I knew it, I was shrinking again, the inside of the shoe zooming out into a wasteland of dank leather, craterous toe prints, and petrified fossils of mud. Now, even if I managed to yell the word again, she wouldn't even be able to hear me.

            “You ready?” Kelly asked.

            “Just getting my cleats on.” Rachel said, her gargantuan foot now entering the shoe. Faster than I could have imagined, it bulldozed towards me, evaporating the remaining light, and crashed into my puny body so that I careened backwards and landed in a heap. I heard the laces being tied, and her toes wiggled in concurrence, five impossibly huge figures drumming into their respective divots, digging them just a few microns deeper with each beat, “Alright, let's go!”

            Each step was an explosion of heat, sound, and odor. Those stuffy toes encased in the vintage, overused fabric began perspiring at an alarming rate, creating a veritable cloud of stale, musky air. I felt a sudden tingling run down my back, my body starting to sweat in reaction to the sudden shift in the climate. There was a strange shift in the landscape, her foot caught on uneven sidewalk, perhaps, and those toes suddenly battered me again, but this time I clung to the tacky fabric, reeled in like a carp, and was quickly buried underneath the cotton webbing between two digits. Rachel and Kelly were far away now, chatting in indiscernible tones, walking to the bus, one unaware of me, the other walking on top me.

            I scrambled and pulled and tugged and thrashed, finally managing to pull my head free, the rest of my body still trapped in the damp, dingy cloth. I was literally sock lint, and probably would be for the remainder of the day.

            By the time the game started, I was already in a sorry state, clothes in complete disarray, body beaten and bruised, hair matted and stuck to my face. I huffed heavy breaths in the thinning air, barely able to hear the crack of the bat or the cheer of the crowd beyond the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. Beyond the obvious issues in play, I hadn't even considered that Rachel would not be able to feel my body nearly as well through her old, crunchy socks as she could with her bare soles. She probably wasn't even aware I was stuck where I was.

            Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! She must have taken off running, each mammoth step creating chaos, tossing my body up and down, and shifting the heavy, wet fabric closer and closer to my face. My arms were now strangely bent, legs askew, shoulders pinned, in whole, a body unable to defend itself from the rising tide of sweat-blackened cotton. This was going to be it. Just a little more and that inky, soaked blanket was going to cover my mouth and nose and kill me. More thunderous steps exploded around me like dynamite and suddenly my mouth was gagged. I took deep, unsteady breaths through my nose, but I could already feel the moisture beading on my upper lip.

            One more step, and along with the muffled cheers from the audience, Rachel's sock slid again and blocked up my face entirely. Suffocated. I was going to be suffocated beneath the socks of the girl I loved, a sentiment I hadn't even expressed to her. It was almost beautiful in a strange way, a kind of apropos return to when we'd met in that crowded little lounge, her dirty sole turned towards me, like a psychopomp sending a message. I was about to die, or maybe I wasn't, but there was truly nothing I could do about it. So, I let go. I inhaled. No air there, just sweat.

            I could say that it was long buried survival instincts, or the nagging voice of Camus in my ear, or even just an unintentional spasm near-death, but my next action was motivated by none of these. In that moment, when it was no longer theoretical, when death was actually grabbing at my throat, I saw Rachel's smile, and I knew, beyond a doubt, that I'd never see it again if I did nothing. It was then that I suddenly found the strength to pull my arms free, to bury my fingers in between the strings of fabric, and to pull, pull, pull, until the corroded fibers frayed apart, torn asunder at first by my desperation, and then fully and finally by an errant wriggle of the big toe contained within. That enormous digit popped free, sheering the fabric away, giving me delicious, musty air to greedily drink in again. I scraped myself up and backed away, barely able to see the massive figures wiggling in the dark, and tucked myself into the seam by the tip of the insole.

            I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the game, perhaps a side effect of the adrenaline, the heat, the dehydration, or all of these and more. While awake I was dimly aware of some noises, could infer certain plays, but mostly, in those brief moments of lucidity, I filled the space with my laughter, a strange, guttural cachinnation, a celebration of survival, an aural love letter to continued existence.

            At last there was a great roar from the throng on onlookers. Rachel jumped up and down, dislodging me from my little crease and sending me bouncing. I somehow managed to land on top of her foot, and I gripped it tightly with my tiny fingers, planting unnoticed kisses on unpalatable tufts of fuzz. She marched back to the locker room with her compatriots, and after some unintelligible discussion with her teammates, eventually pulled off her cleat, peering into it to find me.

            “H-heyyy...” I barely slurred. She couldn't hear me, and stuck her hand into her cleat feeling for my body. There was a sudden flash of panic across her face as she wildly scanned the ground, tipped over her cleat, batted it against her hand, until she finally spied me clinging to the far end of her sock.

            “Oh wow, you look...” She whispered.

            “Terrible?” I asked.

            “Adorable clinging to me like that.” She smirked, extending her hand, “Hop on, let's go home. I'm going to skip the celebration, that same restaurant again.”

            I let go and fell limply into her palm, breathing in the cool, unsullied air. Rachel cradled me, gently turning her hand so that I fell into the crook of her curled fingers, a perfect spot to lay for someone my size.

I must have passed out again, because I was awoken by the sound of rushing water and the soft warmth of steam surrounding me. I was no longer extremely small either, just the normal sort of small. Rachel was standing near me, arm extended into the sink, filling a plastic cup with water, otherwise naked body covered by an old towel. She had clearly just showered.

            “Here, drink something.” She said softly, carefully pouring out a few drops onto the countertop. I approached them, filled my hands, and sucked up the water like a vacuum.

            “Whoo, god, thanks.” I said between mouthfuls.

            “No problem. You okay? It looks like you had a rough time in there. Did you rip my sock?” She asked.

            “Yeah, and yeah, sorry.” I said, falling back onto my butt, “I think I almost died.”

            “Really?” She asked, worried.

            “Maybe.” I puffed, “But I didn't. Seriously though, no more socks.”

            “Alright, I can do that.” She said, “You're going to have to deal with my sweaty bare feet then. You sure you're cool with that?”

            “Yeah, yeah, that I can deal with.” I said.

            “Well good, because you don't have a choice.” She laughed, “I'm going to grow you back, and you can take a shower, okay?”

            “Sounds like a plan.” I responded. She picked me up, put me on the floor, and I was quickly back to normal size.

            “Okay, don't be too long, I've got a surprise for you.” She kissed my cheek and cracked open the door to slip out.

            “Surprise?” I echoed, pulling off my shirt and stepping out of my destroyed pants, balling up the latter and tossing them in the trash, wondering stupidly if that was my last functional pair. I glanced in the mirror for a moment, but the image that stared back looked like a manic coal miner. Tap on, I lurched into the tub and just let the hot water run over my body for a while. Eventually, though, I took the bar soap, cleaned off the dirt and the sweat, grabbed Rachel's fruity shampoo, washed away the oils that had been left behind, and finally twisted the spigot and toweled off.

            Rachel had left me an over-sized t-shirt and some fluffy pajama bottoms, which I eagerly stepped into. They were more girlish than anything I'd ever seen her in, which is probably why they seemed brand new. Still, they were soft and comfortable, and I wasn't going to complain. I walked out into the cool room and turned the corner to find Rachel sitting at her desk, now dressed in her own comfortable clothes.

            “Hey.” I said.

            “Hey.” She replied, “Feeling better?”

            “So much better.” I stretched.

            “Think you're up for your reward?” She asked.

            “Reward? For what?” I asked.

            “For being such a great good luck charm, duh.” She rolled her eyes, “Didn't I tell you we won?”

            “Er, you might have.” I couldn't remember, “But I think I'm up for a reward.”

            “Good, get on the bed.” She said with a grin.

            I obeyed and she was quickly on top of me, legs around my waist, lips pressed hard into mine. My hands traced down her back, one sliding further to pinch her butt. She began taking little nibbles at my neck, her arms hooked under mine, strong hands gripping my shoulders. Her hips rhythmically thrust, rubbing against my thigh, and my erection tented those soft pants, pushing roughly into her leg. She pushed herself up on her arms and my hands instinctively found her breasts, cupping with fingers, rubbing gently with thumbs, a tease she could only stand for so long.

            “Stay right there, don't move.” She commanded, hopping off of my body, pulling off her shirt and shorts, revealing a matching sports bra and thong, both cherry red. Her underwear dropped to the floor as well and I tossed my shirt off, watching in wonder and amazement as she jumped back on the bed, kneeling backwards over my body, pinning my arms, her perfect, round ass initially hovering over my chest, but quickly moving towards my face, cheeks spread, a perfect view of everything on display.

            “Go~” She chirped, sitting on my face, causing precum to leak and probably stain the terrycloth. I obediently began to kiss her vulva the way I'd kiss the rest of her, each press of my lips on hers lasting a bit longer, containing a bit more passion, tongue finding more places to taste. She licked her hands and then pulled down my pants, my penis springing up like a flagpole. Her moist fingers took it, one holding the base, the other rubbing over the tip like a reversed pestle, causing my hips to twitch and jump. I almost lost track of my work, distracted by Rachel's adroit movements.

            “Here too.” She said, shifting her weight, placing her freckle-colored anus directly beyond my tongue. I licked that too, broad swipes with a flattened tongue, lapping like a hound at the sweaty, winking hole. Not too long ago I did this essentially at gunpoint, but now it was like I'd been waiting my entire life for the opportunity. Rachel began to hold my member with one hand, halfway up and teasing the edge of my glans with her thumb, while her other hand began to rub her clitoris in spirals. She moaned, and I moaned, a strange achromatic harmony for our ears only.

            “Wait, wait, wait.” She said nearly falling forward.

            “You okay?” I breathed heavily.

            “Yeah, but I want to...” She huffed, “I want to do it.”

            “I, uh, I don't have...” I said.

            “I'm on the pill.” She said.

            “Oh, well, then...” I stammered.

            “Are you okay with this?” She lifted her leg over me, turned, and remounted so that my shaft was pressed horizontally into her sopping lips, “If you're not ready-”

            “I'm ready, I'm ready.” I heaved, already close to the point of no return.

            “Okay, good.” She smiled and used her hand to guide me in. I nearly came on the spot, but managed kept it together, not allowing myself to be premature another time. She worked me deeper slowly, my arrhythmic spasms as unhelpful as they were unintentional. I tried to reach and grab for some part of her, but she collapsed forward and pinned my wrists, looking me directly in the eyes before kissing me hard, our teeth clumsily colliding.

            “Ah jeez, ouch.” She pulled back, hand to mouth.

            “It's okay, it's okay, keep going.” I begged.

            She did, riding me harder, head thrown back, eyes closed, each throe a melting embrace which seemed to suck me in like a black hole. Or, was it really just an apparent engulfment, I wondered, for without warning, Rachel began to grow larger on top of me, stretching out and over, as I was reduced more and more, my anchored point seeming to sit just between my legs. Did she even realize she was doing this?

            By the time she was a redwood, looming but not menacing, she finally took notice of my minuscule body, still hugging and thrusting desperately into her womanhood. Her hand reached down, and her thick fingers pressed me forward, past the event horizon, directly into the clenching, shuddering muscles of her internal world. I closed my eyes tight and continued to rub against her, though between those walls I doubted I would have had any choice otherwise. She must have continued working herself on the outside as well, for the rhythmic movements of that chamber increased in intensity, a crescendo of convulsions and sticky lubricant, peaking with a sudden spray, a crowing note, and my own orgasm exploding out like a fire hose as I slid backwards and landed with a wet slap onto Rachel's soaked sheets.

             “Oof.” Rachel rumbled, lying down next to my position and, using a moist hand, slid me up towards the pillows. Her hot breath washed over me as she laid there, heaving heavily, eyes fixed on me, staring as I stared back, a half-lidded, off-sized mirror of attention.

            “Hey.” I said quietly.

            “Hey.” She responded in a whisper.

            “I, uh.” My throat got tight, “I love you.”

            She smiled, but did not immediately respond. I watched apprehensively as her shining eyes bored deep into mine.

            “I love you, too.” She said finally.

            “Y-yeah?” I stuttered.

            “Yeah.” She leaned over and kissed my entire body, before pulling up the blanket, and reaching her arm out to turn off the lamp.

Epilogue

            So, that was the long and short of how our relationship began. We're currently in our sophomore year, still together. I've had to do a lot of work to get off of academic probation, my grades from last year being unsurprisingly, but understandably, poor. Rachel earned the most valuable player award after leading the team to the finals, and she's now the youngest captain in the league. She's considering focusing on sports medicine, but hasn't entirely made up her mind yet. I'm, if it's not obvious, trying to be a writer. I suppose this strange little memoir is proof of that.

            It's a strange dynamic between us, in case you hadn't noticed by now. She lets me give up control, and I happily hand it over. She steps on me and I beg for more. She's my captain and I'm her charm. I don't know if it will last forever, few things do, but for now, right here, in the cute little apartment we rented off-campus, I can't help but be optimistic for the future, which is, if I'm being entirely honest, a new feeling. Rachel is here right now, actually, she's reading over my shoulder. Yes, you dork, I can see you in the window reflection.

            Welp, that has definitely earned me some “punishment.” If I can leave you with anything, dear reader, it’s this: Love often and love openly. You are not alone.

            Cheers!

-Koji

Personne pure, ombre divine,

Qu'ils sont doux, tes pas retenus!

Dieux! ...tous les dons que je devine

Viennent à moi sur ces pieds nus!

-Paul Valéry