“JERRY…?”
I snorted
awake.
“Yeah…?”
“DID I WAKE
YOU? I’M SORRY.”
“What is
it?”
“WHERE ARE
YOU? CAN YOU TOUCH ME OR SOMETHING.”
I poked my
head out of the blanket. The bedroom was dark, except for the light of Jen’s
phone. It wasn’t that late.
“Here.”
The
mattress rustled as her weight shifted. It was very warm under the blanket, and
built up with her scent. Not perfume but her pheromones.
“YOU
KNOW…MY BODY IS AN OPEN DOOR FOR YOU.”
I rolled
over, where her body was a blanket covered mountain. Separating us along the center was a long
bolster pillow. It was used as a divider to keep Jen on her side while she was
asleep, preventing her from rolling over and squashing me. Often, I woke up
early morning to find her spooning the pillow, with one arm and one leg curled
around. During sex, she also straddled and grinded it.
For even
more safety, I could have just not slept
in the bed. I could have returned to sleeping on my sponge on her bedside
table. But to her, sleeping in the same bed was the symbol of functioning,
long-term relationship, and that I was tied to her, even if our sizes were so
mismatched that I could be stashed in her armpit. First thing in the morning,
she needed to know that I was in the bed with her. Even if she had to ‘fish’
for me under the blanket. Or I’d inexplicably been pushed down to her feet. If
I was in the bed she knew where I was.
“Is that a
song lyric?” I mumbled.
“THAT IS
NOT MEANT TO BE A METAPHOR.”
“Are you
turned on again?”
There was a
soft, low giggle. “…MAYBE.”
She put her
phone down on the bedside table and rolled to face me. Reaching down, she tried
to delicately cup my face with her fingertips and stared at me. Her eyes were
burning with passion. I felt fuzzy inside. Whenever she tried to be romantic,
it made me feel like that. She was very good at it, if she actually tried. Her
fingertips went from cupping my face to delicately grasping my head between
them. Then she said:
“TELL ME
YOUR DIRTIEST FANTASY.”
Hard to
say. I’d done things – and had things done to me—that were dirtier than my
fantasies. I was starting to understand what Jen meant when she said she didn’t
need to fantasize during sex anymore. But for me, fantasizing cost precious reserves
of mental energy that I needed to endure a rigorous, punishing play session
with her.
“You got me
there.”
“GOD, YOU
KNOW, CAN YOU HUMOR ME JUST ONCE? I WANT TO PEE ON YOU.”
I thought
for a moment. Compared to some things we’d done it wasn’t the most extreme
thing she’d ever come up with. But it wasn’t sexual either. It was pure
degradation.
“What the
hell.”
“IS THAT
LIKE ‘WHAT THE HELL, LET’S DO IT?’”
“No.”
“I COULD
MAKE YOU A FAN. IT DRIVES YOU CRAZY WHEN I SQUIRT ON YOU.”
“That’s an
accident. You even said so.”
She laughed.
“PRETTY
GOOD AIM FOR AN ACCIDENT…”
She then
pushed the blanket back, reclined onto her back, and lifted her feet and
brought them together. I stared at her in bemusement.
“I thought
you didn’t like Yoga.”
“BUT THIS
ISN’T YOGA,” she countered. “I JUST NEED TO BURN OFF SOME ENERGY BEFORE I CAN
SLEEP, AND YOU’RE GOING TO BE MY EXERCISE BALL.”
“What?”
She
gathered me up in one hand and placed me on the soft terrain of her upturned
soles. Then, carefully, she began to raise her feet up until her legs were
straight and in full demonstration of her flexibility.
“DON’T
MOVE,” she instructed. “IF YOU TICKLE ME, I SWEAR I’LL MAKE YOU A BATH IN A CUP
OF WATER AND THEN ITS BOTTOMS UP.”
I was
balanced on the undersides of her big toes, and looked out past her feet. She
was lying on her back, gazing up at me, focusing on keeping me balanced.
I felt very
comfortable up in the air, beyond her immediate reach, and with the unusual
sight of looking down on her.
Then she
gave a great big yawn and her toes wiggled reflexively. I stumbled and was
almost flicked off like a speck of dirt caught between her toes. I somehow narrowly
averted falling into her open mouth and being bodily chugged down the slimy
tunnel by a purely accidental throaty spasm.
I stared
straight down at her yawning wide mouth with my stomach pressing into the
grainy underside of her big toe, and hugged on tight. She started bouncing me
up and down on the ball of her foot, and then, bringing her feet apart, tried
flipping me from one foot to the other. My face smacked into a toe or the
cushioning of her sole more than a few times. Then I completely overshot her
foot and went spinning down to the mattress.
In a snap,
her soft lips closed tight around my neck. Everything went dark and moist. My
body draped over her chin. Her bottom incisors rubbed against my throat to grip
my neck, but careful not to squeeze too hard, while her top incisors braced my
scalp. Her tongue sponged over my forehead, as if thoughtfully wiping away
perspiration. Then ran down my cheeks. Then the tip of her tongue flicked and
accidentally poked me in the eye. I made a tiny sound.
Realizing
what she’d done, she made a throaty giggle. Her tongue apologetically tapped my
nose. It slid over my face in hesitant, measured strokes, mapping where
everything was, and gently exploring as close to my eye socket as possible
without touching upon eyeball.
She’d once
told me that tracing my features with her tongue was incredibly erotic. Unlike
when I was normal size, she was unable to see me and had to guess where she was
by touch. She said it allowed her to explore my body in a totally new way, like
she was getting to know my body all over again.
I enjoyed
it too. It was not unlike the face massages she used to give me when I was
normal size, her special brand of ‘eyebrow massage’ except now wetter and with
a lot more risk of being poked in the eye. But it brought back some nice
nostalgia.
While the
strong current of her breath whipped my face, she began to drag her teeth back
and forth against my throat, not enough to bite, but just enough to make a
harmless rash. She was trying to give me a hickey, I realized. Except due to
the size of her teeth, it was more like a hickey from a great white shark. I
tried to calm my racing heart. She would be able to take my pulse with her
tongue against my carotid artery. If I betrayed any fear it would only elevate her
harsh delight.
With my
neck secure, she indulged in a couple of sucks of my head. With each suck, the
air was wrenched down her throat and made my head feel like it was going to
pop.
When my
head finally came out again, I was gasping for fresh air. The inside of her
mouth was scented like toothpaste and it stung with every breath I took. My
face felt like someone had run an ice cube all around it.
*
Stabbing
pains erupted in my tailbone, raced up my spine and burst into my skull. It was
dark, I was confused and couldn’t move. It felt like I was encased in cement. The
profound downward pressure on my body made it feel like someone was standing on
me. This was not completely untrue.
The
darkness was everywhere, even with my eyes open. A resonating female moan
trembled thickly through my body as if a subwoofer was pressed against me, very
loud yet heard as if through a wall. Crushing weight shifted around without
concern which parts of my anatomy were being grinded upon. For several moments
my body was dragged and stretched.
Somehow the
bolster pillow had failed. Jennifer had accidentally rolled over me in her
sleep, pinning me to the mattress beneath. Judging from the musky oversexed
staleness of the air, I was positioned somewhere near her upper thigh, very
close to the opening of her vagina.
I groped
around on hands and knees, looking for light. Failing that, I tried to figure
out which way her body was running, so I could crawl towards her head, where
the blanket ended.
As I
crawled blindly, I must have tickled her thighs by accident. There was a dry
sound like a rake over leaves as one of her hands combed lightly through the
razored spikes of her shaved mound, and down the inside of one leg. I let out a
yell, terrified she would accidentally grate me up between her fingertips like
cheese. A long nail bit into the back of my neck and scraped up my scalp, then
stopped as if seemingly confused, before busying itself scraping and tugging at
my head as if trying to figure out what it was attached to. In her sleep she
seemed to have confused my hair for more of her pubic spikes, and questioned
why my head was detached from the rest.
I yelled
again and it seemed to startle her, although she didn’t fully awaken. She
shifted, gave a sleep-dazed grunt. And then, still in a beatific dream-state,
offloaded a thundering roar of gas buildup right, so close that I got an
instant headache from the skull vibration. In a second the bed was ablaze with
heat and noxious smell.
She shifted
again. Her thigh dropped onto me and stuck me to the mattress, keeping me
pinned for the next round of digestive exhaust. The bed became a swamp.
For at
least five minutes I endured each explosive spurt until my head swam. Her gas
was like a terrible, consciousness altering drug and I was nightmarishly high
on it. My eyes were rolling in my head. Then her thigh stiffened and shifted.
The weight of a log dragged over me as she made another groaning sound, and the
tiny pocket of air I was caught up in filled with another hot blast that
rumbled my sinuses until they stung.
If she
accidentally had lactose, usually at dessert, I paid for it later that night,
under the insulated tent of the blanket. This must have been what had happened
earlier.
Made dumb
with pure desperation, I crawled around blindly, fighting for a clear breath,
before her thigh shifted in discomfort, walling me back up against her butt,
covered in a skimpy thong that offered no shield whatsoever from the roaring
inferno. With no escape, I yelled and slapped my hands against the meaty wall
of her thigh. As if in response, another clapping blast of air ripped free and
connected with my face with the force of a slap. The guttural, growling wave of
hot air seared and rippled across my flesh.
I carried
on sinking my fists into the beef of her immobile thigh. With a start she awoke
and reached for me in the dark, and a wave of pure and satisfying fresh air
burst over my face as I was recovered from the dark pocket of gas cloud. I was
giddy from relief and low oxygen.
She turned
me over in her hand to check I was okay.
“YOU WANT
TO PLAY PUSSY INVADER RIGHT NOW?” she muttered dubiously, sounding still half
asleep. When she was half asleep her disinhibition was even worse. The filter
between her mind and her mouth dissolved entirely.
“I’m trying
to sleep.”
She paused,
and then, startled, flapped the blanket rapidly to dispel the trapped air.
“REALLY?
DOWN THERE? YIKES, YOU’RE GETTING SMOKED.”
True. It
was like an elephant had gone to die in there.
“JUST ONE
THING,” she said quickly, before I was able to pass out into merciful sleep. “THE
VET WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU TOMORROW.”
“No,” I ran a hand over my face, and then
stared up at her plaintively. “Did I lose a bet?”
“YOU NEARLY
DID!” she fired back.
I dipped my
chin.
“I’ll stop
taking the meds if you want.” Actually, I had already decided to never touch
the medication again, since getting the almost-deathbed diagnosis.
“OH, I
WANT.”
“Then can
we let it rest?”
She said
brightly:
“SHE’LL SEE
YOU AT TEN. YOU’RE GETTING AN EXAM.”
As if the discussion was over, she started humming. My nerves flared, even though – or maybe because – I knew I couldn’t win.
“No! Come
on. Please!”
Her thumb
was resting on my chest and began to massage softly. The stimulation made my
back soften against the warm inside of her fingers, cupped around me.
“WHEN I
GAVE YOU NATALIE’S NUMBER…” she said slowly.
I stared,
confused.
“Yes?”
“…YOU
RECALL THAT I AGREED TO GIVE IT TO YOU IF YOU RETURNED ME A FAVOR SOMETIME.”
“I’ll take
you shopping instead.” My voice gathered desperate speed. “A blank check signed
Jerry, how about that?”
She made a
sound of approval, her thumb swirling lovingly over my chest.
“OH NOT
BUYING YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS ONE.”
“Just
great. You know, you really love squashing my entire being, don’t you?”
“CUT ME A
BREAK, JERRY.” She sat up. “GIVING YOU SPACE IS STILL A WORK IN PROGRESS. LOOK
AT WHERE WE’VE COME: I LET YOU GO AND YOU ALMOST DIE. I MUST BE OUT OF MY
FUCKING MIND.”
“Okay, living
alone was a bad idea,” I conceded. “But we couldn’t know that until we tried
it.”
“YOU’VE
STILL GOT A COUPLE TINY HURDLES TO JUMP BEFORE I FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOU AGAIN. SEE
THE VET,” she urged, pushing her thumb up over my mouth to stifle my argument,
“SHOW ME YOU’RE OKAY.”