A accountant finds himself down-sized...in a most unusal manner.
, Instant Size Change Characters:
Lilliputian (6 in. to 3 in.)Size Roles:
October 11 2012 Updated:
November 29 2012
1. Chapter 1 by Carycomic
2. Chapter 2 by Carycomic
3. Chapter 3 by Carycomic
4. Chapter 4 by Carycomic
* * * * *
My name is Adam Applegate. And, I used to be a number-cruncher for the Payroll Department of the Towne-Kerr Modeling Agency in Los Angeles, California. A job that, quite frankly, was a lot like being the piano player in an Old West whorehouse!
I might have been surrounded by a lot of action. But, I _never_ got a piece of it.
It's true! This isn't self-pity talking (well, not completely, anyway). I saw, first-hand, that there was only one type of guy that their non-lesbian super models were interested in dating: tall, dark, handsome, and rich. I was short, pale, plain-looking, and middle income.
English translation: beautiful women, like that, found me _completely_ resistible.
Oh, I tried to be thick-skinned about it. So I could, at least, derive some vicarious enjoyment from my work. Still, the only time I felt truly happy was during my annual two-week summer vacation. When that rolled around, I headed straight for my favorite place on Earth. The Northgate Dude Ranch in western Wyoming!
It's a quaint little spread that stays in business by occupying the main tourist route between Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. Although, it's a lot closer to the northern entrance of the latter (hence the name). And, while I'm there, I can literally ride tall in the saddle atop Little Buckaroo.* The smartest Pony of the Americas west of the Mississippi!
Anyway; one day, this past summer, I was riding him near the southwestern edge of Yellowstone. And, that's when I saw them. Two dirt bikers chasing a white mustang. No, I don't mean the Ford sports car! I mean a genuine, flesh-and-blood wild stallion as white as the proverbial snow. But, it wasn't his coloration that caught my eye.
IT WAS THE FACT THAT HE WAS PACING AS FAST AS ANY SANTA ANITA THOROUGHBRED I HAD EVER SEEN GALLOP!!
It was incredible. I had heard campfire stories, during mock-cattle drives, about Albino Pacing Mustangs. Yet, like the rest of my fellow tourists, I had considered them just good-natured malarkey, meant purely for our entertainment.
This was no campfire story, however. Like I said; it was a flesh-and-blood creature. And, he was trying to evade his pursuers by heading for Yellowstone. As if he instinctively sensed he'd be safe there.
So, I urged Little Buckaroo into a full gallop. Heading straight for the half-way point between the white stallion and the dirt bikers. The latter had to pop wheelies to keep from colliding with Buck (who, quite understandably, whinnied and reared in alarm)!
Moments later, Buck had calmed down enough that I could talk to these guys without dismounting.
"Sorry, boys. But, you're headed for Federally protected land. No civilian off-road vehicles allowed!"
The taller of the duo glared at me.
"You think we give a shit? Not when there's millions of dollars involved!"
"Yeah," added his accomplice: "And, that's how much East Coast breeders stand to make, off a stud who can guarantee horses that never break stride during a harness race!"
I shrugged: "I don't give a shit about East Coast breeders. I'm not letting you tear up Yellowstone's acreage just so you can get rich quick."
The two of them looked at each other. Then, they looked at me...as they slowly withdrew a pair of handguns from beneath their windbreakers.
"Who's gonna stop us?" demanded the tall one.
Before either of them could turn around, they were each clutching at their asses while yelping in pain. Their outcries ended, however, when they fell flat on their faces. Thus, they never saw the gorgeous Native American girl, kneeling behind them, armed with a compound bow.
Nor did they see me almost fall from Buck's saddle as I witnessed them shrink to the size of Santa Monica Pier kewpie dolls!
To be continued
*Buckaroo: Western American slang term, derived from the Spanish "vacquero" ("cow herder").
Pony of the Americas: a relatively recent breed developed from crossing Appaloosa horses with American Shetland ponies. The latter derived from crossing Welsh ponies with Old World Shetlands proper!
Albino Pacing Mustang: a genuine piece of crypto-zoological folklore. Dating back to, at least, the 19th century.
Kewpie doll: the most common prize awarded for successful ball-throwing at American carnivals and amusement parks (such as the one that occupies most of Santa Monica Pier).
* * * * *
I could not believe my eyes.
Two armed men--each one, a foot taller than me, at least--had been reduced to the size of boys' action-figures in less than a minute. With the arrows seemingly responsible (and still sticking out of their ass cheeks), now the size of toothpicks!
And, the Native American woman who had fired those arrows wore nothing but a pair of form-fitting blue jeans; a pair of deerskin boots; and a long-sleeved, red plaid shirt. With the front shirt tail knotted above her midriff (thereby exposing her navel).
"Uhm!" I nervously began: "I know this is going to sound lame. But, I'm not with these guys. In fact, I've never seen them before in my life!"
The Native American woman (who looked about five years younger than me) smiled.
"I know. I'm Drew Swift Arrow of the Wind River Shoshoni."
"And, I'm Adam Applegate. The Confused Caucasian! How the frig...?!"
She grinned: "Ancient tribal secret. One that the women of my clan having been using, for centuries, on behalf of He Who Keeps Pace With The Wind. And, all his descendants."
She pointed behind me, and I turned to look over my right shoulder. There, at the tree line marking Yellowstone's southwestern boundary, stood the white stallion. Looking straight at me, and moving his head up and down. As if nodding at me in gratitude!
When I turned to look back at Drew, I saw her removing her toothpick-sized arrows from the still-unconscious "doll men." Following which, she put the doll men, themselves, in a small burlap pouch!
"Is it also an ancient tribal secret as to what you're going to do with those two?"
"Let's just say it'll be harsh-but-appropriate," she replied: "Yet, definitely non-lethal. After all; my people are _not_ savages!"
I gave a rueful lopsided grin (suddenly feeling guilty for dressing like a cowboy). So, in a deliberate change of subject, I told her that she and her clan could count on me to keep the secret of the white stallion's existence. And, she nodded.
"I saw that, for myself, the moment you risked life and limb to interpose yourself in front of these men."
She held up the pouch, again.
"To express my thanks," she continued: "...I wish to give you this."
Whereupon, she draped her compound bow over her right shoulder (next to the quiver), so she could use her right hand to remove something from her shirt's left breast pocket. She then walked up to Little Buckaroo, and handed it to me.
Leaning down in my saddle, to accept it, I took it in my left hand and brought it up to my eyes for a closer inspection. It was about the size and shape of a shirt button. But, it looked to be made of silver, with a centerpiece of turquoise.
"Lovely workmanship! But, what is it?"
"A gift from a Navajo girl, who was my roommate at Dartmouth," Drew replied: "According to the lore of her people, it's supposed to bring good luck. Well, I was certainly lucky enough to meet you, Mr. Applegate! And, now, I pass it on to you. So, it may increase your good fortune."
Putting it inside the right-hand pocket of my gray wind-breaker, I used my left hand to grasp the front of my Stetson hat's brim as both a gesture of thanks and a departing salute.
"It was nice meeting you, Ms. Swift Arrow."
She smiled and nodded back: "Likewise, Mr. Applegate."
I then turned Buck one hundred-eighty degrees, and rode him back, at a canter, to the Northgate Ranch.
Dedicated to Larry Hagman.
When I got back to the ranch, the first thing I did (after unsaddling Little Buckaroo and drying him off) was head straight for the foreman. The man was a Baby-boomer whose grandfather had weaned him on tales of the Old West. So, there was a good chance he might be able to verify what Drew Swift Arrow had told me about that good luck token.
Of course, I didn't tell him the truth about how I'd gotten it! I merely fibbed. Told him that I had seen sunlight reflecting off something on the ground, and I halted Buck in order to dismount and pick it up.
Imagine my partial sense of disappointment when he told me it was just a tie clasp.
"A tie clasp?!" I had echoed.
"Oh, yeah! For one of them shoestring ties they used to wear, back in the 19th century. Afore bow ties came along."
He took me to the souvenir shop, in the lobby of the ranch house, and showed me what he meant. So, I bought one such shoe string and laced it through the tie clasp like the foreman showed me. And, when I looked at my reflection, back in the privacy of my room, I couldn't help smiling to myself. I looked like a clone of J.R. Ewing from the old DALLAS series!
Minus eighteen inches, a custom-tailored business suit, and a beautiful woman on each arm.
Anyway, the last day of my summer vacation came all too soon, and I headed back to L.A. When I reported to work, the next morning (wearing my new shoestring tie, of course), I found the whole place abuzz with excitement. So, I asked the guy in the cube next to mine what was up.
"Ms. Towne-Kerr just signed a contract with Elizabeth's Enigma. Our models get to show off their lingerie, this coming spring! Including those potential newbies."
"What potential newbies?" I replied.
"Doesn't that dude ranch get basic cable?" he demanded: "Those two hotties who became the first women to snow-board down Mt. Everest, last winter! Ms. Towne-Kerr is trying to talk them into modeling careers!! And, if she succeeds, they'd wear the lion's share of the lingerie at the spring preview in NYC."
With a shrug, I walked past him and re-entered my cube for the first time in two weeks. But, the moment I was alone, I activated my desk-top computer and googled these women I had been told about. It turns out their names were Sarah Lee Baker and Julie Kamanawanaleia. With Sarah being a blue-eyed blonde "ski bunny," from Boise, Idaho. While Julie was a Sino-Hawaiian surfing champ from Honolulu!
Together, they had trained a whole year to surpass the world record of that Japanese downhill skier, Yuchimura, whose 1970 descent of Mount Everest had been turned into an Oscar-winning documentary. And with the successful accomplishment of their feat having been turned into an Oscar-nominated documentary, in its own right, the ensuing publicity had prompted Geraldine Towne-Kerr to approach these ladies with her offer.
Imagine her shocked astonishment at their initial reluctance to accept it!!
"We want to be admired for our abilities, Ms. Towne-Kerr," Sarah had explained: "Not just our looks."
Julie had nodded in agreement. But, much as I might silently applaud such good sense, I have to admit: Ms. Towne-Kerr did not get to where she was, in the male-dominated business world, by taking "no" for an answer. So, she managed to talk Julie and Sarah into a compromise.
"A trial photo-shoot, with the two of you wearing bikinis! If you don't think the resulting pictures do you justice, then I'll respect your decision and order the limo to take you back to your hotel. What do you say?"
Well, they obviously agreed to that much. And, after the first thirty minutes, a rest break was called.
"Hey! You!" Ms. Towne-Kerr called to me, as she came walking by my cube: "Get these mineral waters to Studio One, pronto!! I have to finish assuring Elizabeth's Engima I can sign these two up as lingerie models."
I nodded, without protest, and marched calmly towards the room where the mock photo-shoot was taking place. An opened bottle of water in each of my hands. And, as I entered, I was momentarily dumbfounded.
Julie was wearing a fire-engine red bikini. While Sarah wore one of sky-blue. And, in my humble opinion?
THEY LOOKED GREAT!
That's when Armand, the photographer, noticed me.
"Well? Don't just stand there, trying to catch flies with your mouth. Give these ladies their mineral water!"
"Oh, right. Sorry!"
I blushed as Julie and Sarah (who, even in their barefeet, towered over me by six inches) giggled. And, in partially looking away in embarrassment, I caused my own downfall. Literally!
I tripped over one of the floodlight cords, and fell flat on my stomach. The mineral water spraying upward into my face. And, with the floodlight concerned landing right on top of me!! This was followed by a loud buzzing sound; a painful series of convulsions through out my body; and a wave of blackness that swept over me like a tidal wave.
* * * * *
The first thing I noticed, when I re-opened my eyes, is that I was able to re-open them at all. I then noticed the noise level. There was a near-deafening "whoosh-whoosh-whoosh" sound coming from somewhere. As if someone had turned the ceiling fan, in Ms. Towne-Kerr's office, up to full volume...times one hundred!
So I instinctively closed my eyes, again, and covered my ears with my hands. But, the thought of that ceiling fan made me realize something else. I was cold! So I sat back up, and transferred my hands from my ears to my shoulders. Assuming one of those fetal positions so typical for the night-time campfires on Northgate Ranch cattle drives.
And, that's when I finally felt the bare skin of my upper torso.
Hastily re-opening my eyes, for the second time, I looked down at my waist. Sure enough: I was stark naked!
"What the frig...?"
This (admittedly cliche') question was answered in a most unusual manner. By a series of giggles that were just as unmistakably female as they were thunderous. But, when I looked skyward, I suddenly found myself being covered by a giant white tarpaulin as smooth as silk. And, my struggles to extricate myself elicited even more of those giggles!
"Here!" said a vaguely familiar voice: "You might need that."
Needless to say, when I finally found the light of day, I looked upward, once more. Whereupon, I felt my eyes grow as round as an anime character's.
Three billboard-sized faces were looking down at me! Two of them belonged to a pair of young women clad in gray, kimono-like bathrobes. The third, to a slightly older woman with a pearl-white "power suit" with matching midi-skirt.
In short? I was looking at giantess versions of Sarah Lee Baker, Julie Kamanawanaleia, and Geraldine Towne-Kerr!
"Am I dead?" was the first thing I thought to ask of them. All three of them merely smiled and shook their heads.
"No, Adam," said Ms. Towne-Kerr: "You're very much alive. But, you're now three inches tall! And, the only explanation I can think of, for both, is a plain-and-simple...miracle!"
"Or, a Navajo good luck token," I muttered to myself (suddenly remembering the "tie clasp").
Then, I had another thought: "Does everyone else know that I'm...?"
This time, all three of them nodded their heads, while smiling sympathetically.
"As soon as we saw what had happened to you, Julie ran to get help," replied Sarah: "Naturally, Ms. Towne-Kerr didn't believe her, at first. But, once she saw you (in my cupped hands!), she immediately called a halt to the photo-shoot."
"And, naturally, I swore Armand and everyone else to silence," added Ms. Towne-Kerr: "The only question is; what do we do, now?"
"What do you mean, 'what do we do?' " I instinctively demanded: "We call the nearest hospital! That's what. To try and get me some help!"
Ms. Towne-Kerr frowned: "That's not very practical, Adam. I mean; think about it. Your present condition is unprecedented, to say the least!! So, what would happen if a doctor examined you? You'd probably become a human guinea pig, in some top-secret government lab, for the rest of your life. Never again to have a moment's privacy!"
"So?" I shrugged: "What other alternative is there?"
"This one," replied Julie: "Since it was our mineral waters you were delivering to us, when this happened, Sarah and I sort of feel responsible. So, we talked it over with Ms. Towne-Kerr. And, she's had her lawyer draw up a special contract. We--Sarah and I--agree to become lingerie models for Elizabeth's Engima. And, in return? You'll come to live with the two of us, in a plush little penthouse, in Beverly Hills. As both our ward and our financial advisor!
"WHAT?????" I exclaimed, in disbelief, as loudly as I could.
"Well, it's the only sensible approach, Adam," Ms. Towne-Kerr explained: "After all, they're not seasoned veterans, at modeling, like the rest of our girls. So, you'll remain with them to reassure them they're not being cheated when they start receiving their first professional modeling fees!"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"B-But," I stammered: "Don't I get any say in this?"
The three of them just resumed giggling, all the harder.
* * * * *
Well, it's been over a year, since that happened. And, my initial indignation gradually turned to resignation. Which, I grudgingly admit, wasn't too difficult. For one thing, Julie and Sarah are really quite gentle when handling me. And, then there's the fact that Ms. Towne-Kerr finally learned my first name was _not_ "Hey, you!"
So, perhaps, that Navajo good luck totem did work, for me, after all.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.