Not _everything_ is big in Texas.
, Growing/Shrinking out of clothes
, Instant Size Change
, Vore Characters:
Brobdnignagian (51 ft. to 100 ft.)Shrink:
Minikin (3 in. to 1 in.)Size Roles:
October 12 2012 Updated:
February 14 2013
1. Chapter 1 by Carycomic
2. Chapter 2 by Carycomic
3. Chapter 3 by Carycomic
4. Chapter 4 by Carycomic
5. Chapter 5 by Carycomic
6. Chapter 6 by Carycomic
7. Chapter 7 by Carycomic
8. Chapter 8 by Carycomic
9. Chapter 9 by Carycomic
10. Chapter 10 by Carycomic
* * * * *
TEXAS TECH UNIVERSITY
(MAGIC CITY CAMPUS),
WHEELER COUNTY, TEXAS
OCTOBER 11, 2013
Dr. Henry Beauregard McGee (age: 30/ height: 5'3"/Ph.D., biophysics) brought his rentals to the cashier of the video store.
"BLAZING SADDLES and...DESTROY ALL MONSTERS," she said (with a somewhat sad tone in her voice): "Don't you ever get anything else for the tail end of your weekly double-feature, Doc?"
"Why should I? It's the greatest of the original Toho Godzilla films, bar none!"
"What about the big game, this weekend? We're hosting the LSU Tigers for the first time in campus history!"
"If I get insomnia, I'll catch the late-night repeat on ESPN."
He paid the rental fee she quoted, then left. Noting (via her not-quite invisible reflection in the front window) the slight shaking of her head in pity. And, in all honestly, he could not totally blame her.
Twelve months earlier, he had been hit with a paternity suit by an art teacher he had scarcely been on a first name basis with! And, to vindicate himself, he had to reveal a twenty year-old secret.
"I could not have fathered Ms. Sloan's child...because I am impotent. The result of getting hit by a car, while saving my cat-chasing Westie from the same fate! It took me ten years of painful physical therapy to regain the use of my legs, Your Honor. The anatomical region between them, however? Forget it!"
When this fact was verified, by the medical records of his old pediatrician, Dorothy Sloan confessed the truth.
"My child's father is Biff Morgan, Your Honor! To keep from being flunked off the football team, he earned extra credit by posing for 'natural study' sketches in my art class. One thing led to another, and..."
Upon first getting morning sickness, the lovely carrot-topped art teacher had gone to the campus clinic for a physical. With the doctor in charge of it quickly verifying her pregnancy. Unfortunately, for her, the work-study student who had assisted the doctor was a pre-med frat brother of Morgan's. And, the latter had no trouble blackmailing her into blackmailing Henry!
As a result of this startling disclosure, Henry was awarded a tidy (though undisclosed) sum in punitive damages.
He subsequently received the money, on a monthly basis, from Morgan's wealthy parents. But, it was hand-delivered by Morgan, himself, in the form of cashier's checks. His father's idea of teaching the young man a lesson in responsibility (if not honesty)!
Almost immediately, every eligible woman on campus--over 21--began flirting with Henry. But, he would have none of them! He knew that half of them were only after the money. The other half merely considered him "safe."
Instead, he spent most of the money (and his spare time) completing his great invention; the NSR. The Neuro-Stimulative Regeneratron!
Upon dropping his DVD's off, at his off-campus apartment, Henry exchanged his business suit for a black hoodie with matching sneakers and sweat pants. Then, he hopped on his bicycle and rode over to the Physics Building. He then went up to a certain third floor class room. The only door to which bore a sign that read:
CLOSED FOR ASBESTOS REMOVAL
Unlocking this door, Henry quickly and quietly slipped inside. He then moved about the room, methodically activating all kinds of futuristic-looking equipment. While waiting for that equipment to fully warm up, he brought out his mini-digital audiorecorder, and clicked it on to "record."
"Friday night; 11 October. 6:33 P.M."
"The time has now come for Phase 3. My previous experiments, on spinally-injured dachshunds (and a twenty year-old gelding horse), consecutively showed _complete_ neuro-cellular regeneration within forty-eight hours after subjection. That's why I've waited for this holiday weekend, before using the process on myself."
"The fewer people on campus to bother me, the better I'll be able to keep this a secret. At least, until the time is right to disclose it."
Suddenly, a red light began flashing at the same time as a small beeper began sounding. The signal that the NSR was fully warmed up! Whereupon, Henry took off his glasses, removed his sweatsuit, and marched into a gray-walled, glass-fronted cubicle.
Dedicated to Alex Karras and Mary Shelley.
* * * * *
Henry stood in the cubicle, stark naked. Waiting as patiently as he could for the automatic timer--which had activated following completion of the warm-up process--to count down from the sixty seconds he had set it for. And, when the start of the final ten seconds was reached, the red light-and-beeper combo went on, once more.
Henry closed his eyes. But, even that did not screen out the brilliant flashes of orange light that accompanied the ensuing crackle of electricity.
KA-ZAP! KA-ZAP! KA-ZAP! KA-ZAP!
When he re-opened his eyes, all the equipment was powering down. Gingerly, he stepped out of the cubicle, the coldness of the tiled floor suddenly perceptible to him. Walking on the balls of his feet, he got dressed back up in his sweat clothes, as fast as possible. Then, he reactivated his mini-digital audiorecorder.
"Subjection: complete. I will now try a little experiment."
He put the recorder down on the desk top. Then, he picked up his cellular vidphone, and played a video clip he had downloaded from Youtube. A videoclip of, perhaps, the greatest dance-drill team in the SouthEastern Conference of the NCAA.
The Louisiana State University Golden Girls.
Unlike other collegiate dance teams (whose sole purpose seemed to be to try and out-high kick the Radio City Rockettes), the Golden Girls specialized in a form of terpsichore that appeared to occupy a niche between precision marching and a land-based equivalent of synchronized swimming!
But, it could not be denied that they performed it rather well. And, the eye-pleasing ensembles they wore, during their performances, didn't hurt, either. Indeed, Henry had already watched this clip, many times before!
This, however, was the first time it had caused a certain stirring below his waist. A sure sign the process was already starting to work.
"It's alive!" he could not help exclaiming with glee: "IT'S ALIVE!!!"
He then turned off the recorder and the vidphone, putting the former back in his left sweatsuit pocket. And, the latter in his right. Following which, he exited the class room. Careful to lock its only door behind him.
His joy was short-lived, though. Because, the moment he got to the spot where he had parked his bike, he found it lying on the ground. Beneath the front wheels of a Volkswagen Beetle!
"What in the world...?" he began to mutter.
"Like my new car, Doc?" said an all-too familiar voice behind him.
Henry spun about. Sure enough; standing behind him were Biff Morgan and another boy. Probably, one of his frat brothers.
And, both were armed with baseball bats.
"It's all I could afford to replace my Porsche," Morgan continued: "The Porsche I've been driving since I graduated high school! The Porsche my dad forced me to sell, in order to raise half of the money I was court-ordered to pay you."
"You brought that on yourself, Biff," Henry replied: "Don't compound your original mistake with a bigger one."
"The only thing I'm gonna compound," Morgan retorted (with a most malicious grin): "...is the fractures we plan to give you."
As if cue, Henry heard a pair of car doors slam. He looked back at the VW, and saw two more boys armed with bats. Both duos beginning to converge on him, front and back!
Naturally, he tried to run. But, as these boys were taller, they naturally had longer legs. So, naturally, they had no trouble catching up to him within seconds!
To his credit, Henry did try to call for help on his cellphone as he ran. But, one of the boys prevented this when he flung his bat at the backs of Henry's legs, parallel to his kneecaps. As a result, Henry fell forward. Flat on his face and stomach!
And, with the cellphone flying a few feet further onward.
The rain of blows that followed quickly caused him to black out from the pain. When this had become obvious to the quartet of assailants, Morgan ordered them to stop. He then ordered two of them to pick up Henry by the shoulders.
"Is he still breathin', Biff?" asked the third accomplice.
Morgan nodded, adding: "Grab his cellphone. If he managed to get through to 911, they might trace it through GPS."
The third accomplice did as instructed. And, he gave a snort of startled laughter when he saw what was playing on its small video screen.
"Hey, Biff! Looks like he wasn't as limp as he led the court to believe."
He showed Morgan and the other two the clip of the LSU Golden Girls. Which immediately inspired the former with a fiendish idea.
"Let's take him to the gym. We'll stuff him in one of the lockers...in the Visiting Girls' Locker Room. And, then, call the cops. Anonymously, of course!"
* * * * *
Henry McGee and what were left of his bicycle were stuffed into the forward-facing trunk of the VW Beetle. Following which, Biff Morgan started it up, and drove as inconspicously as possible over to the building that housed the basketball court for the TTMC Pumas.
The Samuel J. Snodgrass Memorial Field House.
En route, one of his accomplices cellphoned a certain newly initiated pledge to their fraternity. One who was working his way through college as a part-time custodian at the field house. And, he was naturally a little reluctant, at first, to agree to the "request" made of him by the upper classmen.
Then, he was reminded of certain digital photographs. Ones showing just who had Crazy-glued the rubber Groucho Marx nose-and-glasses to the face of Samuel Snodgrass' statue. Ones that could anonymously get downloaded on to the Internet in the proverbial heart beat!
So, five minutes later, the quartet of assailants were being ushered into the field house through one of its rear entrances.
It was from this building that the visiting LSU Tigers would march to the football stadium, the next day. Preceded, of course, by their marching band and the Golden Girls. What Morgan had not counted on, however, was the Golden Girls being present, right this moment!
"What the frig are they doing here?" he demanded in a harsh whisper.
"It's a dress rehearasal for their half-time routine, tomorrow," the pledge nervously replied: "That's the only reason I'm working here, on a Friday night!"
"OK, guys," said Morgan to the other frat boys: "Let's hurry this up. Or else we're the ones who'll get busted as pervs!"
Consequently, the hapless biophysics teacher was stripped down to his birthday suit and stuffed in an unoccupied locker. Then, Morgan and his three accomplices left. Driving off to the local historical site that commemorated where wildcatter Samuel Snodgrass had struck his first gusher. Resulting in the pre-WWI oil boom that had given birth to Magic City (and, with the relative rapidity that had inspired its name).
There, they would bury Dr. McGee's bike and clothing, next to the remains of Derrick Number One.
Yet, while most of Morgan's vengeful plans had proven successful this night, he could never have anticipated that the Golden Girls would end their dress rehearsal quite so early!
"All right, ladies," said Claire-Ysabel Lenoir: "That was great. Let's not over-do it."
The other fifteen Golden Girls could not agree more. Like their captain, they were wearing sleeveless white leotards (offset by gold leaf fleur-de-lis emblems on the front); matching, elbow-length gloves; fishnet stockings; and ballet slippers! Normally, they wore open-toed high heels for their performances. But, in deference to the TTMC basketball coaches, they had rehearsed in the slippers so as not to scratch up the floor of the court.
Furthermore, Claire-Ysabel had the most exotic appearance of the girls. Being of mixed Cajun, Isleno, and Afro-Creole heritage, she had a golden-brown complexion with blue eyes and honey-blonde hair. Making her resemble a younger sister of the actress Vanessa Williams!
All sixteen had just returned to the Visiting Girls' Locker Room when they first heard it.
Their excited chatter, about tomorrow's football game, died away.
"What the heck was...?" one of the girls began to ask.
Only to be interrupted by a much louder repetition of that unearthly moan.
"It's coming from in there!" exclaimed a second girl, pointing at the unoccupied locker.
Claire-Ysabel had grown up as the only daughter in a family of seven. So, she had been quite the feisty tomboy all through elementary school! That feistiness now resurfaced as a firm resolve to open the door, to that moaning locker, without any further hesitation. Yet, even she could not help gasping at the sight of the naked man who subsequently fell out of it and on to the floor.
A naked man who also began to shrink before their very eyes!
Here's a little something for the vore crowd.
* * * * *
Henry was having the weirdest dream.
Three of Biff Morgan's friends had forced him to kneel on the tarmac of the parking lot, while Morgan, himself, activated Henry's cellphone. Morgan then called up the Youtube clip of the LSU Golden Girls. And, he grinned at Henry, most sadistically, as he said:
"Come on out, ladies, and let's show this pint-sized egghead what a _real man_ can do for you."
Whereupon, the entire contingent came off the cellphone's video screen, like the Genie of Aladdin's Lamp!
But, the insanity did not end there. For while the Golden Girls emerged life-size, they did not remain that way for long. In fact, they began to grow taller...and taller...and taller still. Until, finally, they towered higher than the observatory dome atop the Physics Building!
"Holy Shit!" chorused Morgan and his frat-brother acomplices.
"Exactly right, little man," replied the giantess who seemed to be in charge: "That's exactly what you'll become after a little period of digestion."
Whereupon, she and the other Golden Girls began to lick their lips in unison. Resulting in falsetto screams of terror being uttered by Henry's quartet of assailants. The latter, of course, instantly tried to flee for safety. But, no matter which direction they ran, they found themselves cut off by tremendous pairs of open-toed high heels trying to impale them!
Finally, they collapsed to the ground, exhausted. And, the giantess in charge smiled, her arms akimbo.
"Just the way I like my meat; 100% lean."
Whereupon, she bent down and scooped up Morgan and his three accomplices in her gloved hands. She raised them high above her open mouth. And, then, she let all four of them fall to their doom!
Henry could not watch. He kept his face averted, and his eyes closed, until the thunderous sounds of chewing had stopped. When he finally turned back, with eyes re-opened, he saw the white-gloved hands now reaching down for him.
"Time for dessert," she purred.
"Oh, please!" he begged: "No! Don't eat me, too!!"
She did not reply. She merely dangled him above her mouth; puckered her lips; and began inhaling. The next thing Henry knew, his sweatsuit had been sucked off him like water through a straw!
"Sorry to deprive you of your dignity, little man. But, I needed some fiber in my diet."
Henry did not know how to reply to that. So, he just continued dangling there. Trying to cover up his increasingly aroused manhood, as best he could. But, the giantess who held him wasn't fooled for a second. And, she easily dislodged his camouflage with the index finger of her gloved right hand.
"Oooooh! You're definitely no longer suffering from erectile dysfunction, Doc."
At which point, she began to tickle him.
"Kitchy-kitchy-kitchy koo!" she chanted.
"No! Haha! S-Stop...Hahahaha! Stop that! P-Ple...Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
"Come on, little man. Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!"
Henry woke up.
He was totally disoriented for the first few seconds. Then, he became aware of his nudity. And, it all came flashing back to him. Including the improvised plot to frame him that he had half-consciously overheard!
Yet, if Morgan had made good on his threat, why was he not in police custody at this very moment? And, why had the beating he endured left not one bruise?
"You okay, little man?" asked a strangely familiar voice (that seemed to come from above him).
"Yes, I'm fine. It's just that I need some cl..."
The rest of his reply was cut off by the huge assortment of lovely faces looking down at him, in wonderment.
"If you were about to say 'clothes,' " remarked the giantess who seemed to be their spokeswoman: "...I'm afraid we don't have anything in your current size."
Before he could respond to that masterpiece of understatement, he found himself ascending! Before he could gather his wits enough to protest, though, he was lowered on to a cold, gray metal surface. One that he recognized right away as...
...the top shelf of a locker.
"This can't be happening," he muttered: "I must still be dreaming!"
"Sorry to disappoint you, little man. But, you're wide awake. Courtesy of the rub-down I gave your...bigger half. And, that's a liberty I apologize for taking, by the way. It was the fastest way to wake you up, though. That; and it seemed like the only way we could verify you were for real!"
"Perfectly understandable, Miss...?"
"Lenoir. Claire-Ysabel Lenoir! Captain of the LSU Golden Girls."
"Pleased to meet you, ladies. I'm Dr. Henry Beauregard Lee. But, my friends call me 'Hank.' "
"OK, Hank. Now, would you mind explaining how you got in this locker, and ended up this size? Or, do we have to call the local police?"
"They're probably already on their way!" exclaimed Henry: "But, I'll do my best to enlighten you before they arrive."
Forty-five minutes later, he finally concluded his recitation. Only to be met with stunned silence.
"Believe me, ladies. I'm as nonplussed by my condition as you are! None of my test animals ever wound up being shrunk. I can only hypothesize that the neuro-muscular damage inflicted on me, by Biff and the others, redirected some of the cosmotronic energy the NSR infused me with and..."
"Pssssssst!" interrupted a Golden Girl, keeping look-out by the locker room door: "Cops coming."
Whereupon, Claire-Ysabel grabbed Henry off the locker shelf and stuffed him in the only hiding place available. Down her cleavage!
A minute later, two men wearing khaki uniforms, white Stetson hats and star-shaped badges entered the locker room.
"Sorry to bother you, ladies," intoned the slightly older one: "I'm Billy Ray Marshall; sheriff of Wheeler County. This is my deputy; Bobby Lee Dawkins."
"Good evening, Sheriff Marshall!" the Golden Girls replied in unison.
"What can we do for you?" added Claire-Ysabel.
"We received an anonymous tip that a Peeping Tom might be hanging around this building. Male (Caucasian); about five feet tall and thirty years-old, with brown hair. Possibly wearing eye glasses. Have you or any of the others seen anybody like that, hereabouts, this evening?"
Claire-Ysabel tried not to smile as she replied:
* * * * *
Henry sat where had been so impulsively deposited. Assuming a fetal position as he did so. Not so much for the cramped quarters of his ad hoc refuge. But, because of the way it was arousing him!
"I've created a monster," he muttered.
So, to keep his mind off his sensual surroundings, he started hypothesizing about this most unforeseen side-effect of his experiment.
"I woke up--quite literally--in the palm of her hand! Which means I'm, at least, sixty inches shorter than I used to be. There's only one feasible explanation for that: proton decay!"
"When my injuries accelerated the regeneration process, there was only one way my mutated metabolism could cope. Some of my corporeal mass was converted into neutral pions and neutrinos that are now part of the ambient atmosphere."
While this mood-killing mental soliloquy was in progress, Sheriff Marshall was getting head-shaking shrugs from all the other Golden Girls in the locker room.
"Honestly, Sheriff!" Claire-Ysabel finally interjected: "The closest thing we've seen to a voyeur, during our dress rehearsal, was that young custodian. Now, if there's nothing further, the girls and I have to finish dressing back up in our street clothes. So, we can return to our rooms, at the Holiday Inn, in time for curfew."
"Of course, ma'am. Just doing my duty, was all. After all; you are the guests of the Lone Star State! And, none of us would want anything un-toward happening to you."
"That's very kind of you. Merci beau coup. You, too, Deputy Dawkins!"
The two law men smiled; touched the front brims of their Stetsons, as one; and then left. Whereupon, Claire-Ysabel immediately withdrew her little refugee. Prompting the rest of the Golden Girls to reassemble around her.
"Well, Doc?" she began: "It looks like the cops backed up your story. Even if they didn't know it. The question now is; what do _we_ do with you?"
"I don't suppose there's anyway I could persuade you into taking me back across campus, so I could peruse my written notes?"
Claire-Ysabel and the others smiled.
"You suppose right. I wasn't lying to the sheriff. We're due back at the Holiday Inn by ten! And, I want to make our return with as much time to spare, as possible."
Henry smiled back: "Then, it appears we're at an impasse."
His benefactress' smile became a full-fledged grin.
"That's what you think."
Whereupon, she place him at the bottom of her gymbag and zipped it shut!
Five minutes later, he felt his ears temporarily stuff up as the bag was lifted off the ground. He and the rest of the contents then began swaying back and forth as the gymbag's owner started moving with it. And, the moment he heard the deafening sound of a motor starting up, he knew that Claire-Ysabel and the gymbag were on one of Magic City's crosstown buses.
Fifteen minutes after that, the gymbag was re-opened. Letting some much-welcome light into the darkness. Well, that; and a giant right hand belonging to his benefactress.
Henry did not hesitate in the slightest to climb aboard that hand. When he had done so, it ascended until he was literally eye-to-eye with Claire-Ysabel. And, the sight that met his eyes made both them and his manhood bulge!
A pre-Halloween treat.
* * * * *
Claire-Ysabel was sitting on her hotel room bed, width-wise. Her right leg (just as barefoot, long, and lovely as her left) placed beneath her. But, what really astounded Henry--in a good way--was her choice of sleepwear.
A pair of white panties and a T-shirt that barely reached down to it.
Nor was the T-shirt a plain white one. Instead, it had a black-and-white photo decal of Godzilla poking his head above a hilltop. With the hilltop suggestively (and, perhaps, fittingly) enhanced by Claire-Ysabel's relatively well-endowed chest!
"You like?" she asked.
"YES! I mean...yes," he replied.
And, his benefactress smiled, not failing to notice how doubly falsetto his voice had initially been.
"I take it that you're a Godzilla fan, too?" he semi-rhetorically asked.
"Only of the first generation films," she confirmed: "There was just something about him rampaging through all those city-miniatures that used to make me fantasize about doing the same thing."
The mental image of Claire-Ysable doing that to Magic City (in her Golden Girl outfit, yet!) caused his once-dormant gonads to stir for what was not only the third time, that night. But, the third time in his life!
Or, was it the fourth? Ah, frig it! Who was counting?
In any case, it was clear--from her mischievous grin--that his benefactress enjoyed the effect she was having on him. Then, suddenly, her eyebrows arched in sudden realization.
"You poor thing! I just realized...you must be hungry!"
As soon as she said this, Henry's stomach did indeed start to growl.
"You wouldn't happen to have any food handy? Would you?"
"Only some fried banana chips I got from the vending machine in the lobby."
"At my current size," he replied: "...those would be perfect."
So, Claire-Ysabel put him down on the bedspread while she got up to fetch her favorite healthy snack. When she came back to the bed, however, she not only had the bag of chips. But, also a tumbler of water and an eye-dropper!
When Henry naturally inquired what the latter was for, she replied that he was certainly too small to drink from the tumbler.
"So, I got this eye-dropper out of my first aid kit, and rinsed it out with hot water. This way, I can dip it into the tumbler. And, you can wash your food down that way, instead!"
"That's most kind of you, Claire-Ysabel."
"You're most welcome, Hank."
Thus, for the next five minutes, he dined (or, rather, gnawed) on one-and-a-half fried banana chips. Each period of gnawing broken up by sips from the eye-dropper. When he could not eat or drink anymore, he told her so. Then, they got down to the topic of sleeping arrangements.
"Of course, sleeping with me is out of the question," she said: "After all; I might toss and turn in my sleep and accidentally crush you!"
Henry chivalrously kept quiet about his enhanced powers of healing, and nodded.
"So," she continued: "I'm going to have you sleep in here."
She pointed to a spare shoe box on the night stand to the right of her bed. With her right hand, she picked Henry up and showed him its interior. The right end of the box had a small pile of talcum powder where he could perform any calls of nature that might awaken him, in the middle of the night. And, the left end of the box?
The ballet slippers she had worn earlier that evening.
"You can use one as a futon, and the other as your blanket. How's that sound, Hank?"
The tiny Texan biophysicist looked up and smiled.
"Merci beau coup, Claire-Ysabel."
She smiled back: "You're most welcome,...mon petit."
* * * * *
CHEMISTRY LAB, TTMC,
OCTOBER 12, 2013
Dorothy Sloan contemplated the caged dog currently barking at her. The one that most people would probably assume, at first glance, to be a hyperactive bull terrier with bat-like ears.
"If I hadn't seen this Chihuahua shoot up in size, with my own eyes, I would never have believed it."
Barbara Dinagian--a fifty-something professor of biochemisty, who was of Armenian descent--smiled as she held up a corked test tube.
"The Elixir Gigantis (the original version of this fluid) is what allowed the women of my family to protect the precise location of Noah's Ark, on Mt. Ararat, for centuries."
Dorothy looked at her.
"And, now, you want me to use it to kill someone!"
"Someone who ruined your reputation," the older woman reminded her: "By forcing you to help him try and do the same thing to a completely innocent man. A man who might very well have been murdered, last night!"
When the paternity suit against Hank McGee had been thrown out of court, the year before, Dorothy had not only been fired from her teaching position. She had also found herself virtually ostracized by almost everyone in Magic City, Texas! The only two exceptions had been Professor Dinagian...and a female campus security guard named Joselyn.
The latter could empathize with Dorothy's plight almost too well. Her biological father had gilted his pregnant girlfriend at the altar! Prompting her mother's lawyer to hire a certain private detective to search for the man. Only for the detective to wind up becoming Joselyn's stepfather. And, what Joselyn had ultimately learned from him she had more recently put to good use.
Because she had been worried about possible reprisals (by some of Biff Morgan's frat brothers) against Dorothy, she had been keeping a close-but-discrete eye on them. More specficially, on those who still closely associated with the disgraced ex-quarterback! And, the night before, she had followed four of them to the Samuel J. Snodgrass Commemorative Site.
Where she had seen them burying something...or someone.
"Barb, do you really think he'll be stupid enough to attend today's game?" Dorothy now asked.
"Well, he might get booed out of the general public section," replied the professor: "But, there's no way he won't be allowed into the Alumni Association's private viewing box. Not with his father's money doing most of the talking! And, that is where you should start your search when you first 'reach' the stadium.' "
MEANWHILE, AT THE MAGIC CITY HOLIDAY INN...
Hank McGee had not slept very well, the night before. Partly, because of all the thinking he had been doing about his current condition. And, partly, because of the multiple calls of nature he had made to the pile of talcum powder!
"I guess I shouldn't have pigged out on all those banana chips," he half-seriously muttered to himself.
Then, suddenly, he was covering his ears as Claire-Ysabel's alarm clock began to buzz. Fortunately, she was relatively quick to turn it off before getting out of bed to look in the shoe box.
"Bon jour, mon petite! Como tallez vous?"
Hank decided to be gallant and lie.
"Tres bien, mon cherie! I feel like a million dollars."
"Ooooooh!" she squealed with unabashed delight: "Listen to you. The cunning little linguist. Although, I have to admit. You look more like a penny..."
She giggled as she added: "...with two heads."
He looked down at where she was pointing, and saw his flag pole once more at full mast.
"I really have created a monster," he replied, as he looked back up at the lovely Louisianan. A half-embarrassed smile on his face.
"Well, in that case, Dr. Hankenstein; why don't we see what we can do about that?"
This was clearly meant as a rhetorical question. As Claire-Ysabel did not wait for further response before plucking Hank out of the shoebox and taking him to the bathroom.
* * * * *
OCTOBER 12, 2013
"We interrupt our regular programming to bring you this emergency bulletin!" exclaimed Carlos Mendoza of KOWZ-TV: "Here, with the breaking details, is Nina Hei-Yu."
The camera's eye view instantly switched to a lovely young woman of Chinese heritage holding a microphone.
"Thank you, Carlos. These are the details, as we know them, right now. The first-ever meeting between the LSU Tigers and the TTMC Pumas was about to get underway, with the customary coin toss by the referee, when a series of massive vibrations struck the football stadium. As if this part of West Texas was suddenly experiencing an earthquake!"
"It was no earthquake, though. What everyone present had been feeling turned out to be the footsteps of a hundred-foot tall giant! A naked, female red-headed giant, at that!!"
"To everyone's further amazement, this giantess announced that she was looking for someone. Former Puma quarterback Aloysius 'Biff' Morgan! This quickly led various people in the stands to recognize her as former art teacher Dorothy Sloan. Fired from TTMC, just last year, over a paternity suit she and Biff Morgan had fabricated against an innocent third party."
"Initial shock soon turned to blind panic, however, when Ms. Sloan approached the side of the stadium where the TTMC alumni watch the school's football games in private. When she smashed her humongous right fist through the tinted glass of the viewing box, the outdoor witnesses screamed and fled, en masse!"
Nina paused while she put her right finger to the corresponding ear.
"Excuse me, Carlos. But, I'm informed that KOWZ News Chopper 8 has just caught up to Ms. Sloan! Here are the first live video pictures of the giantess."
What most people saw was a naked redhead whose anatomy, below the neck, had been partially obscured by electronic pixels. What she carried in her left hand, however, was all too visible.
It was Biff Morgan screaming for help.
Unfortunately, for him, there was no one in a position to do so. Oh, there had been some token resistance by the majority of the campus security guards at the stadium! But, their .38 caliber bullets had only bounced off her skin without causing the slightest harm. In fact, they had actually seemed to tickle her a little bit!!
Then, they reached a sign that clearly read:
Magic City, TX"
Whereupon, Dorothy Sloan looked down at the tear-stricken Biff.
"I told you last year, after our separated trials, that I'd never leave this town without getting even with you, Biff. And, I intend to keep that promise. Down the hatch!"
Whereupon, Biff found himself thrown into her mouth...and swallowed whole.
This image was captured by the video camcorder aboard News Helicopter 8. And, KOWZ-TV would not only repeat it throughout the rest of that day. But, it would be picked up, via computer printer, by every major newspaper around the country (and the world).
Unfortunately, for Hank McGee, ground-based camera crews would also show the collateral devastation wrought by Dorothy's colossal bare feet. Including the total collapse of the TTMC Physics Building (where the Neuro-Stimulative Regeneratron had been stored).
EARLIER THAT MORNING
* * * * *
The first thing Claire-Ysabel did, with her little roommate, was fill the sink for him. Using as even a mixture of hot and cold water, as possible. And, then, floating one of the pancake-thin bars of complementary soap on top of the water. When that had been accomplished, she gently placed Hank within the water. And, she could not help smiling to herself as she watched him swim toward the soap. The way he threw himself on top of it (in order to get properly lathered up) partially reminded her of the way she had launched herself on to one of the floating lounge chairs in the motel swimming pool, yesterday morning.
Yet, it also partially resembled an attempt to sexually gratify himself with the soap! Especially, in light of the way he grunted with each physical effort to pull himself up!! Finally, however, Hank signaled that he was ready to be withdrawn from the water. So, Claire-Ysabel gently lowered her left hand, palm up, and scooped him out.
After handing him a white terry-cloth washcloth, to dry himself off with, she instructed him to remain right there on top of the sink.
"It's my turn to shower, now, and I don't want you playing 'Sir Edmund Hilary,' out here."
Hank jumped to attention, and snapped a salute.
"Oui, mon capitan!"
Claire-Ysabel giggled. Not so much for the squeaky-voiced way he had replied. But, because the physical motion had made his little manhood sway back and forth like the bell over the front door of her grandfather's bait shop, back home!
For the next five minutes, however, all was quiet within the bathroom as Hank gazed raptly at the curvaceous silhouette behind the translucent white rubber bath curtain. His lowered jaw the only thing making his facial expression different from the stone faces of Mount Rushmore.
Indeed, the only thing that snapped him out of his stupor was when Claire-Ysabel smilingly asked him (as she wrapped a legitimate towel around herself): "Like what you see?"
"Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Yes," he finally managed to stutter aloud.
"Good!" she exclaimed: "Because, like it or not, you're gonna have to return to my decollete' after I get dressed. The girls and I will have to rush through breakfast, as it is, if we're to rendezvous with the rest of the band at the Snodgrass Field House on time."
Needless to say, Hank McGee had no complaints about once more being ensconced within the cleavage of her ample bosom. In fact, he just plain loved it! He loved it slightly less, however, when he found out that his benefactress would initially be wearing a sweat suit and T-shirt. This meant he would not be able to see the rest of the LSU Golden Girls.
On the other hand; the breakfast for each one of these lovely young ladies consisted of granola bars and herbal tea. With Claire-Ysabel sneaking an occasional tea-dampened crumb of hers to Little Hank. And, at his present size, each granola crumb was the size of an apple! So, his own hunger and thirst was soon quenched.
Half an hour later, the Golden Girls returned to the Visting Girls' Locker Room at the Snodgrass Field House. All set to march to the TTMC football stadium in support of their team. And, it was only with the strongest generation of willpower that Hank kept his hands from massaging his manhood as he watched the Golden Girls get dressed into their costumes.
Nor did any of them fail to notice this, and proceed to dress all the slower, accordingly!
Finally, though, their change of clothes was completed. Whereupon, they marched outside and lined up, in two rows of eight, in front of the Marching Tigers. After which, the drum major blew his whistle. Fifteen minutes later, the Golden Girls made their way into the stadium. Followed by the band, the football team, and the cheerleaders.
Twenty minutes after that, however, the customary coin-toss, between the team captains, was interrupted by the ground starting to shake. Loudly, violently, and rhythmically!
Dorothy Sloan had arrived.
* * * * *
"Kappa Alpha Tau Sorority House; Louisiana State University; Baton Rouge, Louisiana. October 31, 2013 (5:30 P.M./CST)."
"This is Henry McGee, recording the first entry in a new audio diary, courtesy of the new mini-DAR bought for me by my giant benefactresses."
"It is now over two weeks since the Dorothy Sloan incident in Magic City, Texas. In addition to the local branch campus of Texas Tech, a good portion of the city was destroyed (even if inadvertently) by Ms. Sloan's tremendous feet. Miraculously, however, no one was killed!"
"No one but Biff Morgan and myself, that is."
"Biff's fate is known the world over, thanks to KOWZ-TV and the Internet. And, when the President of the United States saw what was happening, via the latter, he immediately authorized Fort Sill, Oklahoma, to fire off satellite-guided surface-to-surface missiles at Ms. Sloan!"
"The warheads of these missiles were filled with some kind of sleeping gas, however. And, when they exploded all around her (quite literally, at her feet!), she was too stunned to avoid breathing in the veritable fog of anesthesia. Promptly collapsing flat on her enormous face, as a result."
"A fleet of Tarhe skycranes then flew her off to an undisclosed location. Watching them struggle to stay aloft, in the process, made the whole thing resemble a puppet show version of Gulliver's shipwreck on Lilliput! In any event, nobody has had news of her since."
"As for me? I am presumed dead, also. More specifically; obliterated (along with the rest of the Physics Building) by the sole of one of Ms. Sloan's feet. So, absolutely nobody knows I'm still alive! Nobody, that is, except my benefactresses; the LSU Golden Girls."
"I tried to plead with them, to turn me into the commanding officer of the Texas Air National Guard (the one who oversaw the unique airlift). So, he could turn me over to somebody with the proper scientific qualifcations for possibly restoring me. But, they wouldn't hear of it!"
"Claire-Ysabel personally told me that they had talked it over. They had decided that they couldn't stand the thought of me being poked and prodded, like a lab rat, for the rest of my life. Plus, being only three inches tall, there was certainly no way I could fend for myself. So, they had resolved to adopt me as their ward!"
"When I tried to talk her out of it, by pointing out what a burden looking after me would be (such as trying to find doll clothes small enough to fit me), she said they would improvise something when we all got back to Baton Rouge. In the meantime, I should just learn to tolerate being naked. They certainly didn't mind!"
"Of course, when I temperamentally told her that I certainly minded, Claire-Ysabel told me I had a cute little body and I shouldn't be ashamed of it. Whereupon, she spirit-glued my arms to my sides (so I couldn't hide my now seemingly incessant erections), in front of all the other girls! Much to their giggling delight!!"
"I spent the next three full days enduring so-called games like 'Rub The Tiny Magic Lamp.' "
"To their credit, though, the girls kept their word. They did improvise something for me. A series of white handkerchiefs, that I can wear around my waist, sort of like a cross between a Greek toga and a Scottish kilt. If you can imagine a kilt with all the plaid bleached out of it!"
"Anyway, tonight is Halloween. And, the girls have promised me a special treat. Ostensibly, to make up for that nasty glue trick...which deprived me of some valuable epidermis when I finally managed to pull my arms free."
Little Hank hit the "off" button when he heard the door to Claire-Ysabel's room open up.
"Hi ya, Hankenstein. You ready for your surprise?"
"Lay it on me, mon cherie," he smilingly replied.
Much to his mixed emotions, Claire-Ysabel and the rest of the Golden Girls went to the campus Halloween party as Washington Redskins' Cheerleaders. While Little Hank was forced to pretend he was the world's smallest Dallas Cowboys bobble-head doll.
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.