Stuart and Jennifer were going to work, coming home, checking in with my needs. I stayed inside. A couple of times I had gone outside, kept in the breast pocket of Stuart’s shirt as he mowed the lawn, or sat in the front basket of Jennifer’s bike as the two of them went cycling. But not often. I always felt like a nuisance and a ‘clinger-on’ on their adventures because Jennifer prohibited me going outside on my own, worried a bird might snatch me up. Besides, the world was so unimaginably vast and frightening on my scale. I once saw a thick segmented worm the size of an snake break through the soil right between my feet, and a wasp with a kitchen knife-sized stinger zoom overhead, to say nothing of stray cats and dogs.

But I was kept busy enough indoors. A lot of time was taken up just learning to get around; climbing the furniture, making my way from one end of the house to the other. It was not unusual for me to be exhausted by nightfall. All the exercise made me even fitter and more muscular, if possible.

I was learning to deal with the situation in my own way, and prone to internalizing; not discussing it with Stuart or Jen.

Telling my story to the reporters, they had asked so many questions that stumped me (“Where do you see yourself in ten years time?”), and it made me realize how essential it was to take some kind of meaning away from the Flip, or create my own sense of meaning. My life had separated into two hemispheres; ‘old’ pre-Flip Jerry, and the new shrunken Jerry.  I was still trying so hard to be ‘old’ Jerry and pretend nothing odd had happened, and that’s where I guessed my stress was coming from. I couldn’t keep doing that, otherwise things were going to fall apart, sooner or later.

Now that I had been introduced to the public via the TV special, Stuart and Jennifer experimented with taking me into town with them on a number of occasions. I rode in the cart as Jennifer shopped for groceries, or accompanied Stuart to the gym. He thought I was a great mascot for inspiring him to get into shape, but in his case, tall and lean and with a soft belly that Jennifer – a little condescendingly – called ‘cuddly’ it might take him a while longer to build up my physique. Meanwhile, I just looked at all the weight blocks clanking together loudly and tried not to imagine myself sandwiched between them.

On Jennifer’s birthday, Stuart drove me into town for my opinion on getting her a gift, though she was typically so temperamental with gifts that I often had no better idea than him. Still, I was always up for an excuse to get out of the house. Particularly if Jennifer wasn’t coming. 

“There’s this perfume…” I began telling him about it.

We were in the car; I lounged on the shotgun seat while Stuart drove. I found it very easily to chat with Stuart while Jennifer wasn’t around; he just took what I said at face value and didn’t make me feel analyzed. Plus he let me sit on the seat like a normal person. Though I couldn’t wear a seatbelt, we’d established that, if the car braked, I was capable of gripping into the seat material with my tiny nails to prevent myself from going flying. Jennifer didn’t trust my reflexes, and it was only when she was in the car was I forced to be squished in place between her thighs for safekeeping.

“PERFUME, OKAY…” Stuart said slowly. He didn’t sound convinced, so I went on:

“It’s the best thing you ever smelled, and –” I almost said ‘she used to wear it when we were dating’ but caught myself just in time, “—and I think it’s her favorite.”

“ARE YOU SURE? I DON’T REMEMBER SEEING IT IN THE HOUSE.”

“Yeah,” I considered, “she hasn’t been wearing it so I guess she ran out. So, this is where you swoop in and give her another bottle.”

“MMM…” said Stuart.

I stifled an exasperated grunt.

“Okay. Nice clothing. She'll think you want to take her out in it.”

“AH, SHUCKS, I DON’T THINK I KNOW HER SIZE.”

God, you cradle her curves every night, I thought hotly to myself, you should have her size in a mental blueprint by now!

“A nice pair of shoes. She'll tell you there are never enough shoes in her closet."

“BUT THE SIZE ISSUE AGAIN…”

You’re telling me; my whole life is a size issue.

“Don’t buy her the clothes, she’ll only feel like you’re trying to dress her and she hates that. Get her the gift card for her favorite brand.”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS.”

I told him.

“DON’T YOU THINK A GIFT CARD IS KINDA IMPERSONAL?”

“Yeah, but knowing the right brand makes it look like you’ve been paying attention to her body.”

“THANKS,” he said quietly, “BUT GEEZ, YOU’RE MAKING ME LOOK BAD.”

“Don’t worry. It took me ages to figure this stuff out. Too long.”

"I APPRECIATE YOUR HELP, JERRY," Stuart said in a hesitant voice that told me he was about to tack on a qualification, "BUT ALL THIS STUFF IS INTENSE."

"What do you mean?"

"LIKE, DRESSES, SHOES, PERFUME...YOU KNOW, SEXY STUFF."

"So, you think she’s sexy? What's the problem?"

"IT'S NOT VALENTINE'S DAY. WHAT'S WRONG WITH SOMETHING A LITTLE MORE PRACTICAL?"

"You’re missing the point. The stuff isn’t the gift. It’s the signal you’re sending her; that you’re going to take her out. That you guys are going to do stuff together. You’ve got to hint that.”

"YOU KEEP SAYING THAT BUT WE DO PRETTY WELL FOR OURSELVES KICKING BACK AT HOME, TOO."

"Keep telling yourself that, bud," I said kindly. "But we split because of these exact mistakes and you're giving me terrible flashbacks."

"IF I TOOK HER OUT AND SPOILED HER WHENEVER SHE WANTED IT WOULD WIPE ME OUT."

“You don’t have to break the bank. Her birthday’s only once a year.”

“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT MONEY. I MEAN PHYSICALLY. SHE'S A LIVE WIRE! I STRUGGLE TO KEEP UP WITH YOU TWO—”

“What? Me?”

“WELL, YEAH,” he said as if it was obvious.

“You must be joking. I almost never get out of the house!”

“BUT INISDE THE HOUSE. EVER SINCE YOUR ACCIDENT, YOU’VE GOT THIS CRAZY ENERGY. THE WAY YOU CLIMB UP THE FURNITURE AND RUN AROUND. YOU EVEN SURPRISE JEN. WHEREAS, I…” he let the word dangle self-evidently, “I’M MORE OF A RESTING HEART RATE KIND OF GUY.”

We went into some shops, and Stuart took a guess at her size and spontaneously bought her some lacy lingerie.

I urged him to try again.

“YOU SAID SEXY STUFF,” he whispered to me (I was riding in his shirt pocket).

“Not like that. It’s got to be things other people can see. You’re sending her the message that you’re going to take her out.”

He got her a bottle of bourbon and a trip to a day spa.

“Better,” I said, “although she’d get a huge kick if you did that pedicure and massage stuff for her at home.”

“YOU SAID SHE’D LIKE TO GO OUT SOMEWHERE.”

“Yeah, together, with you.”

We continued down the street until we came upon a gift shop with flowers and things.

“HOW ABOUT THAT PLACE?” he said, sounding like he was done with gift-shopping and just wanted some compromise. “NOT SEXY. JUST ROMANTIC.”

“Okay, but no chocolates. She has an issue with lactose.”

One of the shopkeepers began babbling as her eyes fell onto me, recognizing me from the TV. She asked to have her picture taken with me, and in return, pushed a big bouquet of roses over the counter at us. Stuart went to get out his card again, but the shopkeeper insisted we just take them. Considering she was a young, cute, woman whose cheeks faintly rouged when I gave her eye contact, the gift seemed more expressive than charitable, somehow.

Only during the drive home, it came to light Stuart had not bought any flowers. I pointed it out to him, thinking he’d forgotten.

“WE’RE GOING HOME NOW, JERRY.”

“Take my roses,” I blurted. “Give them to her.”

“ARE YOU SURE? THEY WERE A GIFT TO YOU FROM THAT NICE YOUNG WOMAN.”

“What am I going to do with them? They’re too tall for me.”

“IF YOU SAY SO. BUT ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO GIVE THEM AS A GIFT FROM YOU?”

“I can’t even hold one, let alone give her the whole lot. Just give them to her with your gifts."

To be honest I had no idea how the roses would go down. I’d never got her some when we’d been together. The only reason I thought up the ‘sexy stuff’ now was because of how Jennifer used to dress up to get my attention some nights, asking me to take her out somewhere.

Later they took me out for dinner with them, but I sat on the tabletop somewhat disgruntled as they leaned forwards and kissed and held hands and murmured sweet things to each other throughout the evening, trying to remind myself it was her night, not mine. They both derived a lot of fun out of feeding me off their forks. The chefs brought out an impressive birthday cake with glowing candles, and after slices were cut, Jennifer took delight in scooping up a chunk and pushing it onto my face like some shopworn gag from a cartoon. Then my hair accidentally caught on fire from a candle until Jennifer dumped her glass of water over me.

Later Stuart presented the gifts. He gave her his gifts first, and then thrust the bundle of roses into her arms as if wanting to get his own gifts out of the way without a lot of scrutinizing fanfare. She always had a stubborn poker face when receiving gifts; one of the reasons it was so hard to buy for her. At least until Stuart gave her the roses.

“OH, ROSES? REALLY? HOW ROMANTIC OF YOU.” She sounded taken aback. It occurred to me that Stuart probably wasn’t a naturally romantic person. This was confirmed a second later, as he blithely answered:

“OH, THE ROSES ARE FROM JERRY.”

D’oh. I nearly smacked my hand against my face. He wasn’t supposed to say they were from me, but from him. Then again I was just glad he didn't get cold feet and tell her the lingerie was from me, too.

“JERRY…?” she repeated uncertainly as her eyes turned upon me. Then she gave me a searching look that was admittedly uncomfortable, as if waiting for me to explain. Maybe she was wondering how I even managed to carry them inside. I longed to clarify the story of the roses to try and make the silence less awkward, but kept my mouth shut, as it would have devalued the gift in some way. Not to mention, pissed her off thinking some cute girl had showered them on me as an expression of a schoolgirl type crush. Better to make it seem like I’d intended it all along.

Maybe taking my silence for shyness, she looked away from me again.

“WELL…THAT’S UNEXPECTED. BUT THANK YOU. BOTH OF YOU.”

Later, as I was preparing for bed, she came over and tucked me in, and bent to kiss my cheek and ruffle my hair in an unusually gentle way.

*

On occasions, people stopped us in the street to say hello and gawk at me, though it was amazing how many people missed the sight of me when they weren’t looking too hard. I was reminded I wasn’t the same person every time I had an interaction with anyone from the outside world. It was naive to think people might shower me in concern and indulge me in self-righteous indignation at my condition -- "I heard what happened to you. You brave man, you hero, taking on the world at your size, you must be so strong.”

No, it felt more like, “And just what in the hell are you supposed to be?”

I got the sense I was so pitied by men I was completely removed from their empathy, a little clown or like a chimpanzee who had been taught to ride a unicycle; no matter if I walked upright or made human gestures, however convincing my human posturing, I was not in the same category of species as them, not even close. Women saw me the same way, but with an added touch of unnecessary fuss and sentimental affection for me as for a baby animal.

I couldn’t blame them; it was impossible to see someone as an equal when you had to search around on the ground to avoid stepping on them, or you could so easily pluck them up off the ground by the back of their collar.

Stuart was helpless to correct people’s misapprehensions about me; deep down he was a bit of a pushover and didn’t have that sense of vicarious indignation to stand up for me. Jennifer did, but she just liked to watch me squirm. I’m sure she liked clucky women embarrassing me to remind me, by contrast, that – at least in her view – she was the only woman who did, and who ever could, see me and love me for what I truly was. And it meant she could play with and tease me with impunity because at the end of the day, I couldn’t run from her because there was no other woman I could run to.

If there was any chance of me building up my ego again, I needed to embrace the identity and lifestyle of ‘new’ Jerry. I needed a new wardrobe, new things. I also needed a new vocabulary; I currently had no word for what had happened. Whenever we talked about, it was somewhat evasively, with imprecise language and euphemisms like ‘accident’ and ‘Flip’ and ‘machine.’ I didn’t even know what to call myself. If I was ‘human’, the word was beginning to mean less and less to me every day, every interaction I had with full sized humans increased the rift and my ability to identify with them. On the other hand, was I a ‘homunculus’ like the vet had suggested? But I had loathed the word when I first heard it. Would it be healthy for me to identify with something other than ‘human’? Or would it create an excuse to dehumanize my behavior to an animal?

At the rate I was going, it seemed adjustment would happen gradually, maybe months. The biggest hurdle was my confidence – I felt overly dependent on Jennifer and Stuart, though they never complained. But they were the wage earners and were structuring their hours to accommodate me. But that all changed when, one day, Stuart burst into the room with a huge grin.

"JERRY – YOU GOT LUCKY!"

I frowned. That was irony as I'd never heard it before.

"What?"

"THEY ACCEPTED YOUR CLAIM! Your SPECIAL CATEGORY assistance application was approved. They not only accepted the vet's evidence of your condition, but THEY DETERMINED YOUR INJURIES ARE SO UNCURABLY CATASTROPHIC THEY calculated a MASSIVE payout! YOU’RE SET UP FOR LIFE!”

My mouth hung open.

“It’s pronounced ‘incurably catastrophic’,” I said blankly. “And I’m not injured.”

“SURE. BUT, LOOK, JERRY, DIDN’T YOU JUST HEAR WHAT I SAID?”

“JUST WAIT,” Jennifer smiled, “IT’LL HIT HIM IN A SECOND.”

But the only thing that hit me were the words ‘incurably catastrophic’, over and over, ringing in my head like a death toll. Is that what the medical expertise really thought? Was this a cautious, cynical prognosis, or the most optimistic?”

In denial or not, I was still secretly holding out hope that one day soon Remy would jump on the phone and excitedly proclaim that he had a means of re-growing me. A deep, dark – but probably realistic – part of me refused this was possible, but still, that hope was all I had. As much as the payout figure reassured – no, excited me – money, of any amount, was only a flimsy second best to the prospect of returning to my normal size.

After all, what could I really spend the money on anyway? –
A car too big to drive;
A house too big to live in;
Clothes too big to wear;
The maintenance of a woman too big to fuck.  

That was the extra kick in shrinking, not only a misfortune in its own right, but it sucked up all the enjoyment of any other fortune you would otherwise have.

The bank was an ultra-modern building, all glass, steel and warm colors, none of that stately classic marble or Doric column look. However, there was nothing warm about it to me, was just as intimidating as the inside of a prison, or a zoo from the wrong side of a wild animal’s enclosure. The sheer size of its interior was even bigger than regular buildings -- which were already big enough -- it seemed to expand out in every direction. The amount of empty space around me was almost enough to give me space dementia. Giants swaggered by briskly, businesslike, seeming to pass by over my head like low flying aeroplanes.

They were all in their own self-contained worlds; on their phones or focusing up and straight ahead of them, amazingly, no one bothered to look down into Jennifer's hands to see the tiny man she was carrying, or they looked without seeing. Not expecting the sight, they simply didn't see me for what I was -- they saw some unimportant little blue and red object, not a person. Or if they did see a person, they thought I was a superman doll, and just assumed Jennifer was carrying it around for a little niece or nephew of hers not currently in sight.

That was one of the frightening realizations I was beginning to make about being out in public; how little people actually noticed, or cared even when something impossible was (literally) staring them right in the face. What had the character said in 'Alice in Wonderland' about believing six impossible things before breakfast? This wasn’t a fiction – clearly, people were well and truly capable of such feats.

“SO IS THIS A JOINT BANK ACCOUNT?” The bank teller looked at Jennifer and Stuart.

“NO,” said Stuart. “IT’S FOR HIM – ”

And Jennifer lifted me up into sight and placed me down on the counter, in my superman blue and reds.

The teller goggled.

“YOU’RE THAT LITTLE GUY ON THE TV,” she gushed. “OH MY GOD. IT’S JEFFREY, RIGHT?”

“Jerry,” I piped up.

“JERRY. LET ME SAY, I FIND YOUR STORY SO FASCINATING, I THINK IT’S JUST CRAZY WHAT’S HAPPENED TO YOU. YOU MUST FEEL SO SPECIAL, TO HAVE SURVIVED IT. LIKE GOD’S GOT A PLAN FOR YOU, HONEY –”

My mouth twisted in a frown. ‘Special’ was way off. And unless God had a particular obsession with what went on in mice holes, I don’t think it had been a directive from the celestial order. 

The teller began typing away on her computer.

“SO THIS IS YOUR ACCOUNT. WELL, YOU ALREADY HAVE AN ACCOUNT WITH US, SO HOW ABOUT I LINK IT UP?”

Within a few minutes it was all done. In the meantime, I’d started noticing people giving us – I say, me, specifically – second glances and murmuring to each other. Jennifer and Stuart tried to move closer to me, in an effort to cover me up, but it was no use. People recognized me.

When we got home, I got back on the laptop to check my online dating profile. I had left it alone for about a week, but what the media team had suggested – about me dating – struck something with me. By voicing the possibility it seemed to make it far less remote and fantastical, but something real, within my grasp, if I tried hard enough. I was worried normal size women might laugh at me, but meeting the media team reminded me women still found me attractive somehow, even though it was weird. Something about my size excited them.

To my surprise I had multiple messages from different profiles of attractive women. Some of these sounded like they were more interested in the fact I had been on TV than who I actually was. I ignored those. One of the messages, from a girl called Natalie, said:

Hey, it must be hard to have to live with your ex. If you ever need a place to hang, I got your back :P <3<3

This made me paranoidly wonder how much the reporters had in fact censored or edited out, but I pushed the thought out of mind. Her profile made her seem friendly, and she was the first person to not use the obvious, cliché sobriquet ‘cute’, and that was enough for me. Not to mention her profile picture depicted an attractive fair-haired girl in a sweater sitting demurely at a café somewhere. She was gorgeous, actually, but not shoving it in the camera.

Then I heard Jennifer come into the room and quickly closed the browser window.

“JERRY,” said Jennifer, her mouth remaining open for a fraction longer. Then her eyes narrowed and she interrupted herself. “—WHAT WERE YOU LOOKING AT JUST NOW?”

My jaw tightened. Whose idea was it for the laptop screen to be facing the doorway over my shoulder? Why hadn’t I questioned that arrangement before now? Terrible feng shui.

“Just…whatever.” I slid myself along the tabletop, away from the laptop as if trying to disown it. 

Before I could help it my eyes jumped up into hers. She held my gaze for what seemed like a long time, a silent staring challenge.

Finally she shifted, folding her arms and looking past me at the laptop screen.

“WELL, ANYWAY. CHECK THE PAYMENT WENT INTO YOUR ACCOUNT.”

“It might take some time to clear,” I said, logging onto my bank account. But it had been processed. My account balance had altered dramatically, unthinkably. A moment later Stuart had wandered in.

We all stared at the figure for a moment.

“YOU’RE RICH!” Stuart gasped, throwing up his hands with childlike glee. “IT’S A TECHNICALITY CAUSED BY THEIR CALCULATION OF YOUR ‘INJURY’,” Stuart considered, stroking his chin.

“I didn’t realize it would be so much,” I stammered. I felt conflicted. I hadn’t earned the money, it just happened to me. It didn’t seem like something you shouted from the rooftops. In a heartbeat I would have traded it for my previous size.

Stuart shuffled up behind Jennifer, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the back of her neck. She turned to reciprocate briefly, wrapping her arm up around his neck for a moment.

“LET’S GO OUT AND CELEBRATE,” she said.

Stuart stroked his chin in thought.

“THE ONLY REASON JERRY’S GOT ACCESS TO THIS FUND IS BECAUSE THE GOVERNMENT THINKS HE WAS IN A HORRIBLE ACCIDENT. IT SEEMS KIND OF TWISTED TO THROW A PARTY OVER IT.”

“FINE,” she huffed, “WE’RE NOT CELEBRATING THAT. WE’RE JUST GOING OUT FOR KICKS. I NEED TO GET OUT. OOH, WHAT ABOUT THAT FRENCH RESTAURANT ON THE WHARF?”

Stuart checked his watch. “IT’S ALMOST THREE. IF YOU’RE KEEN TO GO SOMEPLACE REALLY NICE IT’S GOING TO BE HARD GOING TRYING TO GET A RESERVATION AT THIS HOUR.”

Jennifer stepped away from him, pulling out her phone and scrolling through the screen.

Stuart’s face lit up with an idea. “HEY, HOW ABOUT PROSCUITTO PALACE?” he suggested. “YOU DON’T NEED RESERVATIONS.”

Jennifer stopped scrolling to close her eyes briefly.

“THAT’S A PIZZA PLACE, STEWEY. IF THEY DON’T TAKE BOOKINGS THEN EVERY WEIRDO OFF THE STREET IS GOING TO BE THERE.”

Stuart grinned goofily. “WELL DON’T THE THREE OF US MAKE FOR A BIT OF AN ODD GANG, OURSELVES? – YOU’RE COMING AREN’T YOU JERRY?”

“OF COURSE,” Jennifer butted in without looking up from the phone screen, even as my mouth hung open to answer.

“I’ll come if we go to the Golden Calf,” I added quickly.

Jennifer shook her head. “NEVER HEARD OF IT.”

“It used to be a really popular nightclub for university students, but they totally remodeled it to attract a wider crowd.”

Jennifer quickly called a couple of her favorite restaurants to book us in, but each one was out of seats. Finally, she tried the Golden Calf, and managed to get a table.

Putting away her phone she said with finality: “JERRY, WE’RE GOING TO YOUR PLACE. BE READY BY SIX.”

“YOU’RE THE BOSS, JEN,” said Stuart, even doing a little salute.

That was more succinct than I could have ever put it.

“Only thing is, it’s formal,” I said. “They won’t let you in if you’re not wearing a suit – I’ve tried. It’s the theme.”

“IT’S NOT A FLAPPER THING?” said Jennifer suspiciously, raising an eyebrow, “—LIKE THE GREAT GATSBY?”

She hated ‘era’ fashion – or basically the fashion of any era where female nudity only meant baring your arms. 

“No. Totally modern.”

“WELL,” said Stuart marching down the hall with purpose, “I’VE GOT SOME DIGGING IN THE CLOSET TO DO…”

I looked over at Jennifer and shrugged. “You wanted a nice place.”

She returned my look levelly. “SUITS ME. YOU KNOW I LOVE AN EXCUSE TO DRESS UP.”

I did know it. She didn’t just like an excuse to dress up. She liked an excuse to act up.

She wandered over to the table top where I was, placing her hands down on either side of me, with her upper body leaning over me. She liked posing like this over me. Waiting patiently for me to look up at her. But if I wanted to meet her eyes, I would have to look up and get an eyeful of her bust instead. I think she realized that.

After I stubbornly resisted her attention, she brought her massive fingertips around behind my head, and grasped the collar of my shirt, pulling me up straighter, almost lifting me off the surface.

“BUT WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO WEAR?”

“Dunno,” I muttered, grimacing as my feet left the polished table top and I found myself completely in the mercy of her grip. “I mean, you guys can go and I can stay here.”

Releasing me slowly, she leaned back from the table. “I THINK WE CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT.”

She pivoted around and strode out of the room, her heart shaped butt swaying mesmerizingly.

I sat back and watched TV for a little while. Down the hall I heard the shower running.

A short time later, Jennifer reappeared in the living room. The shower was still running so it must have been Stuart in there.

“GUESS WHAT?” she said triumphantly, marching over to me. “I FOUND YOU SOMETHING. SO IT LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE COMING!”

She showed me what she was holding in her hand. It was what appeared to be a small doll’s tuxedo. I let out a small sigh of relief, thinking it wasn’t as demeaning as I might have anticipated. It wasn’t a Barbie ballet dress, for instance.

“Where did you get that?” I said, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice. It seemed a little too perfect, like she’d hoarded it away for, well…a tiny wedding. The less I thought about that, the better.

“YOU KNOW HOW I HAD SOME ACTION FIGURES HERE FOR MY NEPHEW? WELL ONE OF THEM WAS A LITTLE JAMES BOND IN THIS CUTE LITTLE SUIT. HOW CONVENIENT, RIGHT?”

“Those dolls are just the gifts that just keep on giving,” I said. “I thought Rumplestiltskin must have tailored it for you.”

Jennifer paused at my caustic tone. Then, gripping the edge of the table, she brought herself down into a crouch, until her face became like a wall in front of me. Keeping her hypnotic eyes level with me, she said:

“YOU’VE GOT THE CUTE LOOK GOING ON – I COULD JUST EAT YOU UP. BUT TONIGHT I WANT YOU TO LOOK REALLY HANDSOME. I KNOW YOU CAN.”

“Settle for cute,” I said flatly, meeting her enormous eyes. “Because I’m not getting any bigger any time soon.”

She exhaled with exasperation; her warm breath fluttered through my hair.

“HEY,” she said gently, “WHAT IS THIS?”

One of her hands rose up and hovered in front of me. Her middle finger extended, sliding the front of my shirt up so she could run the flat of her thumb across my pecs and downwards over my abs. Her cool touch made me shiver.

I didn’t say anything.

Her fingers curled around my body, sealing it in her palm. My feet left the ground as I was swiftly brought right up under her nose. Her glossy black lashes were so close to my face I felt like they would swat me every time she blinked.

“JERRY, READ MY LIPS. YOU’RE MUCH HANDSOMER THAN YOU REALIZE.”

I could go one better; she was so close to my face that I could read the individual creases on her lips.

Then, she inclined her head a little and my vision darkened as the pair of soft velveteen masses pushed my eyelids closed and held there firmly as she planted a kiss on my forehead. Withdrawing again, she put me back onto the table.

Resignedly, I began to lift up my shirt but Jennifer held up a hand to stop me, pressing two fingers against my chest to prevent me taking my shirt off.

“JUST WAIT A MINUTE THERE, SPEEDY GONZALES. WE’VE GOT TO GET THAT LITTLE BOD OF YOURS LICKED CLEAN.”

I dropped my shirt down, staring up at her.

“Aren’t you going to shower, too?”

“ABSOLUTELY. AND YOU’RE GOING TO JOIN ME.”

“The shower? No.”

I had a mental image of myself scrambling around on the tiled shower cubicle floor as Jennifer’s feet stepped around haphazardly as she massaged her scalp with shampoo with her eyes firmly shut. Being in the shower cubicle wasn’t just debasing, it was dangerous; she could slip on me, squashing me once under her foot before squashing me a second time, lethally, under the bulk of her weight as she dropped on top of me by accident.

“YES,” she said in her louder voice. “IT’LL SAVE TIME.”

“No.”

“YES.” She pinched my cheeks between forefinger and thumb, squishing my lips shut. “NO MORE BUTS.”

She turned her head, looking down the hall. “SOUNDS LIKE STUART’S STILL IN THE BATHROOM. SO WE’VE GOT TIME.”

My eyebrows drew together. I wanted to say ‘got time for what?’ but I couldn’t speak, as my cheeks were still pinched between her fingers.