I had been at Natalie’s house all week and was having a blast. She went to her daytime university lectures or work, leaving me at home. I relished the time alone and explored and climbed around her house, getting to know where everything was. When she returned we would sit together – her at her desk and me sitting on her PC mouse – and I would help her with her studies. She had to give a presentation, and found it convenient to rehearse in front of me, in return for my feedback. 

When not working on something, she liked to ask my advice about personal things going on in her life, and rewarded me for listening and dispensing sage advice with an affectionate peck on the cheek or forehead.

Intimacy hadn’t yet gotten radically serious but I was in no rush. We were just chilling and enjoying getting to know each other at a leisurely pace.

It was nothing like the steamy, breakneck fast, electrically charged courtship I'd had with Jennifer, who, on a first date, had exercised no restraint about letting her pantyhose-covered toes climb up my ankles beneath the restaurant table, and with long toenails, softly rake my legs like they were scratching posts.

And later, on her doorstep, when had I leaned in for the first kiss, she had grabbed my lips between her fingers of one hand, while the other hand made a groping exploration of my groin, like a shopper handling a product to assess whether it had all the desired features. 

No, being with Natalie was nothnig like that, and I was relieved.

It was crazy how relaxed I felt around Natalie: she didn’t grab me unawares; she always asked my permission first. She was also quick to apologize if she startled me or did something that might have seemed frightening to someone my size, like stepping her feet close to me while I was on the floor.

She bathed me in the sink but it was incredibly chaste. She was too nervous to see me naked, and closed her eyes or turned away, but didn’t seem to want to leave the bathroom entirely, worried I would drown on my own. Her fingers were soft and hesitant as she rubbed a wet soapy washcloth over me. I got an accidental erection a couple of times and she blushed and was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

When she heard I had formerly slept on a sponge, she got me another and at bedtime I hunkered down on it on her bedside table. In the morning, if I felt cold, I leapt onto her bed and snuck under the blanket, where she’d smile in spite of herself and wrap her hand around my body, drawing me up against her throat.

Now I was away from Jennifer and Stuart’s house I felt freer than a bird. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had no idea what my life looked like ahead of me, and it was terrifying but exhilarating. I loved the feeling of being alone and obliviously self-absorbed, racing between whatever fancy struck me. I loved to wander from place to place in Natalie’s house, almost whistling like some '60s character, completely planless and delighting in spontaneity, free from the oppressive cast of Jennifer's menacing shadow.

Jennifer didn't seem to understand, like I did, that my behavior wasn't utterly pathological. She resented that being alone seduced me more deeply than she ever could. She saw it as an attempt to escape or avoid her, and was insulted. Her need to keep me on a leash wound around her little finger was outrageous. I wanted to wander away like a carefree toddler and she wanted to grab my arm and wrench me back. That was what I imagined marriage might be like, and I cringed at the thought. It would be like a jail where the bars were her fingers.

Now I was free, thanks to Natalie. Gratefulness swelled in my chest. I was overcome by a whirlwind of emotion. She seemed pretty elated, too. Whenever we accidentally made eye contact she flashed me her gorgeous smile and took it as an unspoken solicitation to wander over to me, snatch me up in her hands and kiss my face or squeeze me against her like I was a teddy bear.

For the past while she had been typing away at something at the computer – something study related – and now stood up and stretched, her leg muscles flexing impressively in her tight pants. Then she bent over, sliding her hands down her knees, her ass lifting as she stretched her arms towards her toes. Her butt went round and so tight I thought I could use it for a trampoline.

Sometimes she spontaneously dropped to the carpet and started doing Pilates. Whenever this happened, I stopped whatever I was doing and just watched, entranced by the sight of her shapely frame curving and tensing, and best of all, butt pushing out and bulging. Her tight pants tended to exhibit a camel toe, which my eyes were drawn to every time she spread her legs, though I tried not to look. When she caught me staring at her, she would shift into a stretch that involved straightening her leg, her toes pointing gracefully for a second before using her big toe to bop my nose as if to gently tell me off for staring.

At least she kept her toenails trimmed very short, so there were no unpleasant residues hiding under there to surprise my olfactory sense...

Jennifer didn’t believe in yoga or Pilates or any of that kind of thing. She didn’t think it was real exercise and called it New Age pseudo-cise. She liked things that got her heart rate up, caused her to sweat, caused the fat to melt. If it didn’t change the way her body looked or felt, she didn’t see the point of it. It was from growing up with the boys; they would’ve laughed at her if she did yoga, so…

—Why was I still thinking of her? Natalie was right, I needed to drop the dependency disorder.

Finishing her stretching, Natalie wandered over to me, lying on her bed, where I was flicking around the internet on her tablet. The bed depressed steadily as she eased herself down next to me. Another thing about her: she would seat herself next to me with the utmost care, so I didn’t bounce around with her weight.

A finger gently rubbed against my shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, looking up.

“ALL FINISHED,” she sighed. “SO, HOW ABOUT A DRINK?” She held up a finger. “NON-ALCOHOLIC, THOUGH. I DON’T DRINK…MUCH.”

“Great! I could stand to de-tox.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and then came back into the room with some smoothies – one in a little plastic shot glass. She loved smoothies; anything and everything was tossed into the blender. I joked about her minding not to toss me into the blender, but she didn’t see the humor in this. In fact, she was mortified; asking whether my ex had ever threatened to do this to me. I quickly said no.

We sat on her bed, me on her lap, while we enjoyed our drinks. She held the little cup up against my head as I sipped from it, and was very careful not to tip the cup too much, to prevent more drink from going down my throat than I could handle. I tapped her finger each time I wanted to tell her to lilt the cup a little more.

“I was thinking,” I started, “for a first date I’d usually go to a lounge bar, but if neither of us will be drinking, we could do something different. Go to the beach, or to a show or something.”

She raised an eyebrow, unable to hide a broad smile.

“YOU IN A LOUNGE? DON’T YOU MEAN, LIKE, ‘LOUNGE ROOM?”

“Not funny! I used to visit lounges a lot when I was single, for live jazz.”

“USED TO…” she pointed out softly.

“It’s not off the cards. It just requires scoping out a place first, to make sure the environment is right. If it’s too dark, people might not see me and that could create a problem.”

“MMMM…” she considered this for a moment in silence.

I gave her finger a squeeze, trying to draw her attention back.

“Anyway, where would you like to go on our first date, beautiful?”

She blinked down at me.

“OUR…? SOMEONE’S EAGER.”

I stared at her.

“Why not? That’s what you do when you’re dating. You go on a date. It’s not a big deal.”

She emptied her glass and put it over on her night stand.

“IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE GETTING A LITTLE AHEAD OF YOURSELF.”

“What do you mean? We’re dating, aren’t we?”

She smiled coolly as she looked across the room, as if I’d been joking.

“I’LL HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT…”

“Huh? We've been hanging out this whole time. Did you think we were just friends?”

“WELL, YEAH," she said sheepishly. "I MEAN, YOU NEVER ACTUALLY ASKED ME OUT.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want to go out?”

“I’LL HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT…”

My mouth twisted.

“We met through a dating site, Natalie. You contacted me. If we’re not dating then there’s been a spectacular blunder somewhere.”

She gave me a small frown.

“NOTHING WAS SET IN STONE. I OFFERED YOU A PLACE TO STAY, THAT’S ALL. I DIDN’T WANT TO GIVE YOU CLEARER SIGNALS BECAUSE I WAS PREPARED FOR THE POSSIBILITY THAT WE MIGHT NOT GET ALONG.”

“But you’ve known me for a week now, and I like to think we get along.”

She blinked as she stared around the room, as if considering her thoughts. Finally, her eyes returned to me, but with a strained kind of warmth.

“YOU’RE A LOVELY LITTLE MAN TO HAVE AROUND, JERRY. BUT I JUST DON’T THINK WE’RE RELATIONSHIP MATERIAL.”

“Why not? Is it because of my size?”

She cringed. Maybe my voice was getting too testy.

Then she seemed to brace herself inwardly, and fixed me with a serious look.

“I’M THINKING OF IT FROM MORE OF A PRACTICAL POINT OF VIEW. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A GIRLFRIEND WHO HAS TO MANAGE YOUR WHOLE LIFE? I THOUGHT GUYS HATED THAT KIND OF THING.”

“You don’t need to manage my whole life. I can do a lot of things for myself. Give me a pair of shoelaces and I can climb almost anything.”

“JERRY, THAT’S THE THING: I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHOSE CROWNING ACHIEVEMENT OF THE DAY IS THAT HE FIGURED OUT HOW TO OPEN THE FRIDGE. I’LL DO THESE THINGS FOR YOU, BUT…” Her voice dwindled away with a small noise of frustration. “I’M NOT TRYING TO BE MEAN, BUT—”

“Well, it doesn’t sound very good.”

“OKAY, I’M SORRY, I KNOW THAT SOUNDS TERRIBLE. LET ME PUT IT ANOTHER WAY: CAN YOU HONESTLY PICTURE US GETTING MARRIED, LIKE, AT THE ALTAR, ME LOOKING DOWN AT YOU AT MY FEET AND YOU – GOD, I DON’T KNOW – LOOKING UP TRYING TO SEE MY FACE?"

My eyebrows met in a sharp V.

“Now who’s the one getting ahead of themselves? I never said anything about getting married.”

“WELL, ONE DAY I DO WANT TO GET MARRIED, AND IF I’M ENTIRELY HONEST WITH MYSELF, I WANT TO BE STANDING SIDE BY SIDE WITH MY GROOM, HOLDING HIS HANDS AS I LOOK INTO HIS EYES AND SAY MY VOWS.”

“I could stand on a ladder,” I shrugged.

She shook her head, faintly irritated.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO HOLD MY BOYFRIEND’S HAND WHILE WE WALK, DANCE WITH HIM AT PARTIES, LEAN AGAINST HIM, FEEL HIM PRESSED AGAINST ME WHILE WE’RE SLEEPING.”

My chest grew heavy.

“In other words, you want all the things I can’t do.”

Her mouth was open a moment before she spoke.

“WELL…YES.”

She looked at me guiltily.

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW YOU’RE ATTRACTED TO ME WHEN I LOOK LIKE A GIANT TO YOU.”

“There’s more of you to go around – can I still use that cliché?”

She bowed her head sadly.

*

At midday, Natalie went to a lecture. I lay back on the bed, thinking. It felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Like I’d been within grasping reach of a dream coming true only to have it snatched away again.

It pained me to think I had to leave, but I couldn’t stand to be around someone who didn’t take me seriously; it gave me flashbacks of the ‘giraffe lady’ making fun of me at the Portugal. Not that Natalie intended to make fun of me – far from it – but she didn’t realize how demeaning her attitude sounded. To me, it sounded like she thought she was too good for me, that she felt she deserved a 6 foot hunk who could sweep her off her feet and carry her around in his arms, and I deserved to live the rest of my life in Barbie’s Playhouse Mansion.

Her words cut deeper than she realized. She didn’t know I desperately wanted to do all the things she wanted, too: to wrap my arms around her, hold her hand, take her head in my hands and kiss her.

The realization was devastating and humiliating: the sexy posing during Pilates, the kisses and cuddles – none of it had been intended as flirtatious. It was in fact the opposite: she felt comfortable around me because she didn’t see me as a serious partner. I posed no threat…and also produced no attraction. If I wasn’t tiny she probably wouldn’t have paid me a second glance. My smallness brought out her affectionate side, but that’s all it was; childlike affection. At most, I was a talking teddy bear. The realization filled me with despair.

To distract myself, I pulled up the dating website on her tablet and began checking out my profile. There were some new messages. Some of these suggested the women were more curious about me – particularly the possibility of seeing me, tiny, in real life – than actually assessing my dating potential.

One of the messages caught my eye. It came from a girl called Samantha, whose profile picture depicted a woman with an eye-catching professionally done photograph. Though the photo only cropped her face, she appeared to be lying on her front, with her head propped up against one hand. She was an utter stunner, the kind that inspired the howling wolf cartoon. It was a cleverly done photo, too; her pose made it look like she’d just woken up, no make-up, lustful half-lidded eyes, and still looking utterly fine. The photographer should’ve been tipped handsomely.

Her message just said:

This one still available? ;)

Over the next couple of days, we had a back-and-forth. To avoid another Natalie situation, I made it clear I was only interested in something special, not friends or anything less. She responded saying she was looking for something more ‘particular’ than friends. I tried to be even less ambiguous, saying she would either be on board with my size or she wouldn’t be. She was even less ambiguous than that, responding:

Size is not the issue. Either you work well in my bed, or you don’t.

A quip. I liked her already. Natalie was nice as all hell – a little too wholesomely nice, sometimes – but our senses of humor didn’t click. I decided I needed a little more of the charged verbal intercourse. Before we moved to other forms of intercourse.