I could feel the cold all over my body, as well as my penis twitching in frustration. I didn’t need to look to know that it was rock solid and pointing at the ceiling. I fumbled for my hand towel blanket, but it wasn’t anywhere in reach. I groaned, hoping it hadn’t fallen off the table, onto the ground. At this size, I was finding the most trivial things could mess up your day.

Opening my eyes in confusion, I found myself looking up at Jennifer, who was standing over me, in her silk night slip.

Shit, how long had she been standing there?

I was naked, having forgotten to put my superman costume back on in the night. My hand towel blanket lay uselessly on the table surface beside my sponge bed. Had I kicked it off sometime in the night, or had Jennifer pulled it off me just now? – Both were equally likely.

Not saying anything, she reached over and began to stroke my lower belly, and coming way too close to my erect penis in the process – so close in fact as to convey the message that my stomach wasn’t really the target and she was merely restraining herself. This was one of her games.

But it was something else, as well. She knew that it wasn’t normal for me to get this ludicrously, agonizingly hard in the mornings. I already mentioned how, when we’d been together, she had tried lacing my food with Viagra to get me ‘up’ – my temperamental sex drive could never compete with hers. Now a state of radiant tumescence was happening frequently and robustly on its own and we were no longer together, of course she wanted to know why.

It must have had something to do with the shrinking, I thought. It had changed my body in many ways, making it firmer, more flexible, increasing my dick’s girth and now – evidently – increasing my circulation. But she didn’t know that, and I had no intention to share those private suspicions with her, either. I secretly enjoyed the thought of her helplessly wondering about it. She didn’t own my body anymore; that was the one small satisfaction I had gotten from our break up.

“THINKING ABOUT LADY HOMUNCULI?” she smirked.

I frowned.

“I need you to knock first,” I said.

She tilted her head down at me.

“THEN I WOULDN’T GET TO SEE YOUR ANGELIC LITTLE SLEEPING FACE.”

“Well then let me sleep.”

“NO, YOU’RE WASHING WITH ME THIS MORNING.”

I sat up defensively. “What?”

“I DON’T THINK YOU NOTICE, BUT YOU STILL HAVE SOME CHEWING GUM IN YOUR HAIR.”

I cringed. That incident alone was almost enough to give me PTSD from gummy waterboarding.

“Don’t remind me about that – Dear God.”

She giggled. At least one of us found it funny, I thought darkly.

“I don’t need you to do this,” I said.

“YES, YOU DO,” she said, not even looking at me. She splayed a hand idly examining her nails. “YOU CAN’T EVEN TURN THE WATER ON. AND EVEN IF YOU MANAGED TO PULL THE PLUG OUT YOU’D GET SUCKED DOWN THE DRAIN.”

“I’m not that small,” I glared. “And if I’m physically challenged, I’m not mentally incapable. I can evaluate risks and make decisions for myself.”

“YOU NEED HELP, JERRY. THAT’S NOT AN OPINION.”

“Grant me some goddamn independence, for God’s sake – !” I spluttered.

“HEY!” she tutted and carried on in an undertone meant to be heard by me alone, “ANOTHER WORD OF PROTEST AND I’LL MAKE YOU CLIP MY TOENAILS USING ONLY YOUR TEETH.”

While I dived around mentally for a clever retort, she wrapped her fingers around my torso and lifted me up off the table. Then, taking me down the hall, we came into the bathroom – their en suite, I noted, not the common bathroom I’d washed in the previous day. Here, there was a huge, deep bath (not just by my measure, but even to a normal sized person).

Placing me up beside the sink, she started the bathwater. Then, while it filled, and without a trace of self-consciousness, she removed her slip nightie, leaving her in a black bra and panties – a scant pair having obviously been intentionally selected to amplify last night’s sexual fervor – and successfully making my own heart speed up now, too. And only a moment later she’d she quickly slipped out of those, until she was baring herself completely to me.

I guess she reasoned there was no cause for shyness as I was baldly naked myself. Still, I didn’t have the luxury of fitting clothes, and also, when you made up sixty feet of nakedness, it was a great deal more confronting. I could see details of her body that I’d never glimpsed before, even when we’d been together. 

I shifted on my feet uncomfortably, not sure if I should pointedly avoid looking or act like I didn’t care. Both of those choices felt impossible. Scott hadn’t been joking around when he said Jennifer had a gorgeous body. It was firm, graceful and fit, like a dancer; you saw her muscles tighten in all the right places when she moved. The firmness gave her full breasts a desirous spring when she walked.

Like her breasts, her ass was well shaped but wasn’t freakishly huge. It was something whose size didn’t hit you between the eyes, but got your attention by surprise, jutting out in peripheral when she bent over, and – even better – performing a small sensual muscular squeeze as she straightened again. The most attractive thing was how well-proportioned everything was; nothing was big or eye-catching to the exclusion of everything else, from her face to her feet. The eye was pulled in ten different directions at once and quickly overwhelmed.

My dick – which had softened since I’d awoken – had swelled again in painful longing.

The bath was full. Jennifer stopped the water and then turned back to me. Her eyes fell onto my re-hardened dick and a smug smile crossed her face. Even she knew what had caused this most recent reaction, and there was no denying it. She slinked over to me, her breasts bobbing hypnotically, and then picked me up off the sink in one hand, stepped into the bath and slid down into the water until she was sitting with her long legs stretched out before her.

She did not put me in the water, but placed me in a soap dish off to the side while she started lathering product on her hands, and then began massaging it into her skin – and a variety of different places. Throughout this whole procedure, I was forced to sit there and watch, helpless as sexual arousal slowly built up inside me, and my dick throbbed like it was running a marathon in competition with my heart.

She also washed her hair for what seemed like ages, and then rinsed it. After what seemed like a long time, she washed off all the gel and soap from her body. Then she slipped some lotion on the end of a toothbrush. I recognized she did not intend to brush her teeth, but before I could react,   she reached over and attempted to pick me up. In fact she tried several times, but each time her hand was so soapy that I slipped through her grasp like oil through water. I began to laugh.

Impatient, she finally grabbed me up in her fist like I was sponge and squeezed firmly, knocking the air clean out of my lungs. Then she began scrubbing my hair with the toothbrush. I closed my eyes against the lotion bubbling around my face. Next, she applied the toothbrush to the rest of my body, alternating between scrubbing with the toothbrush and massaging lotion into my skin with her fingertips. Every so often I was rotated in her hands to allow her to reach a different part of my body. It was rough and mechanical; there was nothing sensual meant by it. It was worlds apart from the times in our relationship we’d shared a shower and she had teasingly begun washing me, not because I was incapable, but as an excuse for physical contact.

But the roughness held its own perverse attraction; the full body massage, the subtle, ever present fear of being accidentally hurt, the blatant power disparity, and the unavoidable objectification. For whatever reason, it thrilled me that she didn’t know her own strength; was capable of immobilizing me without meaning to, merely holding my chest she managed to compress my ribcage without realizing it, grasping my head made me feel trapped and panicked like a dog who’d gotten his head stuck in a bar fence. It was alarming how weak I truly was – even with all my muscular development – she effortlessly manipulated my body to her whim, rotating me and passing me back and forth between her hands like she was trying to solve a Rubik’s cube. Having my appendages tugged and massaged so indiscriminately, I felt less and less like a person and more like a piece of clay she was trying to mold into the shape of a person.

But I never seriously felt in danger. Her touch against my naked body was alien and familiar at the same time. And the fact that she was wasn’t deliberately trying to turn me on – for once in her life – had the contradictory result of doing just that. Not only did I get hard, I seemed to progress through cycles of erections, getting as hard as I thought possible, and then somehow actually defying belief by getting even harder. Every time I thought I was about to come, the feeling froze, held, and then I was shifted about and the feeling began to build up all over again. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever had such protracted, deep, throbbing sexual arousal – and this wasn’t even sexual activity, it was a bath!

After I was thoroughly lathered up, Jennifer dunked me under the water several times to wash off all the lotion and soap. Unhelpfully, she did not give me any warning each time she did so, so it took me some trial and error knowing when to hold my breath and when to let it out.

Unluckily, she happened to dunk me right between her spread thighs, and a couple of times I got a flash of her enormous womanhood while underwater, a fleshy cleft about the height of a standard doorway, and probably capable of opening up just as wide, if not more. And I, by comparison, was small enough to fit through – with some gentle maneuvering. That thought made my heart race, and not pleasantly. Also, she looked slightly redder than normal. It might have been the water making it look darker, or she was actually turned on. 

Finally, my vision was clear of suds and the sight that awaited me made me weak as a kitten in her hand, and almost toppling out of it back into the water.

Her glistening wet torso stretched up into the heavens, the twin boulders that were her breasts hung over my head, heaving slightly as she breathed, the disturbance intermittently raining droplets onto me. Her giant nipples were tight and hard.

I forgot I was staring at a person, and not a humungous sculpture of Venus. A long time seemed to pass before I was able to wrench my eyes away, whereon I found her watching me calmly, but somewhat inquisitively. She was in absolutely no rush to break my trance, like a cat who had just finished eating before it saw a mouse; keenly interested, but not in immediate want. I was giving her attention, I reminded myself; the last thing she needed, in my view. As long as she got it, she didn’t care where it came from, or which relationship barriers it crossed, as long as she was regularly fed by it.

But this was a smug satisfaction I’d never seen before. My attention was exquisitely flattering, because I betrayed a degree of captivation and awe at her sheer size that she found irresistibly intoxicating. Stuart couldn’t compete with that, I realized with a sinking feeling in my gut. No other man on the planet could compete with that.

Was this why she and Stuart had moved so quickly to have me live here? I wondered. It wasn’t a charity, but a self-serving arrangement. And was Stuart not a co-conspirator, like I’d originally assumed, but an unwilling agent? Had she twisted Stuart’s arm in making this happen? I had no memory of the conversation they must have had about arranging me to live with them before taking me home with them – I was conveniently blacked out, or asleep. I suddenly wished I hadn’t been. It felt like a missing jigsaw piece.

Surely, this was all just paranoia, I told myself. Even for Jennifer, that was too manipulative.

“WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND?”

Her voice broke through my thoughts, and I found my jaw being tilted up by her finger until I was meeting her fixed, almost serpentine gaze, as if she thought my eyes were at risk of getting hopelessly lost in her cleavage again – though she hadn’t seemed to mind the first time.

I looked away (exceedingly difficult, because she took up 90% of my field of view).

“Nothing.”

This was actually true – my mind had gone blank while I had been staring at her. But it didn’t convince her.

“WHY DON’T I BELIEVE YOU?” she said.

And with no warning, her little finger which had been resting against my buttocks, slid down between my legs, parting them easily, and tickled my penis from underneath. It was so quick, smooth and unselfconscious that you could have sworn her finger had merely slipped.

This was a shade too much for my exasperated member, and I blew my load. With nowhere else to go, it spurt onto the great rolling plain of her torso, just below the solar plexus,  leaving a tiny stain; little more than mouse piss, and quickly washing off again with an indifferent smear of her thumb.

“OOPS,” she said, sounding more surprised than she had any right to be. “BUT I KNOW I GIVE A FIRST RATE CLEAN ALL OVER.”

That was ironic, because I suddenly felt tremendously dirty. It was amazing how Jennifer was capable of bringing the most lewd evocation into your mind at the slightest tough, suggestion, or even just tone of voice. And whatever she did to the male brain in general, there was just something about her that enlivened mine uniquely; something vulnerable that she irritated until it was raw and stinging. Some women aroused more subtle feelings; tickled your insides, made you feel fluttery, or gave you a small shot of heady confidence. Whereas, Jennifer made me feel like my dick was a throbbing toothache and she was codeine.

She gently dabbed at my genitals with a wet wash cloth. I gripped her fingers hard, still caught up in tiny spasms.

“GOT TO BE THOROUGH,” she explained.

By the end of the bath, I felt unbearably warm and my pulse was pounding as if I’d come out of a long sauna.

I needed something to take my mind off Jennifer, so later, I got on Stuart’s laptop, and – pushing the mouse around like it was a big exercise ball – I got onto an online dating site. Impulsively, I created a profile and provided some honest facts about myself and my situation. I made sure to note that I didn’t have transport (so the woman had to pick me up for a date) but was otherwise financially independent and well-educated. Then I sent away some messages to several women’s accounts. I also took a picture of myself with the laptop’s webcam (holding a lance-sized pencil, to corroborate the unbelievable assertions in my account).

It turned out to be a good idea for me to get squeaky clean, though, because later that day we had some visitors.