After the wave of air-trembling laughter had subsided, one of the wood chairs made a dull groan as weight shifted. Christine’s fiancé Tyler had leaned across to catch a better look of me, standing in the center of her palm.

Hovering just over the edge of her hand, where it dipped down to meet her wrist, Christine’s face seemed to take up the sky, her eyes still in deep wondering meditation over my remarkably reduced anatomy. Meanwhile, Tyler’s presence had made itself know via peripheral vision darkening with his lengthening shadow, like a stormcloud starting to pass over the sun.

The stormcloud then rumbled:

 “ALRIGHT BY YOU IF I TAKE A LOOK AT THE WEE FELLA?”

It wasn’t clear whether he was directing this question at Christine or Jennifer. Christine answered. It sounded as though Jennifer had been mellowed enough by wine to take a back seat and let the others peruse me at leisure like an enthralling book. Unless she was enjoying the spectacle just as much as they were. It seemed to flatter by proxy her attraction to attention.

“DON’T BE ALARMED,” Christine said to me, “WE’RE JUST GOING TO SLIDE YOU DOWN.”

The platform of Tyler's hand levitated up underneath as Christine’s hand began to tilt beneath my feet, and continuing to rotate until I was sliding down the cushy surface, where I dropped onto the slightly larger and coarser surface of Tyler’s palm. His palm moved over the table until the underside of his jaw came into position above the edge of his hand, like a rocky overhang pitted with black thorns of stubble. Above, his thick brows of longer hair tensed as his eyes narrowed, honing in on me, before widening again.

Suppressing the habit to go to shake his hand, I waved my arms above my head and yelled up at him:

“Hi, Tyler, nice to meet you!”

He had leaned right forward in his seat, a grin lighting up his features. Glancing up and around at the others, he addressed his response not to me, but to them, as if I couldn’t hear him:

“HE SPEAKS!” he exclaimed. “OR I SHOULD SAY, HE SQUEAKS!” He chuckled. “IT’S LIKE TALKING TO A BUMBLEBEE!” His eyes scanned me for an extended moment, shining with rapt curiosity, “THAT THROAT’S GOT TO BE TINY; THINNER THAN THE WIDTH OF A HAIR!”

The reason he could hear my voice at all was because of my enhanced musculature, the muscles of my jaw, throat, pharynx and diaphragm were so powerful I could project my voice further and louder than expected for my size. This was an unexplained side-effect of my first shrinking, and only more enhanced since my second shrinking.  

Framing my mouth with my hands, I proceeded to yell up at him, to explain this:

“See, what happened was, when I—”

His head was growing in my direct sight as it bent down closer and closer to hear me, bringing his lips almost parallel with my eye level, and—

It was like standing in front of a plane propeller. His partly open mouth sent an outgoing gust of air straight down at me, his lungs emptying their gallons before giving me a second of rest, leaving me trembling in the cold.

“HEY THERE, LITTLE GUY,” Tyler’s deep voice quaked through my skull. “NICE TO FINALLY MEET YOU IN THE FLESH. OR, I SHOULD SAY, ON THE FLESH.”

The massive pink globe of his pinky fingertip came barrelling in at me from space, seeming to punch my head over and over as it tried to poke at me with interest, until my side dropped against his leathery palm, where the pinky finally departed.

“GEE, YOU’RE JUST A PENCIL SHAVING OF A PERSON, AREN’T YOU?” he exclaimed cheerfully, totally engrossed in his examination of me. “I THINK I BETTER HOLD MY BREATH; DON’T WANT TO ACCIDENTALLY BLOW YOU CLEAN OFF MY HAND.”

But it seemed he wasn’t very good at holding his breath. Getting to my feet, I went to say something but his sudden inhalation whistled through my ears, sucking painfully through my sinuses as it ripped the air out of my throat, leaving me coughing and mute. Another fierce exhalation sent a wall of hot air crashing against me. It was even worse than being in Christine’s hand, Tyler’s lungs contained greater air capacity. As her colossal fiancé performed his innocent inspection of my infinitesimal body, his unstoppable breaths carried on with metronymic regularity, the flat of his palm quickly became akin to a sauna.

Each blast of his lungs dumped a reservoir of hot air at me, on me, and steaming around me until the tiny airborne flecks of his saliva – tapping against my skin like rain drops – were frothing up the copious sweat oozing from my pores. Following up every exhalation without fail, each and every cool vacuuming inhalation of ingoing air flow sent ticklish icy shudders through my shaft and balls, over my body and up my spine. My penis was swung around in the powerful sucking and surging air currents like a wrecking ball. Not only my shaft but the entire length of my spine was warm and pulsating with unwanted arousal. My whole body was taut, the hairs all over prickling.

The regular pulsing force had such a palpable effect on my frail frame that it seemed to simulate the thrusting of the sex act, only exacerbated by the violent shudder that ran through my shaft every time the great throbbing drum beat of Tyler’s voice issued from his throat.

This was beyond the flapping lifts my penis had been subject to by Christine’s feathery breath. It was like Tyler was fucking me just by breathing and talking – and he had no idea. It called to mind Tantric sex practices, where people allegedly are able to produce sexual sensations without even physically touching each other. To Jennifer (who thought sex without genital contact was like trying to ride a bicycle with no wheels) Tantric sex was ‘kooky bullshit’ and previously, I tended to concur. But this was possibly as close to Tantric sex in reality as you could get.

But it was only a mechanic, freakish facsimile of the act. In reality it felt like being attacked. The juddering vibrations of his baritone made my flesh break out all over with the sensation of worms buried beneath my skin; every word made my stomach crumple up in distress as if I’d been punched around the ears.

In fact the helpless painful arousal seemed to heighten the nausea. It was like struggling to orgasm through a raging feverish sickness; my nervous system cycled endlessly between sick unbearable pleasure and swooning revulsion.

With the power to freeze time, Tyler’s godlike eyes seemed to hold on me for an age, but in reality was probably less than a minute.

“HOLY…! Tyler exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. He pointed his little finger at me. “YOU GOT A SERIOUSLY THICK LITTLE POLEARM STICKING OUT THERE. YOU COULD HANG A TINY TOWEL ON THAT THING. I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE STROLLING AROUND WITH THE GUN UNHOLSTERED THIS WHOLE TIME.”

His blaring baritone exclamations made my flesh break out with a queasy crawling sensation, for an instant putting me back inside the ringing, clanging panther head. His voice had such a bodily impact that it was only an afterthought to be embarrassed by what he’d actually said; I was more worried that his immediate volume would shake me to bits.

Tyler paused and blinked at me, his brow scrunching into shadowed trenches as if puzzled or bothered. “DOESN’T IT GET IN THE WAY?”  

There was a sigh of embarrassment from Katie’s end of the table and, grinning in spite of himself, Levi put his arm around her shoulder, giving it a squeeze in sympathy – a gesture that did not fail to make my heart twinge with envy, seeing as how I couldn’t do that with Jennifer.

“OH, BOY…” he said, sounding if as the conversation was swerving away from his comfort level. “I’M STILL TRYING TO DIGEST MY FOOD. LET’S NOT GET CARRIED AWAY WITH DETAIL HERE.”

I desperately wanted to cup my groin, but was terrified any direct contact (even with my own hand) would tip me over the edge into shuddering release.

Tyler’s eyes roamed my body up and down, sometimes moving his hand even closer to his face, just under the tip of his nose – his nostrils sucking at me with reckless force – before bringing me away again. His gleaming interest in me suggested he had detached from seeing me as a person, or just another guest at the table. I had become a bizarre little insect and he was seven years old again, the recognition that I had my own tiny little mind, my own viewing window into the world had fallen away somewhere. To his indiscriminate curiosity, my flagpole was just another fascinating piece of my scientifically extraordinary anatomy.

Meanwhile, his sweeping breath stole not just my voice but my lifeforce. I could only nod in response as I fought to keep packing air down my windpipe, but the papery specks of my lungs were in hopeless defeat vying for the same oxygen that the hot air balloons in Tyler’s chest cavity were ungraciously ripping out of my own trembling chest, as they were folding inwards in submission every time he took a breath in.

“PERHAPS IT WOULD BE WISE TO RECLAIM YOUR LITTLE MATE, JEN,” Christine murmured, “BEFORE TYLER PULLS OUT A MAGNIFYING GLASS AND STARTS JOTTING DOWN NOTES.”

Jennifer bantered back:

“RIGHT…I SHOULD HAVE SAID EARLIER: MY LITTLE MATE IS EXTREMELY SELF-CONSCIOUS ABOUT HIS SIZE.”

She had finally come out of her ‘trance’, which was something she did sometimes – vintage helped. It was ‘accelerate’ or ‘rest’ with her, there was no ‘cruise’ option.’ When we’d been going out the first time, I used to savor those rare moments of rest from her high energy nature – it was the prime opportunity to close in for uncomplicated cuddling – but since my recent reduction, a dangerous edge had developed to her ‘rest’ moments. If she was in ‘rest’ mode she became too complacent about my comfort or safety.

“YOU’RE THE MAN OF THE EVENING, JERRY,” Levi said in undertone, “EVERYONE WANTS A LITTLE PIECE OF YOU.”

Well, a ‘little’ piece was all they were going to get.

“YOU NEED TO HIRE HIM A P.A,” Tyler joked to Jennifer, “TO SCHEDULE VIEWINGS.”

“I DON’T THINK SO,” Jennifer replied coolly. “THE ONLY ‘VIEWINGS’ JERRY CAN LOOK FORWARD TO ARE NOT UP FOR DISCUSSION.”

Tyler’s palm conveyed me over the table, and with a tilt of his hand, I bounced over his leathery skin, dropping onto the softer palm of Jennifer’s cupped hand. It felt like being tipped out of one jumping castle and onto the springy surface of another.

Even without the visual confirmation, the identity of her hand was manifest in the signature scent of vanilla moisturiser, so familiar that my muscles drooped with relief. A love affair with hand lotions and moisturizing lathers made her hands velvety soft.

She drew back in her seat again, and my relief was short lived as I was promptly rolled out onto the tablecloth right in front of her.

Her fingers fanned around me protectively as I stood up, though the gesture on my level was intimidating, as her hand resembled some floating monster with multiple, multi-hinged necks, and glossy blades for heads. One such slender neck dipped low in my sights, bringing the lustrous nail panel careening headlong at me like a car bumper, and I jumped back. Slowing right down, the generous length of the white nail tip moved in whisper close to my naked front – Jen’s amazing hand-eye coordination allowed her to be tenfold gentler than Tyler’s blunt dodgem-car probing. Her squoval-shaped nails were long enough that if viewed side-on, they looked like claws. Not an optimistic comparison, though at my current size, less like claws, more like oversized ballistic shields.

Her aim was so forensically precise she was able to balance the tip of her nail on my swollen member. Which she demonstrated to me, in that instant. I was so tiny none of the others at the table would’ve seen what she was really doing – if they were even looking at me anymore. It might have looked like she was providing me a wall or surface to lean against. The easy-going conversation had resumed, anyway, churning the air with its droning noise.

Up close, the lustrous nail became my entire world. Literally, the nail plate was raised up in front of my face, and my palms pressed against its polished surface as if to push it away, but it was like pushing at a concrete wall. There was more strength wound up in Jennifer’s pinky finger than in my entire body.

The moment the white free edge of keratin contacted my agonized shaft, bending it downwards under the subtlest pressure, a shockwave of searing arousal radiated through my pelvis. My knees trembled, face collapsing into the nail. I could have walked out from under it, but I suspected this was pointless; her other fingers hovered outstretched above, twitching minutely, as if prepping to wall me in at any sign of flight.

It was surreal; an entire diving board balancing upright upon the tip of my erect dick. Her way of saying to me: acquaint yourself with my friends, but don’t forget, you belong to me.

Her finger twitched. Now it felt like someone was jolting the diving board.

I let out a pitiful shriek that no one heard.

High above, the staggering visage of her face, like a great sphinx, was studying me with the faintest trace of amusement. And also, pride, like I was rare goods and she secretly thrilled at the opportunity to show me off, and have the sole privilege of getting to take me home.

I wept sexually frustrated tears against the tyrannical shining nail, pounded my fists against it. None of it was heard.

Paining for escape, I began to shuffle backwards, but the nail followed me, mounting my shaft again with ease. Twitching harder now as if punishing me for trying to wander, tapping my glans. I was nearing peak and it felt like it was going to really hurt, particularly if the nail gave me a sharp tap the very moment I came.

One of the others told a joke and there was a hush of polite laughter. Levi let out a belch that, to me, harkened the imminent eruption of a volcano. Then – his inebriation having loosened his movements – he placed his bottle down on the table, which was as if the bottle fell from the sky and landed on the tabletop with ringing crash. The shock jolted me forward, smacking my face on Jen’s fingernail on the way down to the tablecloth, my dick getting painfully squashed beneath me, dispelling my erection.

As I lay groaning, both men got to their feet.

“WELL,” Tyler said, surveying everyone, “IF YOU LADIES DON’T MIND, LEVI AND I ARE GOING TO HEAD DOWN THE STREET.” His sweeping glance stopped at the other end of the table, where I was lying on my side, groaning. “DOES JERRY WANT TO COME WITH US?”

It sounded ridiculous, but I assumed he intended to carry me in his hand or maybe keep me his breast pocket, to jiggle blindly around, tangling in fabric lint with his powerful strides. It didn’t matter what I thought, anyway; he’d aimed the question at Jennifer.

Christine’s voice intervened:

“YOU THINK THAT’S A GOOD IDEA?” not turning in her seat, she swivelled her head around at Tyler. “IT’S VERY DARK OUT. WHAT IF YOU LOST SIGHT OF HIM?”

The neighborhood was spaced out between houses (another of Jennifer’s observations) and those spaces must now be gloomy patches overshadowed by the treelines.

For a second, neither man said anything. Levi looked at Tyler, and Tyler bowed his head in submission.

“AH, YOU’RE PROBABLY RIGHT. GOOD THINKING, HONEY.”

Avoiding Christine, his eyes swept over me on the table. Or, from his position, the dot vaguely resembling me.

The two men started to file out of the dining room. Levi bent to kiss Katie on the cheek as he went, as if without even thinking, and she demurely turned her head and closed her eyes a second to let him. The whole thing was so quick and fluid from comfortable habit. I averted my eyes, blushing, but not from embarrassment; that simple affectionate gesture was miles beyond my abilities.

“YOU MUST HAVE LOADS OF STORIES TO TELL ABOUT ALL YOUR ADVENTURES, JERRY,” Tyler said lightly, now to me. “YOU CAN KEEP THE LADIES ENTERTAINED FOR US WHILE WE’RE OUT.”

Satisfied with the compromise, the men marched out of the dining room, their footsteps pounding over the tiles like a departing landslide.