The city rumbled outside, white noise interspersed with traffic horns. The closed windows kept the noise at bay while I napped, basking in a patch of glowing afternoon sun. It was too warm to let the air in. Otherwise, it was quiet for now. Jennifer had been out getting groceries. I’d asked her if she wanted to do some yoga but she laughed the idea off.

Now I clutched my phone with sweating palms, intoned a desperate prayer of mercy, and Googled images under my name. Then tilted the phone screen, watching the images skew, shortening in perspective, but never lengthening.

I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.

The words rushed into my head and I contemplated them blankly, stunned. I’d scrolled through images for so long the sun had moved past the window, and now my photo self looked like a stranger. So many photos of myself stood against bigger objects and larger people. Standing in hands, against feet, framed by humungous faces. From my perspective, I never saw myself as tiny, but other people as huge. But in the photos, there was no escaping I was the tiny one. And I was famous; there were inescapably many photos. If I'd dreamed that being famous would change the public's perception of me, I was wrong. It was entrenching the public perception that I was ludicrously tiny.

Now the door creaked and shut, the bags rustled as they were put onto the counter.  I gave myself a mental shake.

The sound of floorboards almost sinking with every step. Unless I was imagining it, her passage around the conjoined interior quarters seemed to churn the air into cool sweeping currents over my body; my apartment interior seemed tinier than ever before. I could sense her moving around even without seeing her. The house admitted her presence by sound – doors opening and shutting, floor creaking – where I was undetectable.

The bathroom door shut. My eyes were tired from internet surfing and began to close.

Suddenly she was in the doorway. Her green eyes were upon me. I lay still as a doll, as if the stillness made me inconspicuous. My back sank into the mattress under the weight of her intimate stare, sending me the direct signal that I was her plaything.

That was not the only thing staring at me. Her breasts hung like full succulent fruit, the nipples standing up on her bare chest, as if offering the red tips out to me. Given the warmth of the day she now decided to wander around naked, letting her gigantic hide grow sultry and scented in the still, warm air.

Before I could sit up, her towering shadow floated across the bed a moment before her form descended upon me. A giant hand reached down, extending one long, feminine finger and sinking the tip into my belly like a fist to pin me to the mattress. I groaned and shifted my legs restlessly as the sharp nail bit into my soft insides. My diaphragm was scrunched up, stunned. A bolt of panic flickered through my muscles. I couldn’t draw a breath. I could only stare up at her features, which formed an oppressive ceiling over my world.

She studied me intently, delighting in the woefully ineffectual muscle spasms my body was throwing up against her, against this tiniest application of pressure in her fingertip that had me totally subdued.

There were a lot of attractive guys wandering around in St Palma, pretty boys and gym rats and she must have seen them while she was out. Some of them might have even seen her. But they were irrelevant compared to her favorite obsessive pursuit; the old game of trying to determine how much I wanted her.

A cramp was building up in my chest. I slapped and struck the long pillar of her finger, turned down against my torso like a stake.

She lifted an eyebrow she gave me a pout.

“DOWN,” she commanded. “YOU THINK I WOULDN’T HURT YOU…” Her nail dug in deeper. A frisson of pain rippled over my skin. My muscles pulled and I couldn’t breathe again.

The pressure kept up.

“…BUT YOU LOVE PLAYING WITH MY PATIENCE A LITTLE TOO MUCH.”

It felt like her finger was wrapped right around my stomach, squeezing mightily, causing me to cave in, bit by bit, from the pressure. My heartbeat ratcheted up. It seemed she was actively considering if I’d burst.

Then, as she bent lower, a puzzled expression came onto her face. She paused, took in a sweeping breath.

“EUGH…WHAT IS THAT?” Her face descended upon the pillow, searching for an invisible culprit.

“Oh…” I said. Nerves flickered somewhere inside me. I was so used to the perfume lingering on the bed I no longer noticed it. “The cleaning service must have spritzed the sheets or something.”

She gave the bed a strange look as she sat up again.

“PRETTY VAMPY SPRITZ IF YOU ASK ME.”

“I’ll tell the maid to tone it down next time.”

A shadowy kind of fire was in her eyes as they lingered on me for an extra second. I held her gaze and my face admitted nothing.

At this, she decided she didn’t want to be in the bedroom anymore, and sweeping me up in one hand, conveyed me into the bathroom.

The cool sink counter came up under my body as she put me down. Meanwhile she fetched something she’d just bought downtown. I stared at the black tube between her fingertips.

“NEW LIPSTICK,” she remarked, sliding the lip off to expose the red nub. “WANNA TRY?”

I stared.

“Try…?” 

For a second I wondered if she intended to put some on me. In fact, in a sense, that was what she had in mind, sort of.

She didn’t answer, but lifted the tube to her face and began painting a bright sheen over her lips.

Without delay I was again swept up into the air as if by hurricane – a hurricane with a precise sense of aim, deftly manoeuvring my tiny legs between the heavy moist folds of her lips. My legs slid over the carpet of her wide, wet tongue, which bucked rapidly to spin me until I was face down, her sticky tongue muscle pressing hard up into my belly, shifting like a walking horse to tilt and balance me, in between generous sucks that pushed the air out of my chest via compression.

Then the mirror, and my bewildered looking reflection was moving closer and closer until my nose bumped against the pane and donking my forehead into my reflection’s hard glassy forehead.

Pressure against the back of my neck held my face still while the lips loosened around my neck and started surging forward over my features, ensconcing my head in a tight rubbery sleeve as she kissed the mirror. Then they retracted again, sliding back down my head and settling back into position around my neck like a warm, damp scarf.

My lipstick oiled skin sticking for an instant before peeling away. And now where my reflection had been there was a bright red imprint of my face – specifically the ridge of my brow, nose, cheeks and mouth – closely framed by the plush creased masses of her lips, circling my face like a weird frill.

I stared at it, morbidly fascinated and unnerved, when her hand shot up, fingers plucking me out roughly by my head and dropping me onto the counter before she couldn’t hold it back any longer, bursting into laughter at the sight of the imprint.

“MWAH,” she kissed her fingertips. “A TRUE MASTERPIECE.”

I rubbed my face, trying to get the waxy gloss off, but just ending up with red palms.

The sink was run and within moments I was thrust, upside down into the warm water. She dipped my head repeatedly in and out of the water, and scrubbed my face back and forth with her thumb to wipe the lipstick off.

As the water crashed over my face, her voice became murky, then bright and clear again as I was yanked up:

“REMEMBER WHEN WE TOOK A BATH TOGETHER WHEN YOU WERE, LIKE, SUPER TINY?”

“I can’t forget,” I managed to reply, right before her thumb stroked up under my jaw and daubed my face.  Undeniably demeaning to have my face rubbed about like an unfeeling doll, but it was so quick and easy for her, she didn’t question it. Plus, the oily lipstick had begun to dye my soft skin, and required some stubborn friction to erase. It just felt like my whole face was at risk of being erased under the grinding pressure of her finely crenulated thumbpad.

“WELL,” she went on, “I WAS IMAGINING BEING DOWN THERE WITH YOU ON THAT TOY BOAT, SITTING ON THE FRONT—THAT THING, THE BOW—?”

My head penetrated the water and was held there. Undaunted, the thumb followed me in, launching itself onto my face for more rigorous massaging. I kept my eyes closed, holding my breath as my face was worked into. The vibration of her resonant voice seemed to swell in the water, clapping into my ears. Then I was back above the water.

“Yeah,” I said.

“LIKE, SUNBAKING UNDER THE BATHROOM HEAT LIGHTS. FUCKING ON THE DECK. FUCKING IN THE WATER. IT WAS LIKE A FREAKING VACATION FOR YOU. BUT IT WAS JUST A BORING OLD BATH FOR ME.”

“But that boat was a kid’s toy.”

“NO, IT WAS LIKE ‘JERRY’S HAVING A PARTY ON HIS PRIVATE YACHT, AND JENNIFER’S NOT INVITED’—”

“No, I mean--.”

“—AND NOW JENNIFER IS PISSED OFF. AND KINDLY HAS TO LET YOU KNOW.. THAT'S WHY I -- YOU KNOW.""

I was suspended a moment longer just over the sink as the water dripped off my head, and feeling like caught prey, dangling.

“Well, whatever you were going for, it worked. You broke up the party, exploded my ear drums and singed my eyebrows off.”

*

Despite the fact she just washed me, she couldn’t wait to get me dirty again.

Reclining along the bed, naked, she worked me into her, deep and slow, before letting loose with an ungodly crunch of pelvic muscle, making me feel as small and feeble inside her as humanely possible, seeming to scrunch me up to half my size.

Without warning, the motions stopped, my body clenched in her hand, and my head the meat sandwiched between her labial folds, a hair’s breadth from being inside her.

“HEY BRO, GOT YOUR DRINKS, BUT I ADVISE YOU NOT TO PRE-GAME TOO HARD TONIGHT, BECAUSE—”

Meandering footsteps and a short pause.

The bedroom door was wide open. I’d forgot.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered, squirming around, but struggled to find my footing on the shifting, unstable surface of her giant mammary.

“JERRY?”

It happened so fast I had no time to react, much less blush. Raf walked into the doorway and jerked to a stop, staring at Jennifer sprawled out naked over the sheets, and me curled up like a cat on her right breast, trying to conceal my dick, my head cushioned by her nipple. I saw exactly what he was looking at through the mirror across the room. Jen fixed her eyes on him and offered him a lazy smile and a quick wink.

He wheeled around and disappeared, his footsteps withdrawing back through the house. His halting words drifted into the bedroom behind him:

“I’LL JUST LEAVE IT ON YOUR…UH…”

Then the front door shut.

I sighed deeply as my body relaxed into her soft flesh. She gave an unhurried stretch, her breast rocking me.

“OOPS,” she said without remorse. “DID I EMBARRASS YOU IN FRONT OF YOUR FRIEND?”

A lock of her hair ran down over her chest. Without thinking, I reached for it and began threading it through my hands. In return, she began grooming a fingernail through my hair.

“He forgot. He’s not used to me having someone over.”

“I’M YOUR GIRLFRIEND,” she countered, “NOT SOME STRIPPER YOU PULLED IN OFF THE STREET. OF COURSE WE FUCK.”

“Well…You can be a little…confronting.”

*

After the weekend, Jennifer flew back home. Meanwhile, Raf was going to be away with family for several days. This put me into a new position. I needed to find someone in the city to let me, not only stay with them, but accept me as an dependent lodger; feeding me, taking me out.

I lay back on my bed, considering my options and trying to squash the embarrassment that I was too puny to look after myself. The easiest thing would be to catch a flight home, but I had a feeling Jen would gently make fun of me for needing her. Or, not so gently.

It was Natalie’s face which first came to mind. She would never make fun of me. But lodging with her wasn’t going to happen, not with Grant. I’d be the third wheel, and that just dredged up déjà vu from when Jen was with Stuart.

Maybe it would be fun to see Darcy again. So, without hesitation, I called her.

She didn’t pick up. Probably busy. I left a message, imploring her to call me back as soon as possible. It wasn’t an exaggeration: Raf was coming in thirty minutes or less to take me out before heading out of state, and leaving me, a tiny agent adrift in the sprawling, ceaseless city.

After a very long half hour with no response by Darcy, I sucked in my breath and phoned Samantha, misdialling her number twice with trembling hands before remembering she was a saved contact. She promptly picked up. My business voice came online:

“I’m going uptown,” I said, “—basically right now – to meet someone and I’m searching for some kind of temporary living arrangement once I’m done because my driver won’t be available.”

She first paused as if waiting for more, and only when my voice had definitively shrivelled away, answered:

“I understand.”

I frowned.

“So…would you--?”

“I don’t know,” she interrupted. “I’m thinking.”

Her tone was neutral.

“It’s not forever,” I jumped in, “just a few days. When you say you don’t know, do you mean – ?”

She said, politely but firmly:

“What you’re asking: I don’t know. I do not know what to say to you.”

“That’s a ‘no’?”

My brain began to whir with my remaining options.

“What are you asking me?” she said, suddenly sounding more interested, and practical.

“A bed for a couple of nights, that’s it.” It was a little more than that, but the technical details could wait. “Not even a bed – I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“The couch,” she repeated with flat disbelief. “You will be sat on, I guarantee it.”

“It’s fine,” I said, with a small sigh, wishing I hadn’t called her, “I’ll figure it out. I’m sorry to bother you.”

Now, even she could not conceal her interest:

“And where are you fleeing to? What is so important?”

“It’s private.”

“Oh…” she mused on this for a fraction, “…Intriguing. Nothing insalubrious, I can only hope.”

I quickly decided she could keep a secret.

“I’m…meeting a celebrity.” I took a breath, “My driver likes her a lot…and she’s asked me to visit her. She’s on tour but she’s staying in…well, I better not say. But I guess I had this idea I could bring her and my driver closer..” Feeling kind of stupid I hastily added: “It’s crazy I know, but maybe if –”

She interrupted me again:

“Remind me, this is Anya Zarsky we are talking about…?”

“How do you know that?!” I spluttered.

“I do remember you saying this, so it is a very poorly guarded secret. Correct?”

I said nothing. She went on:

“My, my. You two are close now.”

“Do you know her?”

“No, only that…” She clamped up mid-sentence, “…only gossip. We are so quick to judge people we’ve only met…Don’t you agree?”

The online photos of me flashed through my head.

“True.”

“And what we said at my house,” she went on without pause, “will you tell me what you think about it?”

Thoughts crunched in my mind while outside, car wheels crunched over gravel.

“My driver just got here,” I said quickly. “I have to go.”

“Jerry,” she said in a firm voice that made me sweat.

“Err…” I was snagged by her tone. It sounded like she was going to unload some reluctant bombshell on me. “…Yeah?”

Her voice was low, like she was telling me a secret.

“I would make up something else for you. No couch; something much better… Because –” a pause, “—Darcy is not here. She has her life. I have mine. We are very comfortable, but it’s like a casual thing we have. Casual is nice, you know. No explanations, no apologies. So you would be with me. And, she is out, so I could give you my fullest attention. You would be at my side so you would not be left wanting for a single thing.”

My thoughts had already ground to a halt at her first sentence. I didn’t count on Darcy not being over. In fact I had assumed the women lived together. It never occurred to me they didn’t, and Samantha lived in the house alone.

Her velvety accented tones continued to tumble down the phone line:

“…You would be spoiled with me. Maybe.”

I started again, now flustered:

“If I just stay right here you could bring me some food – food is all I need,” I exclaimed, a little forceful, “I’m fine.”

“Like a dog to be housesat?” She made a sound which I couldn’t decode. “You did not show in court. You did not convince them my care was unnecessary. What would you say to convince me now?”

My brain cycled hopelessly for a rejoinder. She muttered:

“Come un cagnolino…” And quietly laughed. Whatever she said, her laugh sounded arrogant, it struck my nerves like flint, creating a panicked spark.

“I’m not helpless! I’ll manage on my own, dammit! If you were my size, well…see if you’d laugh then!”

My gut flopped with regret as soon as it was out. I called Jennifer out when she pushed me, but I would never have used this tone to Samantha’s face. Darcy’s glib comment was eerily on point; beneath the prim and ‘perfectly proper’ veneer there was something dark and fierce and even kind of wolfish about her. But speaking through the phone made me falsely complacent, because her imposing stature and burning stare was invisible.

But it wasn’t just that. The memories of her house suffused my awareness as she’d spoken; she’d exposed a romantic, even sweet side. And I was a hopeless sucker for romantics. But coming from her, I couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or calculated to ensnare me into the strange illicit role-play she had designed for me. Regardless, it filled me with an agitated kind of longing, and the slimmest notion that I might have been falling for her like a clumsy acrobat made me afraid and defensive.

“I meant…” I stammered, “…I just think that…”

“I will let you go now,” she said, as disaffected as at the start of the call, “Ciao, Jerry. Good luck with your…dilemma.”

Pushing down the sense of desperation, I redialled Darcy. She didn’t pick up. I lay back, stretched and groaned and procrastinated. Finally, I called Natalie.

“How are you?”

Her clear voice came through the speaker, her elevated, bouncy pitch a massive counterpoint to Samantha’s throaty murmur. For some reason, her picking up made me feel even worse, as if I’d been subconsciously hoping she wouldn’t.

I quickly explained the situation.

“Ohhhh,” she said, “I love our fun bonding, really, but the timing is so tricky right now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, a little quickly.

“When I’m working I guess it could be that Grant looks after you—”

“No!” Then I mumbled, “Uh, I don’t want to get in his way.”

“I can totally get that. But I legit don’t know how else to make it work.”

“It’s okay, I have other options,” I lied.

Relieved, she said:

“How are you two doing since…what happened.”

It took a moment to click.

“The beach? I nearly forgot.”

“Forgot? You were inside her tummy!” she exclaimed, voice swelling with pure disbelief. “It’s crazy to remember how tiny you are! You had to be so scared, though right? I’m so glad you’re okay, but, wow, my spine tingles.”

She paused.

“And I hope Jennifer is okay, too. You guys debriefed after?”

“We…” I began, “…had a kind of bonding session in the car, yeah.”

“Nice. Um…and…If I tell you something, promise you won’t tell her I said this…In case I actually was wrong?

“Of course.”

“I was back on the beach – no idea what was happening – and I see her coming out of the water,” she was speaking rapidly, trying to rationalize, “and it can’t have hit her what happened, where you were – oh my God, the thought of it, you stuck inside her – it can’t have sunk in yet because she was kinda laughing.”

“She was coughing,” I suggested. “She was trying to cough me up.”

“Oh, no – what I saw – she was…something else,” Natalie insisted seriously. “Positive. But I’ll go with what you said. You know her and I barely do, so…”

Outside my open bedroom came the sound of the apartment’s front door being rattled and unlocked. Raf’s boots trudged over the floor. He called out my name through the flat. Natalie must have heard it through the phone, because she briskly signed off, we said goodbye.