“JERRY…?”

I snorted awake.

“Yeah…?”

“DID I WAKE YOU? I’M SORRY.”

“What is it?”

“WHERE ARE YOU? CAN YOU TOUCH ME OR SOMETHING.”

I poked my head out of the blanket. The bedroom was dark, except for the light of Jen’s phone. It wasn’t that late.

“Here.”

The mattress rustled as her weight shifted. It was very warm under the blanket, and built up with her scent. Not perfume but her pheromones.

“YOU KNOW…MY BODY IS AN OPEN DOOR FOR YOU.”

I rolled over, where her body was a blanket covered mountain.  Separating us along the center was a long bolster pillow. It was used as a divider to keep Jen on her side while she was asleep, preventing her from rolling over and squashing me. Often, I woke up early morning to find her spooning the pillow, with one arm and one leg curled around. During sex, she also straddled and grinded it.

For even more safety, I could have just not slept in the bed. I could have returned to sleeping on my sponge on her bedside table. But to her, sleeping in the same bed was the symbol of functioning, long-term relationship, and that I was tied to her, even if our sizes were so mismatched that I could be stashed in her armpit. First thing in the morning, she needed to know that I was in the bed with her. Even if she had to ‘fish’ for me under the blanket. Or I’d inexplicably been pushed down to her feet. If I was in the bed she knew where I was.

“Is that a song lyric?” I mumbled.

“THAT IS NOT MEANT TO BE A METAPHOR.”

“Are you turned on again?”

There was a soft, low giggle. “…MAYBE.”

She put her phone down on the bedside table and rolled to face me. Reaching down, she tried to delicately cup my face with her fingertips and stared at me. Her eyes were burning with passion. I felt fuzzy inside. Whenever she tried to be romantic, it made me feel like that. She was very good at it, if she actually tried. Her fingertips went from cupping my face to delicately grasping my head between them. Then she said:

“TELL ME YOUR DIRTIEST FANTASY.”

Hard to say. I’d done things – and had things done to me—that were dirtier than my fantasies. I was starting to understand what Jen meant when she said she didn’t need to fantasize during sex anymore. But for me, fantasizing cost precious reserves of mental energy that I needed to endure a rigorous, punishing play session with her.

“You got me there.”

“GOD, YOU KNOW, CAN YOU HUMOR ME JUST ONCE? I WANT TO PEE ON YOU.”

I thought for a moment. Compared to some things we’d done it wasn’t the most extreme thing she’d ever come up with. But it wasn’t sexual either. It was pure degradation.

“What the hell.”

“IS THAT LIKE ‘WHAT THE HELL, LET’S DO IT?’”

“No.”

“I COULD MAKE YOU A FAN. IT DRIVES YOU CRAZY WHEN I SQUIRT ON YOU.”

“That’s an accident. You even said so.”

She laughed.

“PRETTY GOOD AIM FOR AN ACCIDENT…”

She then pushed the blanket back, reclined onto her back, and lifted her feet and brought them together. I stared at her in bemusement.

“I thought you didn’t like Yoga.”

“BUT THIS ISN’T YOGA,” she countered. “I JUST NEED TO BURN OFF SOME ENERGY BEFORE I CAN SLEEP, AND YOU’RE GOING TO BE MY EXERCISE BALL.”

“What?”

She gathered me up in one hand and placed me on the soft terrain of her upturned soles. Then, carefully, she began to raise her feet up until her legs were straight and in full demonstration of her flexibility.

“DON’T MOVE,” she instructed. “IF YOU TICKLE ME, I SWEAR I’LL MAKE YOU A BATH IN A CUP OF WATER AND THEN ITS BOTTOMS UP.”

I was balanced on the undersides of her big toes, and looked out past her feet. She was lying on her back, gazing up at me, focusing on keeping me balanced.

I felt very comfortable up in the air, beyond her immediate reach, and with the unusual sight of looking down on her.

Then she gave a great big yawn and her toes wiggled reflexively. I stumbled and was almost flicked off like a speck of dirt caught between her toes. I somehow narrowly averted falling into her open mouth and being bodily chugged down the slimy tunnel by a purely accidental throaty spasm.

I stared straight down at her yawning wide mouth with my stomach pressing into the grainy underside of her big toe, and hugged on tight. She started bouncing me up and down on the ball of her foot, and then, bringing her feet apart, tried flipping me from one foot to the other. My face smacked into a toe or the cushioning of her sole more than a few times. Then I completely overshot her foot and went spinning down to the mattress.

In a snap, her soft lips closed tight around my neck. Everything went dark and moist. My body draped over her chin. Her bottom incisors rubbed against my throat to grip my neck, but careful not to squeeze too hard, while her top incisors braced my scalp. Her tongue sponged over my forehead, as if thoughtfully wiping away perspiration. Then ran down my cheeks. Then the tip of her tongue flicked and accidentally poked me in the eye. I made a tiny sound.

Realizing what she’d done, she made a throaty giggle. Her tongue apologetically tapped my nose. It slid over my face in hesitant, measured strokes, mapping where everything was, and gently exploring as close to my eye socket as possible without touching upon eyeball.

She’d once told me that tracing my features with her tongue was incredibly erotic. Unlike when I was normal size, she was unable to see me and had to guess where she was by touch. She said it allowed her to explore my body in a totally new way, like she was getting to know my body all over again.

I enjoyed it too. It was not unlike the face massages she used to give me when I was normal size, her special brand of ‘eyebrow massage’ except now wetter and with a lot more risk of being poked in the eye. But it brought back some nice nostalgia.

While the strong current of her breath whipped my face, she began to drag her teeth back and forth against my throat, not enough to bite, but just enough to make a harmless rash. She was trying to give me a hickey, I realized. Except due to the size of her teeth, it was more like a hickey from a great white shark. I tried to calm my racing heart. She would be able to take my pulse with her tongue against my carotid artery. If I betrayed any fear it would only elevate her harsh delight.

With my neck secure, she indulged in a couple of sucks of my head. With each suck, the air was wrenched down her throat and made my head feel like it was going to pop.

When my head finally came out again, I was gasping for fresh air. The inside of her mouth was scented like toothpaste and it stung with every breath I took. My face felt like someone had run an ice cube all around it.

*

Stabbing pains erupted in my tailbone, raced up my spine and burst into my skull. It was dark, I was confused and couldn’t move. It felt like I was encased in cement. The profound downward pressure on my body made it feel like someone was standing on me. This was not completely untrue.

The darkness was everywhere, even with my eyes open. A resonating female moan trembled thickly through my body as if a subwoofer was pressed against me, very loud yet heard as if through a wall. Crushing weight shifted around without concern which parts of my anatomy were being grinded upon. For several moments my body was dragged and stretched.

Somehow the bolster pillow had failed. Jennifer had accidentally rolled over me in her sleep, pinning me to the mattress beneath. Judging from the musky oversexed staleness of the air, I was positioned somewhere near her upper thigh, very close to the opening of her vagina.

I groped around on hands and knees, looking for light. Failing that, I tried to figure out which way her body was running, so I could crawl towards her head, where the blanket ended.

As I crawled blindly, I must have tickled her thighs by accident. There was a dry sound like a rake over leaves as one of her hands combed lightly through the razored spikes of her shaved mound, and down the inside of one leg. I let out a yell, terrified she would accidentally grate me up between her fingertips like cheese. A long nail bit into the back of my neck and scraped up my scalp, then stopped as if seemingly confused, before busying itself scraping and tugging at my head as if trying to figure out what it was attached to. In her sleep she seemed to have confused my hair for more of her pubic spikes, and questioned why my head was detached from the rest.

I yelled again and it seemed to startle her, although she didn’t fully awaken. She shifted, gave a sleep-dazed grunt. And then, still in a beatific dream-state, offloaded a thundering roar of gas buildup right, so close that I got an instant headache from the skull vibration. In a second the bed was ablaze with heat and noxious smell.

She shifted again. Her thigh dropped onto me and stuck me to the mattress, keeping me pinned for the next round of digestive exhaust. The bed became a swamp.

For at least five minutes I endured each explosive spurt until my head swam. Her gas was like a terrible, consciousness altering drug and I was nightmarishly high on it. My eyes were rolling in my head. Then her thigh stiffened and shifted. The weight of a log dragged over me as she made another groaning sound, and the tiny pocket of air I was caught up in filled with another hot blast that rumbled my sinuses until they stung. 

If she accidentally had lactose, usually at dessert, I paid for it later that night, under the insulated tent of the blanket. This must have been what had happened earlier.

Made dumb with pure desperation, I crawled around blindly, fighting for a clear breath, before her thigh shifted in discomfort, walling me back up against her butt, covered in a skimpy thong that offered no shield whatsoever from the roaring inferno. With no escape, I yelled and slapped my hands against the meaty wall of her thigh. As if in response, another clapping blast of air ripped free and connected with my face with the force of a slap. The guttural, growling wave of hot air seared and rippled across my flesh.

I carried on sinking my fists into the beef of her immobile thigh. With a start she awoke and reached for me in the dark, and a wave of pure and satisfying fresh air burst over my face as I was recovered from the dark pocket of gas cloud. I was giddy from relief and low oxygen.

She turned me over in her hand to check I was okay.

“YOU WANT TO PLAY PUSSY INVADER RIGHT NOW?” she muttered dubiously, sounding still half asleep. When she was half asleep her disinhibition was even worse. The filter between her mind and her mouth dissolved entirely.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

She paused, and then, startled, flapped the blanket rapidly to dispel the trapped air.

“REALLY? DOWN THERE? YIKES, YOU’RE GETTING SMOKED.”

True. It was like an elephant had gone to die in there.

“JUST ONE THING,” she said quickly, before I was able to pass out into merciful sleep. “THE VET WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU TOMORROW.” 

“No,” I ran a hand over my face, and then stared up at her plaintively. “Did I lose a bet?”

“YOU NEARLY DID!” she fired back.

I dipped my chin.

“I’ll stop taking the meds if you want.” Actually, I had already decided to never touch the medication again, since getting the almost-deathbed diagnosis.

“OH, I WANT.”

“Then can we let it rest?”

She said brightly:

“SHE’LL SEE YOU AT TEN. YOU’RE GETTING AN EXAM.”

As if the discussion was over, she started humming. My nerves flared, even though – or maybe because – I knew I couldn’t win.

“No! Come on. Please!”

Her thumb was resting on my chest and began to massage softly. The stimulation made my back soften against the warm inside of her fingers, cupped around me.

“WHEN I GAVE YOU NATALIE’S NUMBER…” she said slowly.

I stared, confused.

“Yes?”

“…YOU RECALL THAT I AGREED TO GIVE IT TO YOU IF YOU RETURNED ME A FAVOR SOMETIME.”

“I’ll take you shopping instead.” My voice gathered desperate speed. “A blank check signed Jerry, how about that?”

She made a sound of approval, her thumb swirling lovingly over my chest.

“OH NOT BUYING YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS ONE.”

“Just great. You know, you really love squashing my entire being, don’t you?”

“CUT ME A BREAK, JERRY.” She sat up. “GIVING YOU SPACE IS STILL A WORK IN PROGRESS. LOOK AT WHERE WE’VE COME: I LET YOU GO AND YOU ALMOST DIE. I MUST BE OUT OF MY FUCKING MIND.”

“Okay, living alone was a bad idea,” I conceded. “But we couldn’t know that until we tried it.”

“YOU’VE STILL GOT A COUPLE TINY HURDLES TO JUMP BEFORE I FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOU AGAIN. SEE THE VET,” she urged, pushing her thumb up over my mouth to stifle my argument, “SHOW ME YOU’RE OKAY.”