Chapter 3: Lost In a Crowd, Alone, and Drinking My Third

One round turned into two, and two turned into four. The girls traded straight liquor for mixed drinks (Long Island Iced Tea for Milla, and a pair of screwdrivers for Beck), then traded the cocktails for a towering pair of pints.

Simon never got a drink of his own. He took sips of Beck’s, or his sister’s, accepting lifts up to the rims of their drinks on their hands or occasionally astride a single finger. The cocktails went down smoother than the whiskey had, and without a glass of his own to measure by, he had no clue how much he was actually drinking. The inside of his head felt muddier and muddier, and it was harder and harder to keep his balance on the slippery bar counter. By the fourth round he’d forgone the counter entirely and instead balanced precariously on the rim of Beck’s pint glass, occasionally slipping in and bumping against her huge lips when she drank.

Milla watched this display with a mixture of disbelief and bemusement on her face. And even when she caught Simon sneaking a kiss between sips, she didn’t do more than roll her eyes.

But finally, after two hours had passed and she’d drained the last of an IPA from her glass, she slapped the bar with both palms and went to stand. “I need the little girls’ room.”

“I’ll come with,” Beck responded on instinct.

They both stood—then glanced down at Simon, collapsing into fits of tipsy giggles. “Oh shit…”

“What are we going to do with…”

“He can’t, he’s…”

Each sentence was too impossibly hilarious to finish. Both girls’ faces were scarlet, and their eyes were the same sheen as window glass, with the lights behind them dimmed.

Simon tapped his wrist mockingly. “Wha’s the holdup here?” His words came out in a strange slurry, and the bar lights bled together into a gentle yellow smear high overhead.

“It’s not…” Beck hiccupped, a perfect Looney Tune drunk. “It’s not, it’s not…”

“Isss not like we can take you with us,” Milla finished for her.

“You ca’ leave me here a little while,” Simon protested. “I’ll be…”

“I don’ think it’s gonna be a little while.” Beck looked sheepish, like she’d been caught out.

“Tha’s right… little man.” Milla waggled her head at her brother, imitating Ash. “Girl talk.”

“Girl talk,” Beck agreed.

“Abou’ you,” Milla added. “And, and, and abou’ her.”

Simon’s eyebrows shot up. Beck’s shoulders crept up around her neck, but when she tried to protest, Milla pressed a silencing finger over her lips. “Ssssss.” It wasn’t a full shush, just a snake’s complaint. “Save it for the stalls, girlie. You and I gotta…”

“Girls, it’s fine. I’ll watch the little guy while you… horse-trade.”

Ash drummed her long nails on the counter, right to either side of where Simon stood, danger-close. For the first time, he noticed that her black nail polish was not all black. There were white dots scattered on each, making each fingertip a self-contained night sky. They were even textured, each star a slightly raised mound on the surface of the nail.

“I just got off shift anyhow,” she continued. “Me and Simon can hang ‘til you get back.”

Milla beamed and dragged Beck off before she could protest.

“Ash, you’re a doll,” she cooed. Then they were gone, vanishing into the crowd and darkness.

Simon felt breath kiss the back of his neck and bare shoulders.

“How ‘bout it, Si? What’s a girl gotta do to have a man buy her a drink around here?”

Simon looked up: Ash’s face, her black lips, were only a foot from him. That curious, wolflike grin was back, and now it was so close to where he stood. He rubbed the back of his neck with an open hand, grinning nervously, lost for words. But his hesitation only lasted a moment. This was Milla’s friend, he reasoned, just like Beck had been. And she’d left him in Ash’s care—surely that meant this woman could be trusted.

And his pulse was still elevated from his dive before…

“All right.” Simon smiled up at her. “Pour another, you’re on.”

#

It turned out, beer was Ash’s poison of choice. But rather than lift Simon up to the rim of a pint glass for his infrequent sips, she fetched a second shot glass from beneath the bar and filled it with (for her) a mouthful or two of a local stout, something heavy and dark as pitch. For her own part, Ash poured herself a yellowy IPA with a foam head on it, which left a white mustache across her black top lip every time she drank.

“Look,” she was saying. “Sorry about all that ‘little man’ stuff. I didn’t know Milla was bringing you out tonight and—well, I got a little over-excited. That’s all.”

“Over-excited?” Simon’s face burned at this, but the sensation was distant, coming through miles of numbness. At Ash’s urging, he’d already decreased the level in his shot glass by about an eighth—a considerable feat for his height.

“Well. I forgive ya,” he said. “Losss of people get weird around tinies. I‘m used to it.”

“I guess you must be.” Ash swirled her beer.

Simon looked at her over the top of his beer shot. “Wha’s that supposed to mean?” He burped, trying to disguise the tiny sound behind his hand.

Ash ignored the question. “Remind me. You and Milla are twins, right?”

Simon nodded. “Shore. Frat. Frat. Frat-turnal—obviously.”

“And that’s supposed to be…”

“…impossible,” he finished for her. He went for another sip of his stout, having to lean over the rim of the shot glass to reach the level of the liquid now. “That’s me. Simon, the miracle baby.”

Ash’s eyebrows went up. “You and your sister must be pretty close.”

“She’s my best friend,” Simon admitted. “But it’s the first time we’ve gotten to hang in a while. She’s been at school… I’ve been living in the Gulliver colony. S’ hard to get together.”

“Uh-huh. And what about her roommate? Beck?”

Simon paused, a white flash of embarrassment shooting through his veins. What should he say to this? There was a part of him, in his addled state, that almost wanted to brag, girlie, you’ve got no idea how close… But the gentleman in him won out. But: what was he to Beck? They certainly weren’t strangers, after everything they’d done. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, either.

Surely—that wasn’t what she wanted, was it? Not from a man so small as him.

He settled on honestly. “I only met her yesterday,” he replied.

“I see.” The bar trembled when she set her glass down—already empty. And when she leaned her elbows on the counter, just to each side of where Simon stood, her breasts pressed against the edge of the wood surface, angling the valley of her cleavage toward him. He angled his eyes away, but it was tricky not to stare. Her chest seemed to be everywhere he glanced.

Had her top always been that low-cut? Did she undo a button when he wasn’t watching?

Looking into her face was no better: with her chin cradled on her hands, the look in her eyes was halfway between the wolfish intensity he’d seen before mixed with a softer expression he couldn’t place. The pressure of her stare was immense.

“You want another one, Si?” she asked, flicking her eyes over to his shot glass.

“Oh!” he stammered, thankful for the excuse to look away. “I’m still, ah. Working on mine.”

“I’m having another one,” Ash replied. She put her pint glass under the tap, pouring another foamy draft of the yellowy IPA. She clinked the glass against Simon’s drink, then took a long swallow, draining almost a fourth of the beer at once before stifling an airy belch.

“You ever tried this one?” she asked, waggling the pint glass.

Simon shook his head. “Whassit?”

“The new Shade brew,” came the reply, as if that meant anything to him. “You want to try it? It’s smooth—more drinkable than that stout, anyhow.”

She pushed her glass towards him, leaving a snail-film trail behind it on the counter.

Simon shrugged and padded over, realizing too late—he was, of course, far too short to reach the rim of the pint glass. “You need some help, little man?” Ash asked, a laugh in her voice.

Before he could respond, her hand closed around him.

The sudden contact, plus the equally sudden lift, took his breath away. He was used to being handled: by Milla, by his parents, and now of course by Beck. But to put his life in a stranger’s hands was always a risk—and a thrill besides. And while Milla and Beck usually laid their hands flat so he could climb into their palms, Ash had simply scooped him up without ceremony.

At least her hands were soft—though not as soft as Beck’s.

She didn’t keep him wrapped in her fist for long. After the initial snatch-and-grab, she rotated her wrist to let him rest in the hollow of her hand, ferrying him up to the glass-rim. But before she let him drink, her warm breath washed over him. He didn’t have to turn around to know that her darkened lips were likely mere inches from his bare back.

“You know,” she told him. “I saw the way she looks at you.”

“Wha’sss that?” he asked. But the cup was already tilting towards him, the golden beer sloshing closer to his face. He put his mouth down to drink, accidentally wetting the entire lower half of his face, prompting a rather rude chuckle from Ash.

The glass retreated. But Ash didn’t put him down.

“Beck,” she said. “She can’t take her eyes off you. Whaddaya make of that?”

Simon flushed—from head to foot, it felt like. He searched for a lie: “I… hadn’t noticed?”

Ash didn’t blink. “I bet girls stare at you all the time.”

“Pffft. Go on.”

He turned to face her, swiveling on her palm. She wasn’t looking at him. Her pint glass was at her lips again, upended, blocking his view of her face. When she finished drinking at last, the level in the glass had dropped again to half.

Quarter, half… It was like a countdown. For some reason, the thought made Simon shiver.

Her intense gaze turned toward him again, softened only slightly by the hazy bar lights.

“I mean it,” she said. “Lots of girls are into tinies. I see it all the time here.”

Simon played dumb: “What do you mean, into?”

“I mean, into-into. Interested in. You want me to spell it out?”

“I guess not.” Simon hid his burning face behind one hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this… what was this? Not embarrassed, exactly. Ash’s white-hot gaze danced across his body, seeming to drink him in. And while he couldn’t admit it fully to himself, he was enjoying it—at least partway. He felt like he was alone on center stage with a rapt audience waiting just on the other side of the darkness.

Except—Simon’s audience was holding him aloft in the palm of her warm hand.

“Are you… most girls?” he asked suddenly, playing coy.

“Take a guess, little man,” Ash purred.

Then suddenly she laughed, throwing her head back and covering her open mouth with the other hand. “Naw—I’m me,” corrected, her eyes sparkling. “Most girls, he says. Get out of here.”

She wiped under her eye with one finger before continuing: “Although, I admit I can see the appeal, from a certain point of view. Lots a girl could do with a boy your size.”

Simon’s mind went on spin cycle. Beck had told him once before—about stories she’d read along those lines. Where was she? And where was his sister?

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, sounding more in control than he felt. “Like what?”

Ash leaned close. When her lips parted, the warmth of her words spilled across him:

“Use your imagination…”

He wished suddenly that he hadn’t had quite so much to drink. Thinking was getting difficult—his brain seemed to swim in a kind of thick swirling stew. And every time he glanced away from Ash’s searching hungry eyes, he found his gaze falling into the crevasse of her cleavage.

She’d popped another button, he realized, somewhere in the back of everything.

She was trying to…

She was trying to…

“A Trust Fall,” he said desperately. “That… that’s one thing.”

The giantess grinned, again showing the pink upper line of her gums.

“Why, Simon. I thought you’d never ask.”

What happened next, happened like close-up magic. Without setting him down, she reached across the bar, seized Simon’s shot glass full of dark stout, and drained it in a single gulp. Then she wiped her mouth, reached beneath the bar, and fished up the bottle of honey-colored liquor from before. She poured this into the shot glass, then looked expectantly at Simon.

Simon did a double-take. “What, right now?”

Ash shrugged. “I’ve never done one,” she admitted. “And besides, my cup’s run dry.”

She angled her hand just enough to turn Simon around. Her pint glass was indeed empty now, the countdown reaching zero at last. When had it happened? Simon couldn’t think.

Or, he didn’t want to think. He couldn’t tell which.

And there was the embarrassing matter of the warm sudden tightness below his beltline…

“Ash, I don’t know…” He glanced around, half-hoping he’d see the dim forms of Beck and Milla returning through the evening crowd. Their return, he reasoned, would rescue him. But from what? Something risky. Something dangerous. Something he shouldn’t even be considering.

Something he shouldn’t want to do. He shouldn’t want to.

Wanting to…

He wanted to…

The crowd in HGH had thinned somewhat.

At least in that corner of the bar, he and Ash were almost alone.

Ash brought him close again, lifting him a little so her hand was just level with her face. “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” she teased. “What’s the matter, Si… afraid I’ll swallow you whole?”

Simon stared—at her black lips, then farther down, along the length of her tan neck.

“You wouldn’t,” he stammered. “Would you?”

 “I might,” she purred. “And I might not. That’s why it’s a Trust Fall. Don’t you trust me?”

Without waiting for him to respond, she lifted him higher, above her head. Her palm was angled slightly now, tipping him ever-so-subtly towards her upturned face.

With the other hand, she raised the shot to her eager lips. “Don’t you trust me?” she repeated.

“I…” Simon felt himself slipping forward, closer to the precipice. “I…”

He wanted to.

“I trust you,” he said, his voice sounding a million miles away.

Ash grinned. “Then, down the hatch!”

“Wait!” Simon cried out as she went to drink. “Give… give me a little of that first.”

But Ash only grinned. “Come and get it.” She poured the liquor between her lips.

Then, she opened her mouth wide.

Simon only had a split-second to take it all in. Her black lipstick framed the opening like a dark portal, her teeth beyond doubling that outline like a windowframe. There wasn’t as much liquor in her mouth as there’d been in Beck’s—maybe her mouth was larger, or maybe she’d already swallowed some of it by mistake. Whatever was left was collected in a shallow pool, right at the very back of her throat. It bubbled slightly when she giggled in her nose, in eager anticipation.

It was a long, long way down. Longer still if she…

The alcohol pushed that thought from his head. There was only the challenge ahead now. He stood unsteadily on Ash’s palm, inching closer to the edge of her hand, and the plunge…

Later, he would wonder if he’d really jumped. Or if Ash, impatient to complete the game, had simply tipped him off into her open mouth. In the moment, he only knew he was falling.

That the cave of her mouth was rushing up right at him…

Then—instantaneous darkness. The warmth inside her hit him like a solid wall, just as his backside collided with her tongue. Her lips were already shut tight behind him. But instead of pinning him against the roof of her mouth, Ash kept her head angled back. Her tongue rose beneath him, funneling him irresistibly backward. The liquor drained down her throat.

Ash hummed happily—momentarily tasting Simon’s taste alone.

Then his world went completely vertical.

He didn’t even have time to shout. The tongue beneath him bucked upward, squeezing him back after the liquor. Ash’s uvula slid across his cheek, then everything constricted around him.

When he finally screamed, it was too late.

#

Ash easily gulped the tiny man down, idly following the path he traced down her throat with one finger. The tight squirming pressure passed from the soft spot beneath her chin, down the length of her long neck, and finally under her collarbone, where she momentarily lost the sensation of him. But she traced past this anyhow, between her breasts, until her hand lay flat against her stomach. She felt him land inside, her body welcoming fully its new passenger.

Splashdown. She felt him struggling inside her. She could almost hear his voice, shouting.

Begging to be let out. Out of her.

Her hands gripped the bar top hard.

She knew it would feel like this. She’d always known it would feel like this.

She pulled her shirt up slightly, running fingertips across the spot where she knew Simon was. “I did warn you,” she whispered. Then she slipped out from behind the bar and disappeared into the crowd. No eyes followed her. Nobody watched her leave.

Nobody knew she was even gone.