If, last night, I met with the first Adela, in the morning I saw the second. The new day was sunny and crisp. I stood on top of Adela’s dresser, and watched as she got ready. A string quintet played in the background, softly. (Adela played piano, and loved classical music.) She put on a skirt and blouse, and then looked up.
“Martin, what do you want to do today?”
"Anything you want,” I said, playing safe.
“No, really, I’m serious. I'm going to be fair with you today. Anything you want to do, we’ll do. It’s your choice.”
“Anything?” I boggled.
She nodded, and sat down to fit on her socks and sneakers.
“How about going for a walk in town,” I said. "How does that sound?"
“Done.”
“And also,” I decided to see how far I could go with this—“Also, I want to be my original size on the walk.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I know. Done and done.”
“Really?”
"No. Really really. Let’s go.” She crossed the room and picked me up, and then passed through the door of her room into the hall.
“Mom,” she called out. Holly answered from inside, and sounded preoccupied and a little distracted. “Mom, we’re going out for the day.”
“Have fun,” she said. Picking up the car keys from the kitchen counter, Adela strolled out of the house and crossed the lawn to the car.
Unlocking and opening the driver’s side, she explained, patting her pocket, “First I have to pick up clothes for you. Then we can go wherever you want.” She revved up the engine, pulled out of the driveway in reverse. 
“Are you hungry?”
“Kind of.”
“We can stop for food.”
Adela backed up into the road, and then rolled down the street toward the stoplight.
“Music?” she said, while slipping in a CD. I recognized an early Mozart concerto, in D, and settled back into the bottom of Adela’s pocket. The next ten minutes passed in a warm, full silence, and before I knew it Adela was parked outside the clothing outlet, and locking the doors, dropping the keys into the pockets of her handbag. 

She stepped inside, and old 80s elevator jazz surrounded us. Adela whispered into her pocket, and told me she would pick out something quick, so we could move into the changing rooms. The lazy, soft drone of the music, and the heady perfume on Adela’s breast, made me feel strangely close to her. I was anxious to spend a day walking alongside her and with her, instead of inside her pocket, panties, or shoes.

Before long she had found a complete outfit for me to wear, purchased it, and walked off to find the women’s changing rooms. Once inside a stall, she set me down on the seat and spread out the change of clothes beside me. There was a pair of jeans, boxers, socks, shoes, and a t-shirt set out. The air in the stall was a little stuffy with the scent of old sweat and perfume. 
“Now shut your eyes,” she said.
“Why do I have to shut my eyes?”
She gave a slow, theatrical shrug. “You don’t. It just turns me on when you close your eyes. It's kind of cute.”
I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again I was 5’8” (my normal height), and somewhat embarrassed to be naked. 
“Ooh,” said Adela, blushing and holding her hands together. “Hurry up and get dressed so we can leave.”
I scrambled into the new clothes, and straightened out the creases in the jeans and t-shirt. Adela swung her left around my shoulder and rubbed her body against mine, possessively. “Don’t forget, Martin, this is going to be a fun day. But you’re still my slave. Remember.” On our way out the door, she pinched my side lightly between her fingers, and I drew back, stung. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, her expression somewhere between excitement and genuine apology. “I couldn’t help myself.”

When we were in the car, Adela asked me if I wanted to drive out to a diner and get some food and coffee. My head was spinning with all these new experiences, after my month as Holly’s shrunken slave: I agreed to everything, and answered all of her questions as best I could—partly because I was curious, and partly because I was just so happy to be outside the house, seeing the world and smelling the cold and balmy, leafblown air of late fall. This was my favorite time of the year, and almost anything would be better than being cooped up indoors, cleaning the house or serving my mistresses, and worrying myself too much about the other slaves, Holly’s plans, and Adela’s fantasies. 

Adela held the door for me as we passed inside the diner, and I asked the waiter for a window booth. We looked outside at the mid-morning highway traffic passing by, glinting under the sharp, cold blades of sunlight.
“I’ll have a coffee and a bagel,” I said, “with cream cheese.” I hated cream cheese. Adela ordered a coffee and a plate of waffles, and then leaned back in her chair to relax. We were going to talk.

But Adela just sat with her arms crossed on the rose, imitation-leather banquette, and now and then looked up from her placemat and smiled at me. When the coffees were delivered, she poured some cream into hers and stirred it pensively. I had nothing on my mind. At last she lifted the cup to her lips and took a long sip. Warming her cold hands on the side of the mug, she said, “Martin, I want us to be friends.”
“We aren’t friends?”
“No, I don’t think we are.”
I was strangely hurt. “Oh. I thought we were.”
“No, we weren’t, really. But I’ve always really liked you. Haven’t you always liked me?”
I gulped. The pause couldn’t last longer than two seconds, so I gave the only good answer. “Yes.”
“Uh huh.” She nodded toward my cup. “You aren’t drinking your coffee.”
“It’s still hot. I don’t like cream.”
“Ah.”
I opened up. “Adela, I like you. I did like you, I mean. Maybe I still do, but it’s different now.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I don’t think I fully understand what I mean.”
“I think I understand.” She blew over the rim of the mug, and took a long sip. “I don’t think the word ‘friend’ explains this very well.”
Adela’s socked foot was pressed against my crotch. I gave her an exasperated look, and she shot it back with a warning raise of the eyebrow.
“Just enjoy it,” she whispered across the table. “Chill the fuck out for once.”
I chilled out. She went back to her coffee, and continued rubbing.
“Where do you want to spent the afternoon? Do you just want to drive? Do you want to see a movie? Stop somewhere?”
I was close. “I…don’t know. Let’s just walk around together.”
“That sounds nice.” She grinned, stroked me smoothly, and found my dick between her toes.
The man arrived with our meal, and she stopped for a second. When he left, she started again where she left off. She started eating, and I waited for my plate to cool off, with my palms flat on the table.
“Is this humiliating for you?” she wondered.
“No,” I said. And it wasn’t. I was worried that someone else in the diner—I looked around, but couldn’t find anyone—was watching this. Someone, somewhere.
“Good. It shouldn’t be.” She redoubled the pressure, and soon I was very close.
“Not here,” I begged. “I don’t want to change.”
Adela considered for a moment with her big blue eyes, and then sighed. She passed me a napkin under the table, and I gratefully stuffed it inside my jeans. She curled her sock hard around my dick, and Wham—I exploded.
“God,” I said, and spread some cream cheese over the bagel. I wanted to smile, but held it in.
Adela was watching my face, waiting. When I finally had the courage to glance up and look at her, she was gazing out the window, with a disappointed expression. 
“Adela,” I said. She turned to me. “Thanks.”
“Not at all,” she said, and smiled. “I was serious when I said that I wanted us to be friends, Martin. I’m not a psycho.”
“I never said you were.”
“But you thought it.”
“Yes, I thought it.”
The waited brought the check, and she filled it out.
“Let’s go.” I stood up and got myself in order, sticking the tissue in my pocket, so I could toss it in the can outside. There was no way I was going to leave that shit on a plate.

Adela flung her arm around my shoulders as we walked out, and leaned in close. “That wasn’t a free lunch,” she said, and smiled puckishly. “Got it?”
"Let's get out of here," I said. 
"After you."