Over five years passed. Tarquin was now in his long summer holidays, at the end of year eight, at the age of 13 ½. He was able to move more freely with more responsibility and less supervision by his foster mother.

One day he was in a bookshop, when he saw the spine of a newly released book, and the spine bore the name: Leanne Commons.

He bought the book, took it home and read it, but found that the story had no content about giantesses at all. He did, however, find one thing on the last page, which took his breath away:

Leanne Commons is a divorcee with a three year old daughter, who lives in the English Lake District. She has written three children’s books and one adult novel…

The paragraph did not give her actual physical address, but this time included a postal address.

He laboured hard to finish his sequel story manuscript, so that he could send it to her.

One day Dillon went back through the Dew Forest and into the underground  tunnel. He walked more slowly this time, and noticed something he had missed before. There was a second tunnel forking out from the first. He decided to follow this one instead, and came out in another giant garden. He could see nothing but high plant life all around him, and decided to walk until he came to any sort of clearing.

After he’d been walking for a while, he saw an enormous hand reaching down towards him, and looked up to see a beautiful woman’s face. It looked like Merri’s only older, which looked strangely more appealing to him. It must have been her mother Mrs Waye.

“I’m in Mrs Waye’s garden,” he thought, “She’ll eat me for sure.”

He felt her elegant fingers around him, as he was lifted high into the air, to see that she was actually standing on a stretch of grass that he would soon have reached anyway.

“It’s a while since I’ve caught one of you little boys,” she said, as she began walking towards her giant house with him in her hand by her side, “My name is Mrs Waye. I’m going to cook you and have you for my dinner. I don’t have anything against you personally, but I like the taste of little boys like you more than anything else I eat, and you’ll just have to make yourself ready to be swallowed whole.”

She put him on a high shelf for the afternoon and then prepared him in her oven and took him to the table, where he noticed a glass of water and two tablets.

“I wouldn’t waste your time struggling in my tummy if I were you,” she said, “Those tablets will put me fast asleep for the whole night. I won’t feel a thing. By the morning, I expect you’ll be all gone.”

He looked across at her tummy. Adorned by her beautiful soft tight feminine clothing, it looked nice and pleasant. Yet he would soon be inside it. He remembered her use of the phrase “swallowed whole” and looked up at her neck. Then he looked further, to her eyes.

She met his gaze and brought her hand towards him. He had time to see her fingers opening. The sight was of a lovely open palm, and a thumb and fingers which reached around him and closed gently. He was lifted off his feet, up to her face, and in front of her lips. Mrs Waye opened her mouth, and he then saw her tongue come slowly out of her mouth and approach him. She licked the entire upper part of his body, and he felt her whole tongue progressively sliding over his face, before it went back into her mouth.

Dillon had not imagined how enjoyable it would feel to be eaten in this way (or in this Waye). In a few minutes, Mrs Waye would be somewhat better off than he would, but there was no harm in enjoying the process while he could.

Then something else occurred to him. There was no harm in telling her either.

“That felt wonderful, Mrs Waye. I’m Dillon,” he said.

“Thank you, young lad,” said Mrs Waye, “You’re very nice.”

She repeated the gesture a few times, and then used her tongue to draw him inside her mouth, releasing her grip on the last occasion.

“She’s actually eating me!” he thought, “and I seem to like it more than I did when Merri almost did it.”

He realised that he must have subconsciously felt that way the whole time. It was the only way he could explain his return to the tunnels from the Dew Forest in the first place. He had been glad to make friends with Merri, but the fascination had been born out of the newly introduced concept of a giantess wanting to eat him.

He lay on her tongue for a few seconds, and then found himself being gulped down her carefree indulgent throat.

As Dillon travelled slowly down towards her stomach, he felt two objects rush past him, along with some water.

“The sleeping tablets,” he thought, “She’s going straight to bed.”

Then his whole world seemed to turn sideways, and he realised that Mrs Waye was lying down. After a while, he could feel the movement of her breathing in her sleep, as her whole stomach and upper tracts moved a little each time.

He considered that she must be in a deep sleep. In fact, so confident had she been that he would not have roused her with any movements of his own, that he had an idea.

He slowly climbed along what was now a horizontal tunnel, back up her throat and into her mouth. He felt no sign of stirring from her, and was convinced that nothing would awaken her until the tablets had run their course. As he lay on her tongue, he faced still one more issue: Her mouth was closed. He remembered how he had recovered from colds and flu viruses on occasion, how the inner lining of his lungs had been traumatized, how he had needed to cough uncontrollably for weeks after the original symptoms had all gone away.

Dillon moved to the back of her tongue, leaned down and tickled the top of Mrs Waye’s throat with his hand, until he got a reaction. Without realising what she was doing, Mrs Waye coughed Dillon out of her mouth and onto the pillow in the darkness. He quickly rolled off the edge of the pillow and onto the top of the mattress. Peeking up onto the pillow, he could see nothing, and assumed that Mrs Waye was still asleep.

Dillon managed to feel his way down the blanket, which she had not tucked in, climbing it to the floor and then running out into the garden. In the dark, he would not be able to find his way back to the tunnel, as Mrs Waye’s giant legs had enabled her to walk into the house with him in a minute or so. He concealed himself in the garden. If she had not been aware of his escape, she would not be looking for him in the morning.

He slept the night outside, and woke up with the dawn. He could clearly see the lawn now, and ran to the garden area from which he had been seized the day before, and found his way back to the tunnel. He waited just on the outside of the tunnel, until he saw not Mrs Waye, but her youngest daughter Farra walking in the garden.

Dillon remembered that this girl never ate anyone without permission, and would most likely be even less likely to eat someone who had spent part of the night in her mother’s tummy.

He called out to her: “Farra!”

“Oh… Hello little boy. How did you know my name?”

“I met your sister Merri.”

“You must be Dillon. She told me about you.”

“I met your mother yesterday too. She ate me last night, but I managed to climb out of her while she was asleep. She doesn’t know.”

“She’s eaten a few boys like you, but I never heard of any coming out again before.”

“She took sleeping tablets.”

“That must be it. She’s only been using them lately.”

“I liked her mouth. It was nice being eaten by her,” said Dillon, “If I let her eat me again and again, do you think she’d let me come out each time?”

“I don’t know,” said Farra, “It’s never happened before. I could ask her for you and then come back and tell you. You’ll be safe at the tunnel. It goes into your land, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, although I don’t know how,” said Dillon, “It isn’t nearly as long as the Dew Forest, and yet it somehow comes out in another land entirely: yours.”

“I’ll go and enquire about you to mother,” said Farra.

Dillon watched the young woman walk away. Soon both Farra and her mother Mrs Waye came out and stood just in front of the tunnel.

“My daughter has explained your situation,” said Mrs Waye, “I had expected you to be gone into my tummy by now, but since you aren’t I would like to accept your proposal. I will enjoy eating you up whenever you can make it here, and I will be sure to lie down and let you climb back out afterwards.”

“Thank you!” said Dillon, who was thrilled with this new arrangement.

Even a return to Merri might not have worked out so well.

Tarquin stapled the story pages together and then wrote an accompanying letter.

Dear Mrs Commons,

When I read your story about Dillon a few years ago, I really enjoyed the chapters about the giantess who nearly ate him. I think you have a nice looking mouth, and I wish you could be a giant woman who wanted to eat me. I’m 13 ½ and I hope I would taste very nice for you. Would you like to be the giantess in your story, or was it just a story idea? I always wished that you had written some more about Dillon and the giantess. In fact, I have written a bit more about what might have happened to Dillon next, and put it in this letter for you. Here is a picture of me too.

Your admiring reader,

Tarquin.

He posted the entire package to Leanne Commons and waited for her reply. Within a week, he received a letter in the post.

Dear Tarquin,

I was delighted to receive your lovely letter. I would not have developed the giantess plot line of my story at that stage, as I was not aware of anyone who reciprocated my feelings. I would indeed like to be a giantess and eat a little boy, especially one like you. You look so sweet and handsome and delicious. I very much enjoyed the way you have extrapolated on my story, and I would like to continue you it with you in tandem. If we ever found someone willing to publish it, you could share the authorship with me.

More than that, I would like very much to meet you. You would find that the English Lake District where I live is very much the scenery on which I based the area in and around Merri’s garden. I have written down the name of the nearest station where I could meet you, and my telephone number, and left you some money to buy a train ticket. Would you like to come and stay here for a few days?

Love,

Leanne.

P.S. I have attached some more of the story, which I have written to continue on from where yours left off.