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Author's Chapter Notes:
A pre-Halloween treat.
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Claire-Ysabel was sitting on her hotel room bed, width-wise. Her right leg (just as barefoot, long, and lovely as her left) placed beneath her. But, what really astounded Henry--in a good way--was her choice of sleepwear.

A pair of white panties and a T-shirt that barely reached down to it.

Nor was the T-shirt a plain white one. Instead, it had a black-and-white photo decal of Godzilla poking his head above a hilltop. With the hilltop suggestively (and, perhaps, fittingly) enhanced by Claire-Ysabel's relatively well-endowed chest!

"You like?" she asked.

"YES! I mean...yes," he replied.

And, his benefactress smiled, not failing to notice how doubly falsetto his voice had initially been.

"I take it that you're a Godzilla fan, too?" he semi-rhetorically asked.

"Only of the first generation films," she confirmed: "There was just something about him rampaging through all those city-miniatures that used to make me fantasize about doing the same thing."

The mental image of Claire-Ysable doing that to Magic City (in her Golden Girl outfit, yet!) caused his once-dormant gonads to stir for what was not only the third time, that night. But, the third time in his life!

Or, was it the fourth? Ah, frig it! Who was counting?

In any case, it was clear--from her mischievous grin--that his benefactress enjoyed the effect she was having on him. Then, suddenly, her eyebrows arched in sudden realization.

"You poor thing! I just realized...you must be hungry!"

As soon as she said this, Henry's stomach did indeed start to growl.

"You wouldn't happen to have any food handy? Would you?"

"Only some fried banana chips I got from the vending machine in the lobby."

"At my current size," he replied: "...those would be perfect."

So, Claire-Ysabel put him down on the bedspread while she got up to fetch her favorite healthy snack. When she came back to the bed, however, she not only had the bag of chips. But, also a tumbler of water and an eye-dropper!

When Henry naturally inquired what the latter was for, she replied that he was certainly too small to drink from the tumbler.

"So, I got this eye-dropper out of my first aid kit, and rinsed it out with hot water. This way, I can dip it into the tumbler. And, you can wash your food down that way, instead!"

"That's most kind of you, Claire-Ysabel."

"You're most welcome, Hank."

Thus, for the next five minutes, he dined (or, rather, gnawed) on one-and-a-half fried banana chips. Each period of gnawing broken up by sips from the eye-dropper. When he could not eat or drink anymore, he told her so. Then, they got down to the topic of sleeping arrangements.

"Of course, sleeping with me is out of the question," she said: "After all; I might toss and turn in my sleep and accidentally crush you!"

Henry chivalrously kept quiet about his enhanced powers of healing, and nodded.

"So," she continued: "I'm going to have you sleep in here."

She pointed to a spare shoe box on the night stand to the right of her bed. With her right hand, she picked Henry up and showed him its interior. The right end of the box had a small pile of talcum powder where he could perform any calls of nature that might awaken him, in the middle of the night. And, the left end of the box?

The ballet slippers she had worn earlier that evening.

"You can use one as a futon, and the other as your blanket. How's that sound, Hank?"

The tiny Texan biophysicist looked up and smiled.

"Merci beau coup, Claire-Ysabel."

She smiled back: "You're most welcome,...mon petit."

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