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It's late. I don't know how late because I don't have a working clock in my house. All I have is a plastic grandfather clock eternally set for 2:30. But it's been at least an hour since everybody went to bed. Nicole went first, glaring at me as she passed the dollhouse and whispering "Goodnight, Ray," in an icy voice. Naomi went soon after, flashing me a thin smile as she passed by me.

Paul stayed up for a while after that, watching the Honeymooners on Nick at Nite and drinking rum from a plastic Batman cup. At last, he stood up, turned off the lamp and the TV, and stumbled by the glow of the nightlight into his bedroom. When I heard his door shut, I breathed a sigh of relief and lay down on my sponge bed.

It's taken about an hour for me to relax and unwind. I've got knots in my shoulders so tight that my neck pops every time I turn my head. When this used to happen at SPECTRUM, Louise would wrap me in a hot washcloth and then gently prod my shoulders with her fingertip until the tension melted. God, I miss her so much...

Louise Herndon is the most beautiful woman I've ever known, and I love her dearly. She's in her mid-forties now, but she looks like she always has. Long, black hair and pale, smooth skin. Deep brown eyes and a smile that makes my heart pound. It's almost Oedipal, I suppose, since she's been more of a mother to me than anybody else, but I love her deeply and whole-heartedly the only way I can. I think of the days ahead without her, and I feel empty.



My "sexual awakening" (as Louise so tastefully referred to it) happened a couple of years ago, when I was 14. It wasn't a gradual thing, but rather a sudden, brutish onslaught of lust and shame. I was frightened by the ferocity of these uninvited feelings, but...

Okay. I'm trying to make it sound more poetic than it was.

The therapy session began as any other. Louise set my carrier down on the coffee table in her office. I stepped out of the case and sat down on the edge of the table, letting my legs dangle. Louise sat in a chair a few feet away. It was summer, and she was wearing a short green dress and brown leather sandals.

For some reason, the sight of her sandaled foot made my heart race and my throat go dry. I felt a nervous excitement gnawing in my belly that seemed to sink to my groin. The next thing I knew, I was sporting an erection.

She was asking me about an argument that I had had with Leslie (my math tutor), and I was trying to answer her as best I could, but my eyes kept wandering back to her foot. Her toenails were pale pink and freshly painted. She flexed her toes unconsciously as she spoke, and the sandal dangled slightly from the sole of her foot. My face was burning and I choked back a gasp as I struggled with this sudden, inexplicable lust.

"Are you okay?" she asked. I nodded and muttered something about not feeling too well. I forced myself to look away from her foot and into her eyes. I felt guilty for my mental violation and I refused to allow myself another moment of weakness. I shoved the invading thoughts from my mind and concentrated on the session at hand.

I kept myself busy throughout the evening with the extra math homework Leslie had given me and tried not to think about what had happened in Louise's office. But that night, as I lay in bed watching Letterman, I found myself unable to push the thoughts out. They crept back again and again. I closed my eyes and saw her foot, vast and beautiful. Finally I turned off the TV and dropped off into a fitful sleep.

The next day, I could hardly concentrate on my classes. I kept thinking about Louise and said a silent prayer that she would wear sandals again. I barely ate my lunch and Gary got onto me for blowing the work in the lab. But 4:00 finally came and my heart nearly burst with elations when I heard the slap of Louise's sandals on the tile floor.

It was even better this time. She kept her feet on the floor, but she slid her foot out of her sandal and toyed with it while she talked to me. I kept telling myself to look away, that she was going to figure out what I was doing, but I couldn't stop watching her toes grip the sandal strap and lift it before letting it drop back to the floor. I don't remember what she said. My answers were evasive and probably made little sense. She finally called an end to the session and took me back to my room.

I couldn't even eat my dinner because my stomach was tied in such knots. I tried to read another chapter of Pride and Prejudice, but I couldn't keep my mind on it. After reading the same paragraph over and over for an hour, I finally switched off the monitor and lay down on the bed.

I thought of her pink toenails and wondered what it would have been like to paint them. I remembered the sole of her foot and I imagined myself beneath it, watching it descend on me. My erection became so tight that it hurt. I rolled over on my stomach, without really knowing why, and thought of her toying with the sandal. I pictured myself between her toes, struggling to free myself as she wiggled them. I felt an explosion in my groin and my stomach was suddenly warm and sticky. Every muscle in my body tensed. I arched my back and raised my head as a convulsion wracked my body. I gasped and let my head fall to the pillow, exhausted and relieved.

This went on for almost two weeks. I spent the session ogling her feet and I spent my evenings fantasizing about them. I created these incredibly sordid fantasies where Louise caught me looking and punished me. I spent most of my time in these fantasies wedged between her toes or dangling from her sandal strap, while she said such inane things as "So you like feet, do you?" or "Submit to me, my little foot slave."

I'm still not sure why I brought it up in our session; maybe I was going crazy keeping it to myself, or maybe I just wanted to hear her say out loud how she would feel with me pinned beneath her foot. I was feeling pretty cagey, and I figured she was still in the dark about my petulant fantasies, so I just tried to bring up the topic as subtly as I could. I mentioned that I'd had a dream about her the night before in which she had almost stepped on me.

She asked me how long I'd been having these dreams, and I told her for a couple of weeks. She frowned, and I knew I'd given the wrong answer. She crossed her feet at the ankles and slid them under the chair as she leaned forward, and I knew my cover was blown. Of course she knew! She was a licensed therapist, for God's sake! And I was some smart ass kid trying to trick her into talking dirty to me.

Louise didn't get mad and she didn't chide me for being a little pervert. Instead, she explained to me that boys my age tended to go through a "sexual awakening" in which they experienced feelings of pleasure mixed with guilt. She also explained to me about fetishes and tried to assure me that they were completely normal, and nothing to be ashamed of.

Things eventually got back to normal, for the most part. The fantasies dimmed and eventually became no more than a piece of my nighttime routine. My sessions with Louise became less awkward as the weeks rolled by. But although she claimed otherwise, I knew I had embarrassed her to some degree because she never wore sandals in our sessions again.



A noise just outside the house awakens me. I bolt upright, and my aching neck immediately makes me regret it. I see a shadow brush by the window, and I turn away, afraid to look. Afraid that I'll see Nicole's face staring back at me.

I lie there in my bed, listening to somebody breathing outside my window. Idiotically, I feign sleep, thinking whomever it is might lose interest. Surprisingly, it works. Whoever it is moves away and walks into the living room.

For a second I lay there, my heart pounding at the close call. I hear the phone being lifted from the hook with a soft beep. Somebody dials a number. Cautiously, I climb out of bed and peek out the window. Naomi is sitting in the chair in the living room, her legs tucked beneath her, dialing the phone. She glances in my direction and I drop to the floor, praying she didn't see me.

"Hey," I hear her whisper. "It's me." A pause, then a giggle. "I know. I had to wait for everybody to go to sleep." Her voice becomes quieter and less distinct. Occasionally, she giggles and clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle it. "Quiet," she admonishes whoever is on the line. "You're gonna make me wake up Ray."

The rest of the conversation is murmurs and whispers, and when the air conditioner kicks on, I know I won't hear another word. I still watch her from the window, amazed by the smile on her face. I don't think I've seen her happy since I got here. She makes a kissing sound into the phone, then hangs up with a giggle. She glances towards the dollhouse again and I bolt away from the window and leap into my green sponge bed.

I hear her approach, the muffled footsteps of her slippers on the carpet. I lie there, forcing myself to breathe deeply and regularly, praying she can't hear the pounding of my heart.

She's right outside my window. Even with my back to her, I can feel her eyes on me. I have this urge to leap up and scream into her vast face, "Just leave me alone!" But of course, I don't. I lie there, pretending to sleep, waiting for her to walk away.

She lights a cigarette, and for about ten minutes, I hear her inhale sharply, then exhale with a deep sigh. I can smell the smoke as it wafts through my bedroom. I fight the urge to cough, afraid any signs of consciousness might encourage her to do more than watch me.

Finally, I hear her stand up with a soft grunt, and she pads back into her bedroom. It's only after I hear her shut her door that I sit up and heave a sigh of relief. Which, of course, sets me to coughing. My bedroom reeks of cigarette smoke.

I think of how Naomi acted on the phone, all giddy and giggly, afraid of getting caught. The kissing noises, the tender smile...


I think she might have a boyfriend...



I'm standing in the break room at SPECTRUM, the one where we had my birthday party. Only everything is my size. My body feels awkward, as if only barely under my control. I see the Twinkie with the extinguished candle sitting on the table... the wick is still smoking. I take a stumbling step forward.

"It looks like your wish came true!" Louise is standing on the other side of the table, smiling at me.

"What's happening?" I ask her.

"We made you normal," she says. "You're not a freak anymore, and you don't have to go live with the Daltons."

I'm filled with a strange elation as I realize that everything is going to be all right! I gaze into Louise's beautiful brown eyes and clumsily make my way towards her. Smiling, she walks towards me, her arms outstretched...

An evil giggle fills the room, and I catch a glimpse of Nicole's monstrous eye in the window.

I wake up sobbing.



It's morning. Paul left for work an hour ago, and Naomi just went into the kitchen to make breakfast. Naomi's tuneless humming is soon drowned out by the splatter-pop of bacon frying.

I'm so hungry-I haven't eaten a decent meal since I got here-but the smell of the bacon mingled with cigarette smoke makes my stomach clench. God, I'm going to starve to death if Nicole doesn't get me first.

As if on cue, Nicole comes bounding into the dining room, swinging her backpack. She drops it to the floor with a thud, "accidentally" letting it fall against my dollhouse. She stops and kneels, filling the window with her leering eye.

"Oops," she says. "I'm sorry, Ray. I hope I didn't knock any of your itty bitty things over."

I suddenly remember my dream, and the acute pang of loss I felt when I realized that's all it was. I turn from the window and clench my fists, commanding myself not to start crying again. Not now. Not in front of her.

"Don't you turn your back on me, midget," she snaps. "Get over here right now, or I'll squish you..."

My sadness and fear give way to anger. With the exhilaration of someone with nothing to lose, I whirl towards the window and shout, "Jesus, would you just fuck off and die, you bitch?"

The smile on her face falters; she jerks as if slapped, and then shouts in a voice so loud and shrill that it tears through my head. "Momma! Ray just called me some bad names!"

From the kitchen, Naomi says, "Leave Ray alone and sit down. Breakfast is almost ready."

"But Momma, he said the 'F' word and he called me the 'B' word!"

"And I'm gonna whip your 'A' word if you don't sit down right now."

Nicole glares at me through narrow eyes and I, with a feeling of gleeful abandon, flip her off. She stands up and I feel the house shake as she lays her hands on it.

"Nicole!" Naomi storms over and yanks her away from the dollhouse. "I swear to God, if you don't stay away from Ray, I'm gonna ground you 'til college! Now sit your ass down at that table right now!"

"But Momma!"

"NOW!"

Nicole sits down and sulks as Naomi slides my house away from the wall and sets my repugnant meal of egg pieces and bacon slivers down before me.

"Are you okay, Ray?" she asks, smiling that annoying patronizing smile of hers. I wish I were big enough to wipe it off her face.

"Fine," I mutter, my arms crossed. Her hand hovers, as if trying to decide whether or not to stroke me.

"You don't have to worry," she says. "Nicole won't hurt you. She's just..."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" I shout, leaping to my feet and kicking at her enormous fingers. She yanks her hand away and glares at me.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" she asks.

"Like you even care!" I grab the plate of food and throw it at her. It bounces ineffectually off her cheek and splatters all over the plastic floor of my bedroom.

"You little bastard," Naomi snaps, brushing her cheek.

"You see, Momma?" Nicole says, running over to watch. "Ray's being mean today."

"Nicole," go sit down and eat your breakfast," Naomi says. "Ray and I are going to go have a little talk."

"I've got nothing to say to you," I shout.

"Oh, we'll see about that," Naomi says. I scramble backwards as her giant hand comes towards me, but there is no escape. She grasps me between her thumb and forefinger and pulls me roughly from the safety of the dollhouse.

Instead of cradling me in her cupped palm, Naomi simply lets me dangle between her fingers as she carries me down the hall into her and Paul's bedroom. She kicks the door shut and sits down on the unmade bed.

"Okay, now," she says, holding me up. She smells of cigarettes and fried food, and her angry face is surprisingly severe without makeup. "What the hell has got into you this morning?"

"I hate this place!" I shout back at her. "I hate all of you! Why did you have to take me away from SPECTRUM? I was happy until you people came along and FUCKED EVERYTHING UP!"

"It's not gonna be so bad," she says. "Once you get used to things here, I think you'll like it better. And you gotta understand that this is just as hard for me and your daddy..."

"Just because Paul Dalton fucked my mother seventeen years ago doesn't make him my father," I shout defiantly. "And you're not my 'Momma,' so quit pretending like you are!"

Her finger and thumb pinch together fiercely, and I scream at the sudden pain. I writhe and kick in her grasp.

"Be still," she says. "You don't talk to me like that, you little shit. Do you understand me?"

I wipe at the tears in my eyes and glare at her. She pinches me again. "I said, do you understand me?"

Frustrated, helpless, and tired of feeling that way, I nod and whisper, "Yes ma'am."

"Good." She releases her grip and I drop into the palm of her other hand. "Now I don't know what kind of bug crawled up your ass, but this little tantrum of yours is over. Your daddy and me have gone through a lot of trouble for you, and I'm sick and tired of your little pissy attitude."

"Yes ma'am."

"You do it again, and you'll see how bad things can get. No more dollhouse. No more hot meals. I'll tape you up and stick you in a drawer. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

She smiles. "Good boy." She stands up and we head back to the kitchen. Just before we reach the end of the hallway, she whispers, "Now you be good, and Momma will give you a bath after breakfast."
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