Change for a Twenty

06/05/2019

Change for a Twenty-Two

by D.X. Machina

I suppose I should start with an introduction.

My name is Scott Chelgren.

I'm a twenty-two year old junior at the University of Minnesota.

Now, I know what you're thinking--I'm a slacker. Well, you're right.

I've been in college for four years, and with any luck, I'll be in

college for another four. I believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that

college is far better than the real world. Even on a bad day.

Which, I should note, I was having last Tuesday.

Now, I don't mean to bitch--after all, I am still a college

student by choice--but sometimes, when you're in the middle of the run to

finals and you have three papers and two tests and a lab exam all in a

three day period, you can get sort of, well, grumpy. And I was

definitely grumpy last Tuesday.

It was a beautiful spring day. One of the nice things about the

U is the fact that we get out in June, and are able to enjoy at least one

week of spring before we go home for the summer, and work ourselves to

death. But I digress.

The beauty of the spring day only heightened my misery. I had a

test in Psych that I had to study for, and I hadn't even started my Poli

Sci paper that was due, oh, Wednesday. So I sat on a bench outside of

Wilson Library, trying to decide what to do, and trying to spend as much

time deciding as possible.

As I was trying to decide, I flipped through a book I had bought

the other day, one on "Magick." I found the book humorous, and I was

having great fun with the spells listed therein.

I came across a spell called, simply, "Change." Its description

was short and sweet--"Creates a change in the life of the incanter."

Wow, pretty impressive. And pretty hard to disprove. Still, as I stared

at the spell, I found myself mumbling the words under my breath. I

chuckled as I finished--a change would do me good, I thought.

* * *

A few hours later I found myself sitting in Coffman Union,

forcing myself to read _Telling_Lies_ by Paul Ekman. It was a good

enough book, and an interesting study, but I wouldn't have been reading

it, had I not had to for Psych.

As I was reading, I noticed a pretty girl at the information

desk. I say girl not because I mean to put her down, but because I mean

to be precise. She was obviously a PSEO student--a high school student

who takes college classes free of charge. She was probably a Junior,

with her brown hair done up in a pony tail, and a short little skirt that

showed off her legs nicely. Pretty.

Suddenly, the world seemed to drop into second gear. I swear,

things slowed down dramatically. I felt like I usually do after I've

been up 36 hours straight--only more so. The comfortable chair I sat in

seemed to lift up, and smooth out. It was a wonderful, relaxing, perfect

feeling. Then, as abruptly as it hit me, it was gone.

It took me three beats to come back to reality, then another

three to recognize that "reality" was not an exact term.

First of all, I was lying down. That's not a bad position to be

in, except for the fact that moments before I had been sitting down, and

they hadn't installed cots in Coffman anyhow. (That would have required

spending some money on students.)

Second, I was lying on some sort of odd, large, rubbery plain,

which curved off and upward to dizzying heights, in an oddly familiar way.

Third, and probably most important, that pretty PSEO student was

heading right for me, but seemed not to notice me at all. Of course,

that made some sense. After all, she was about four hundred feet tall.

One. Two. Three. Oh my God.

She walked with incredible grace, I thought. Of course, that a

being of her size was able to walk with grace was, in and of itself,

incredible. She stopped directly in front of the plain, just a few yards

from the edge. I had a knee-level view. She had lovely knees. I looked

up at her. Had she seen me? No. She was fumbling with her backpack,

undoubtedly looking for notes, or a book, or something. I watched her

turn, and then, watched in horror, as she began to sit down.

As I watched her actions, things were clicking into place. I

realized that she wasn't a giant. I had shrunk somehow, and I was still

on the soft, swayback chair I had been sitting in before. This was good

in one respect--I hadn't gone anywhere, I was still right on campus. But

it was bad in another, more immediate respect. The seatback flowed

seamlessly into the seat itself. I had nowhere to run.

Nevertheless, I ran backwards, out of sheer instinct. I reached

the back of the seat as her seat landed in front of me, shaking the chair

with the force of an earthquake. She scooted back, her derierre closing

quickly, until I found myself pinned between the chair and the bottom of

a giant 17-year-old. Not entirely an unpleasant situation, mind you, but

certainly, a cause for alarm.

At first, I tried calling for help. It seemed not an unreasonable

thing to do. After all, the girl was settling in to the chair, and

while she was not heavier than any other girl her age, she was a bit

bigger than I.

"Hey," I said, not really knowing what to say. "Hey, I'm down

he--ooof!" The girl slid back a little bit further, knocking the wind

out of me. "Hmm...maybe she doesn't like short guys," I thought to

myself, trying to figure out a way out of my predicament. The thought

did cross my mind that, if I had to go, this was probably the way to do

it, but I resolved not to give up too quickly.

Moving to the left or right was impossible. Believe me, I tried

it, it wasn't going to happen. Going forward was right out. Out of

desparation, I tried to wiggle my way up--and to my suprise, succeeded.

By grasping and clawing and kicking, I managed to get to the waistband of

her skirt, and some small measure of breathing room.

I was out of danger, at least for the moment, and could start to

deal with the situation. I decided that, as long as my life wasn't in

imminent danger, I should avoid drawing attention to myself. After all,

the last thing I needed was for this girl to see me, freak out, and stomp

me to death. What I needed to do was get myself to safety, and try to

plot a course of action from there. It was a good short-term plan, if I

do say so myself.

With the extra room, I was able to slowly inch my way around her

waist, until I had reached her right leg. Here, I was able to get a

good, long look at the giantess.

I stared up her body, drinking in its sheer scope. She wore one

of those light summer blouses, and a short, pleated skirt. My gaze

wandered up her stomach, to her immense breasts (well, immense from my

perspective. They were probably only B cups.) Her face was partially

obscured by her breasts, and partially obscured by the book she read

(Plato's _Republic_, I noticed.), but those features that I could make

out were tremendously beautiful. Slowly, I turned, and looked out over

her vast legs. The dress ended eighteen feet before her knees, which

were crossed, right over left. Cautiously, I crept to the edge of her

skirt. I could see, far below me, her feet, which were bound in a nice

pair of sandals. When I had seen her before, she had been pretty. Now,

she was a goddess, far and away the most perfect being I had laid eyes on.

My reverie was abruptly broken. I heard a loud bang, like a gun

shot. I wheeled, and noticed her tucking her book in her backpack.

Suddenly, the floor dropped out from in under me, as the girl uncrossed

her legs. Then, the floor abruptly became a wall, as the girl stood up.

I slid to the hem of her dress, and reached, blindly. Providence was on

my side, as I caught hold of a tiny length of loose string, not more than

two feet's worth. I watched in fascinated horror as the legs I had been

admiring moments ago began to walk away at seemingly hundreds of miles an

hour. With each step, I came within inches of being struck by her

powerful right leg. I quickly came to a realization--wherever she was

going, I was going, too.

We continued along in this fashion for some time--her, walking

normally; me, clinging for dear life to what was, in reality, a half inch

length of lose string. I hoped that someone might spy me. After all, I

was hanging from the edge of her skirt, and I had no doubt that more than

one male on campus had checked her legs out. Still, nobody stopped her,

and we continued on until we reached her car.

Let me say now, I have no clue what type of car it was. I think

it was red. As the girl stopped, and fumbled in her purse for her keys,

I pulled myself up to the hem of her skirt itself. Quickly, she slid

into the driver's seat, and I leapt for freedom. Fortunately, her car

had a bench seat. I realized, later, that I could have been leaping to

my death.

As it was, however, I inched slowly away from the girl, towards

her purse and backpack, which she had dropped on the passenger side. I

decided again that my best bet was to stay hidden, and try to figure out

what had happened to me. I decided that, if I could stay with this girl

for a day or two, I could return to campus when she went to her next

class, and with luck, get in touch with a friend, someone who I could

trust. Of course, it would be a rough two days, but I decided I could

handle it. I'd been shrunk for about forty-five minutes, what did I know?

As we pulled out on to the open road, I decided to get some

information about my unwitting host. Fortunately, her purse lay sideways

on the seat, its zipper slightly open. I was easily able to slide in,

and have a look around. It was crammed full of stuff--kleenex, makeup,

gum, and the item I was looking for, a wallet. With some difficulty, I

slid myself inside the wallet, until I was looking at the girls' driver's

license.

It may seem odd, but it was at that moment that it really hit

me. The window for her picture was as big as I was. Letters on the I.D.

were over a foot high. It was incredibly real, more even than the girl

had been.

With a bit of effort, I finally learned the girl's name: Sarah

Jeanne Kensington, of Apple Valley. I discovered that I had guessed

wrong. She wasn't seventeen. She was sixteen. But she was turning

seventeen the next day. "And I haven't even gotten her a present yet," I

mused, extracating myself from the wallet. I had almost reached the

zipper, when, with a violent jerk, the purse was launched into the air.

"Stupid!" I cursed, as I tumbled to the bottom of the handbag,

along with everything else. I was fortunate that I fell into a wad of

Kleenex, or else I may have been killed by an eighteen foot tall lipstick

container. As it was, I was shaken, but not hurt. I was getting

slightly seasick, however, as the purse slowly swayed in rhythm with

Sarah's steps. I tried to figure out where I was, but muffled sounds

were all I got. Then, abruptly, the zipper was pulled open, and I saw

Sarah's hand, dropping a huge set of keys at me. Had she been slightly

more to the left, I would have been impaled.

I was beginning to suspect that surviving for two days might not

be so easy after all.

* * *

Not long thereafter, Sarah put the purse down, and left it there

for a few hours.

I'm not going to bore you with a description of those hours.

Trust me, it was boring enough for me. After being in near constant

peril, this relative safety was maddeningly dull. Finally, out of sheer

despiration for something to do, I decided to climb out.

This wasn't easy. Fortunately, her hairbrush was leaning against

the side, giving me something I could climb on. I made it to about eight

feet from the top, and then pulled myself up using the fabric that lined

her purse. At last, I had made it to freedom, such as it was.

I was on a nightstand, which I assumed was Sarah's. I could tell

by the sixteen-foot tall clock that towered over me. Otherwise, the room

was dark. I looked to the bed, wondering if Sarah had gone to sleep yet,

but it was empty.

Quickly, I decided that I had made something of a mistake by

escaping the purse. Out on the nightstand, I could be easily spotted. I

needed to find a place to hide--but where? I realized instantly that I

should hide on the bed.

Fortunately, the distance from nightstand to bed was only a

couple of feet. I got a running start, and lept across the gap--and

almost halfway across the bed. "Wow," I said, realizing I'd jumped an

incredible distance. "Now I know how a grasshopper feels," I muttered,

looking for a place to hide. Fortunately, the bed was unmade (God bless

teenagers!) and I quickly scurryed to a spot under the sheets and

blanket. I laid down (after all, I was in bed), and quickly fell asleep

due to the exhaustion.

I had rested for what seemed like only moments, when suddenly, a

bright light started shining. I woke fitfully, and peered out from my

hiding place, only to see Sarah reaching under her pillow.

I stepped out just a bit, to get a better view. She was pulling

out her nightshirt, and getting ready for bed. With her back to me, I saw

her undo the buttons on her skirt, and watched it fall to the floor.

Next, I watched her pull her blouse off, and turn towards me as she

removed her bra.

She was like a statue of beauty. Rodin couldn't have sculpted

anything finer, and I couldn't imagine anything more perfect, than this

sixteen, almost seventeen year old girl, wearing only her panties,

standing in splendor. I was disappointed when she pulled the nightshirt

on, but I was caught by suprise when she suddenly grabbed the covers I

was hiding under, and swung her legs under them.

Within moments, I was in complete darkness, far beneath the

covers of her bed. I could feel her warmth, radiating in all

directions. I could feel each move she made as she tried to get

comfortable. But most amazing, I could smell her scent, a warm, inviting

fragrance, that I found made me want to have my way with her (ha!). As

the moments passed, I could hear her breating slow, and I dared approach

her body.

I found myself all the way down at the foot of the bed, and at

the feet of this creature. I had never been a foot fetishist, but

something about her feet drew me near. I touched her little toe, itself

a couple of feet long. I realized, as I did this, that it was the first

time I had touched her. I recoiled quickly, afraid that she'd notice

me. Fortunately, nothing happened. I began, slowly, to walk along the

length of her legs. She was lying on her side, facing me,

I realized immediately when I reached her midsection. Her scent

had become powerful, and nearly irresistable. I could feel the heat she

radiated, and I longed to move closer to it. Instead, I consoled myself

by touching her panties, and imagining, briefly, what it would be like to

be inside them.

I continued up for a ways, but it wasn't until I had almost

reached her breasts that I realized I had wandered inside her

nightshirt. I hadn't meant to, honest, but there I was, and I decided it

was going to be easier to go out the top than the bottom.

Her breasts stretched the nightshirt. I caressed her right one,

not worrying about whether she would wake up. Slowly, I eased myself

over to her nipple, and had just started to play with it, when she rolled

over on to her back. I was thrown into the valley between her breasts.

I almost panicked, and made a run for it, but I stopped with the

realization that, if Sarah had awoken, and found me, there was nothing I

could do about it, and besides, it didn't seem she was awake. I lay

there for a few minutes, feeling her chest rise and fall with each

breath. Then, slowly and carefully, I walked out of her collar.

I slid down her neck on the left side, and found myself sharing

Sarah's pillow. I could see her features illuminated by moonlight, and I

was stunned at how beautiful her face was, how clear her skin, even up

close, even at my size. Again, Sarah rolled over, this time on to her

left side, again, facing me.

"Well, Sarah, it's been a long, hard day," I said, drinking in

her warm breath. "I think I'm going to bed now. Good night, and happy

birthday." I was about to jump off the pillow, but abruptly ran instead

to her face. Her lips were in reach; standing on tiptoe, I gave her a

quick good-night kiss. Then, hurrying, I jumped from the pillow, and took

haven in the relatively safe corner of her bed. As I dropped off to

sleep, I had a lot to think about. I wasn't sure what had happened to

me, wasn't sure I could ever get back to my real size, but for the

moment, I didn't care. This change had done me good so far. I waited

anxiously for what tomorrow would bring.

My alarm went off way, way too early.

It was Wednesday, and I didn't have class until noon. I never

got up for my noon class before 11:45. And yet my alarm was going off,

and it felt very, very early. I reached for the snooze button, and found

myself hitting the ground with my palm.

Something was wrong.

I heard a huge sigh from off to my right.

That was significant, I thought.

Slowly, slowly, as if downloading Netscape at 12:04 in the

afternoon, my mind tried to make sense of its surroundings. Suddenly, a

memory clicked. Then another. Then another. And inside of a second, I

was standing bolt upright, looking with trepidation at the giantess who lay

next to me.

Sarah was waking up slowly. She lay on her back now, her eyes

closed. I could read in her face the eternal debate: get up and face the

day, or hit snooze and get that extra five minutes of sleep? She opted

for the latter, bringing her right arm down with a tremendous force on

the distant clock radio. This cycle repeated itself twice more.

No doubt about it, she was my kind of girl. I've been known to

spend the better part of the day hitting the snooze alarm.

I believe it was in Sarah's mind to sleep the whole day; it was

not to be, however. A quick sequence of three sonic booms sounded,

followed by a heavily distorted voice, calling, "SARAH, GET UP! YOU'LL

BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!"

The giantess groaned, and then shouted (and boy, could she

shout!), "OKAY MOM MMMFFF." The "mmmfff" was the sound she made when

completing her sentence. With the energy of a sloth, she slowly got up.

I, meanwhile, had hunkered down just inside her pillowcase. I

didn't have a good view, but at least I was temporarily safe from being

discovered. Presently, the lights snapped on, temporarily blinding me,

and from the sound of it, Sarah. I heard and felt her get out of bed,

and cautiously peeked around the edge of the case.

She was at her dresser, pulling out some clothes. She grabbed

them, and walked out the door, leaving the room empty.

I was glad of this opportunity, as I was, at that moment, aware

that I needed to take care of some personal business.

I hadn't really thought about this eventuality; indeed, I had to

admit, I hadn't really thought much through about this whole situation.

I was embarrassed by my need, and thought briefly about trying to make it

to the restroom of the Kensington family, only to realize that, at my

size, it was probably at least a ten minute trek. And even if I made it,

how would I reach the toilet? And what if someone came in? No, I'd have

to relieve myself here.

I decided to go in the corner behind Sarah's bed, where

hopefully, I wouldn't be noticed. I slid down covers buried next to the

wall, and found myself traveling very, very fast. I needn't have

worried, however; I hit the ground hard, but bounced up fine. I think my

lack of mass helped me.

After attending to my needs, I set out towards open territory.

That was easier said than done, as the area beneath the bed was crammed

full of stuff, from shoes, to clothes, to books, to paper. I found

Sarah's delicious scent permeated the area, and I hoped I would find my

way out in time to see her.

I wasn't disappointed. Just as I reached her bed ruffle, Sarah

returned. And once more, it was my chance to be stunned.

I had not yet seen her from floor level. She stood hundreds of

feet tall, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Gods, she was beautiful.

And I was hungry. It had been over fourteen hours since I had

last eaten, and I was beginning to think a bowl of cereal sounded good.

However, I knew the kitchen was probably a good hour's walk, and even

were I to get there, the counter would tower over my head. I was going

to need some help.

Help arrived in the form of Sarah's backpack. The hangar-sized

back sat on the floor, where I could easily reach it. With luck, Sarah

would put it on before she grabbed breakfast. Then, I could leap to the

kitchen counter, and make myself a meal. It seemed like a good enough plan.

Of course, my plans had been failing with awesome regularity.

Sarah did pick up her bag, just as I reached the first zipper. But

rather than head for the kitchen, she headed out the front door, at warp

speed. It looked like I was going to school.

* * *

It was a warm day. Had it been cool, I would have stayed in the

car. After all, while it was boring, and offered no hope of food, it was

safe. However, it was warm out, and for the same reason you don't leave

your dog in the car in the summer, I didn't want to stay in the car

myself. So I rode with Sarah, into the school, hoping that I would be

safe, realizing that I would be facing thousands of skyscraper-size

teenagers.

As Sarah walked towards the school, I saw other students walking

as well. It was the first time I had really seen any other giants, and

it was amazing. Sarah had been imposing and amazing, but to see hundreds

of people, all Sarah's size...it was overwhelming. I realized quickly

that I had better stay close to Sarah, lest I get trampled.

Sarah went straight to her first class, without even stopping at

her locker. She pulled some books out of the backpack, but luckily,

didn't spot me, as I hid under a flap of fabric. The bag quickly went

under her desk.

Hunger drove me on. I watched giant after giant pile into the

room; one of them was bound to have something edible on them. I waited

until people started to settle, and carefully crept away from Sarah's desk.

My first stop was the desk behind Sarah. I saw an enormous pair

of Nikes, bobby socks encasing perfect legs, which flowed into the

pleated skirt of a cheerleader. She shifted, and I sighed. She was

pretty, almost as pretty as Sarah, and I'd always had a thing for

cheerleaders...but I wasn't looking for that right now.

I found what I was looking for moments later. Sitting atop the

stack of books under her chair was a half-eaten Nutri-Grain bar. Not my

favorite, but good enough for the moment. I dug into the strawberry

filling and ate hungrily, knowing well that I might not eat for a while.

I was thinking that when, suddenly, a huge hand reached for the bar. It

felt around blindly, knocking me down inadvertently. I felt as if I had

been gang-tackled by sumo wrestlers, and wanted nothing more than to stay

down, and rest, and let the ringing in my ears subside....

The ringing abruptly started again. I sat up, and regretted

it--that is to say, my head regretted it. I had been knocked out. But

why was I moving?

I realized why presently. The pile of books I was sitting on had

been picked up by its owner, and I had no time to react, as she pressed

them to her ample bosom, while she tried to get organized.

I was pinned between a History textbook and two enormous breasts,

bigger than Sarah's, certainly. Aside from not being able to breathe, it

was a pleasant feeling. But I knew right away I had made a critical error.

I had lost track of Sarah.

* * *

I clung to the front of a cheerleader's sweater, which was an

interesting way to view the world. With every step, I was bounced to and

fro--and it was beginning to lose its novelty. At least the girl had put

the books away in her locker, and I was no longer pinned. Now, I waited

to see where we were bound for next.

We entered a room that didn't look like a classroom. Indeed, it

took me a few moments to figure out exactly what it was. Titanic

structures stood in rows, with benches situated between them.

A locker room. Interesting.

As I was pondering the significance of this latest development, I

suddenly found myself moving rapidly upward, as the cheerleader pulled

her sweater off, then rapidly downwards, as she carelessly dropped it on

the bench.

I decided immediately that I did not want to get locked in a

girl's gym locker, even for an hour, so I did the logical thing--I ran.

Of course, I realized momentarily that running was only so useful. Sure,

I got out from inside the sweater, but I was a good hundred and fifty

feet above the floor, and somehow, I didn't think jumping that would be a

good idea. I sighed. As usual, I was going to require assistance. And

asking for it was right out.

I turned to face the cheerleader. She was pulling on a pair of

shorts. I was considering whether to head back towards her and take my

chances, when suddenly, the world went dark.

I groaned. This was turning out to be an annoying day.

It took me but a moment to realize I had been covered by some

sort of fabric, probably clothing of some sort or another. I struggled

to free myself, but found myself more thoroughly lost than before.

Finally, I found my way to the edge of the clothing, and was just about

to step out, when I found myself being lifted up. I got a brief glimpse

of the face of a young, red-hared girl, before I found myself lounging

between two breasts in the twilight of a sportbra.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am as awed by the sight of two

monstrous mammaries as the next guy, and I was awed at that moment, but I

couldn't help but think of one thing.

Gym class was coming up.

* * *

Perhaps the less said of the next hour the better. Needless to

say, I will never look upon breasts the same, after spending an hour

between them during a heavy-duty athletic contest, which I think was

probably volleyball.

When my accidental captor finally removed her bra, I was

jubilant. When she set it on the bench, I felt like jumping for joy. I

quickly exited stage left, and as I did, realized I had run into a very

large pair of jeans. I was about to turn, when suddenly, the jeans were

picked up, wadded, and unceremoniously dumped in a gym locker. I found

my way out, just in time to have a t-shirt, panties, socks, and a pair of

shoes dropped in as well. Then, before I could escape, I watched in

horror as the door to the locker closed. I could see, through the

lattice opening, a pretty girl, probably Korean, wearing a one-piece

black bathing suit. I watched as she walked away from the locker. And I

realized that I was stuck in the locker room for another hour. Argh.

I spent the next hour doing the only thing I really was able

do, namely, go through the girl's personal effects. It was enough

exploring for hours, if I had had hours to spend. I didn't really pay

attention to how much time I had, which, I suppose, is why I found myself

exploring the girl's panties when she returned.

She must have been in an awfully big hurry to get to her next

class. I say that because she never noticed me as she pulled her

unmentionables on, or as she pulled her jeans on over those, or as she

tucked her shirt in. I noticed her, however.

It was dark, humid. The smell of chlorine lingered, but it was

secondary to the warm scent of this girl. Strange, it was different from

Sarah's. Not worse or better, just different. I felt her hair rub

against me.

I don't know what the girl was feeling, but I know she felt

something. I felt her muscles move, subtly. I felt her contract, and

release, slightly. As she sat down, I was pushed hard against her. I

struggled to breathe....

Suddenly, a tidal wave gushed out of her, pushing me away. It

was probably only a mini-orgasm, but it felt...incredible. I sat there

for a while, unmoving, basking in the moment. I touched her gently,

wondering if I should try for more, but decided against it. I had to avoid

being found. There was no way to know how this girl would react should she

find me in her panties, but I feared her reaction would not be pleasant.

As it turned out, I didn't have long to wait. The girl stood up,

and was on the move, probably to a rest room. I knew I would have to

time things well, so I moved myself to the elastic border, and held on

tightly.

The jeans came off, and then the panties. I swung over the edge

of the elastic, and, when the panties reached knee-level, dropped the

rest of the way into the soft cushion of the jeans. Quickly, I clambered

down the inside of one pant leg, down her right shoe, and away to

freedom.

It was about a half-hour walk to the door of the girls'

restroom. Before I even made it out of the stall, the girl was washing

up and leaving. Then, I was alone for quite some time, moving steadily

along the institutional tile, heading for a five hundred foot tall door.

I was tired, demoralized, and downhearted. I had lost track of

Sarah, and with her, the only sure way of getting back to campus. I had

been in intimate company with four women in the last twelve hours, none

of whom had even noticed me. And now, here I was, one inch tall, trying

to leave the girls' bathroom for--where? Where was I to go?

It wasn't even lunch time yet.

But in the darkest hour, there is usually a light. As I trudged

despondently towards the door, a girl entered, wearing sandals, shorts,

and a white t-shirt. She was checking herself in the mirror, and fixing

her make-up. My path to the door took me right by her, and I tried to

hide as best I could.

The girl was fumbling with her lipstick. Then, suddenly, the

stick slipped from her fingers and fell towards me. I had barely a

moment to throw myself out of the way, lest I be crushed. I got up and

dusted myself off. I wasn't hurt. Then, I looked up.

The girl was staring at me, mouth agape, eyes wide. It was

Sarah. She had found me.

Well, at least I'd solved one problem.

 

I have found that there is often a light at the end of the

tunnel, and that light is usually a train. I needed to find Sarah, and I

had found her. Unfortunately, she had also found me, and I trembled in

fear. After all, she stood over four hundred feet tall, and could do

with me what she wanted.

At the moment, she merely stared, incredulously, at me. She

blinked her beautiful brown eyes more than once, trying to reconcile the

obvious impossibility of my existance. Finally, she reacted.

"WHO--WHAT ARE YOU?" she asked. Her voice boomed, although I'm

sure she was speaking softly.

"My name is Scott. I've been shrunk," I replied,

matter-of-factly. She appeared to catch about every third word I had

said, but her eyes grew wider as she realized I was speaking.

She looked up, and seeing nobody, said simply, "HANG ON."

Deftly, she plucked me from the ground between her thumb and index

finger. It was like a rocket taking off. The next thing I knew, I was

hundreds of feet in the air, in the palm of Sarah's hand.

She smiled, slightly. "YOU'RE SO SMALL! IT'S INCREDIBLE!"

Just then, the door to the bathroom opened. Sarah reacted

quicky, balling her hand into a fist, but being careful not to crush me.

I felt us move quickly, though where to I wasn't sure. When finally I

saw daylight again, it was by an enormous locker.

"I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND, I JUST DON'T WANT ANYONE TO FIND YOU,"

said Sarah seriously. With that, she tucked me into the pocket of her

shorts. I sat in that pocket for some time, not noticing the swaying, or

anything uncomfortable. I was light as air. Sarah had found me, and she

was trying to protect me. At least, it seemed that way. I felt her

thigh dust up against the pocket, and sighed. I hoped this was a good

thing. I really wanted it to be.

* * *

I stayed in her pocket for about an hour at a time; Sarah would

take me out surreptitiously between classes, to chek my contition. It

was for brief moments, just a visual check. I would smile and wave, and

each time, she let out a sigh of relief. Finally, I heard a car door

open, and was lifted once again from her pocket to her face. She slid

into the driver's seat, and held me in her palm. "I'M SORRY," she said,

seriously. "I HOPE I DIDN'T SCARE YOU. I WANT TO HELP YOU, SCOTT."

With that, she tousled my hair ever-so-gently with her left pinky. "STAY

IN HERE FOR NOW, WE'LL TALK WHEN WE GET BACK TO MY HOUSE." She carefully

set me in her cupholder. It wasn't perfect, but compared to my previous

modes of transportation, it was incredibly safe.

We arrived at her house, and she carried me directly to her

room. Setting me on her desk, she leaned her head down right next to

me. "NOW TELL ME, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?" she asked.

So I told her--leaving out certain extraneous material, like

getting lost in her bed, or finding a few other giantesses at her

school. When I finished, she seemed near tears. "MY GOD...YOU REALLY

THINK I'M BEAUTIFUL?"

Okay, I let that slip. Well, sue me, she was beautiful--is

beautiful--will always be beautiful. If I was going to lie about what

happened to me in the locker room, or how I got to the bathroom, I sure

wasn't going to lie about Sarah. Sitting on her desk, watching her

perfect, titanic face react to my story with interest...I knew I loved

her.

"You are beautiful!" I cried. "If only you could see yourself

from my viewpoint!" She blushed. "FLATTERER. YOU KNOW I'D HELP YOU

ANYHOW."

"I know," I said. "That's why you're beautiful." No sooner had

I spoken those words than I was knocked flat on my back. She was kissing

me, with incredible force, though it was only a peck. "THANK YOU." she

said, quietly. She seemed about to say something more, but thought

better of it. "I'LL GO GET SOME FOOD, YOU MUST BE HUNGRY."

* * *

The next few days are something of a blur. Sarah was doing

everything she could and more to help me. She fed me. She clothed me

(as best she could--I was small even for doll clothes, but I was able to

make use out of the scraps of fabric she brought). She even figured out

a way I could tend to personal matters, well, personally. (You'll

forgive me if I don't go into detail--I don't have a Swiftian interest in

scatology). As rough as my first day had been, the next were almost

boring--almost, save for Sarah.

We decided early that there was no reason for me to return to

campus. I had no idea what had shrunk me, and going back there wasn't

going to get me to safety. Sarah asked me to stay with her, and I

happily accepted.

It wasn't easy. After all, she was hiding me from her parents,

and her two younger sisters (Karen, a cute 14-year-old with Sarah's dark

brown eyes; and Susi, a 6-year-old would probably inflict bodily harm on

me without thinking). And that made for cramped quarters, if not

physically, than psychologically. I slept in her Barbie dollhouse, which

was still twelve times too large for me (although it was much easier to

navigate a house designed for seventy foot tall people, as opposed to

four hundred foot tall people.) That meant I had an unobstructed view of

Sarah whenever she was in the room--fine for me, but not so good for

her. It came to a head one night.

It was about two in the morning, and we had both gone to sleep

hours before. I awoke, and heard a loud moaning coming from Sarah's

direction. I looked out the window, and saw Sarah caressing herself.

Now, I've never gotten off on watching women masturbate. Oh, it's fine

sport, and better than football any day, but it just never did the job

for me. Of course, the women I'd seen do it weren't four hundred feet

tall.

It was exquisite torture, watching her. I wanted desperately to

tear my eyes away, to give her her privacy, but I couldn't bear to.

Then, disaster struck. I was leaning against the plastic window, which

suddenly popped loose. I fell forward, and just barely caught the edge

of the windowsill. I found myself hanging from a window on the top floor

of Barbie's dream mansion. Worse yet, the plastic pane had bounced off

the table below. A small matter, to be sure, but it caught Sarah's

attention.

That was not good.

She was upon me in a second. For the first time, I feared her.

Her eyes were filled with a blend of rage and embarrassment. She held me

between her thumb and forefinger, and with a stage whisper loud enough to

ring my ears, said simply, "ENJOYING THE VIEW, LITTLE MAN?"

I looked down in shame. What was I doing? I was peeping on a

seventeen year old who had done nothing more than relieve herself of some

tension in her own bedroom. She deserved better.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying, and failing, to say it loudly. I

was near tears, and not in fear for my life or safety, but in anger and

frustration at what I had done.

There was a long, deep pause. Then, Sarah. "I KNOW YOU ARE,

SCOTT. IT'S OKAY. I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT YOU, I SHOULDN'T HAVE

DONE THAT AROUND YOU."

"No!" I cried. "You did nothing wrong. You deserve privacy.

You deserve to be able to live your life without worrying about me."

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?"

"Maybe you should get rid of me. I could go public. Hell, I

could write a book, sell the rights. With that money, I could hire a

caretaker...."

"YOU DON'T WANT TO STAY WITH ME?" Her eyes were filling with

tears.

"Yes, I do! More than anything, I want to stay here. But not if

it will cause you pain. Not if it will hurt you."

Sarah sat down on her bed, and gathered her knees up. She set me

on the right one, a little below eye level. I could smell the scent of

her arousal. It was powerful. I struggled with my composure.

"SCOTT, TAKING CARE OF YOU DOESN'T BOTHER ME. NOT AT ALL. AND

YOU DON'T CAUSE ME PAIN, SO STOP PLAYING THE MARTYR. I LIKE YOU. I WANT

YOU TO BE WITH ME." She sighed, the air rushing by me, carrying the

sweet scent of her breath through me. "YOU KNOW IF YOU EVER WENT PUBLIC,

THE DOCTORS WOULD GET YOU. YOU'D NEVER BE ABLE TO LIVE ANYTHING LIKE A

NORMAL LIFE. YOU'D NEVER BE ABLE TO HAVE FRIENDS. YOU'D NEVER BE ABLE

TO LOVE."

There was a grand pause; Sarah was right, I was playing the

martyr. And as much as I said I should go, there was nowhere--shrunk or

grown--I would rather be. "Sarah," I said, "...," I said. Nothing came

out. No words seemed big enough.

"SCOTT, THERE'S SOMETHING I WANT TO ASK YOU. WOULD YOU, UM...."

She was blushing. I could tell, even in the dark of the night,

by the heat that radiated from her face. "What, Sarah?"

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO, UM, DATE? I MEAN...GO STEADY, SOMETHING LIKE

THAT?" I could tell she was nervous. She had no need to be.

"Precious woman, I would like nothing more. I...I love you. And I

want to be your boyfriend, if you'll have me."

And without warning, Sarah bent down and kissed me. Not a quick

peck like before, either, but a long, lingering kiss which bathed me in

her breath and massaged me with her lips. I tried my best to return it,

stroking her lips with my hands and legs. When she was done, she backed

away--only slightly--and smiled.

"SCOTT, I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WHERE I HAD

SOME CONTROL. SO MANY GUYS, THEY USE THEIR SIZE AND STRENGTH TO

DOMINATE. MY BEST FRIEND WAS RAPED LAST YEAR. ANOTHER FRIEND OF MINE

HAD TO CALL THE COPS ON HER 'BOYFRIEND.' SO WHEN I FOUND YOU, I THOUGHT

OF YOU AS SOMEONE I COULD DOMINATE, SOMEONE WHO COULD NEVER BEAT ME UP.

"BUT I'VE GOTTEN TO KNOW YOU, SCOTT, AND YOU WOULDN'T BEAT ME

UP--NOT IF YOU WERE SEVEN FEET TALL. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I WOULDN'T

HAVE ASKED YOU TO BE MY BOYFRIEND IF THAT WASN'T TRUE, AND I WOULDN'T

HAVE FORCED YOU HAD YOU SAID NO. I LOVE YOU, AND IT'S BECAUSE OF WHO YOU

ARE. NOT YOUR SIZE, OR ANYTHING ELSE, BUT YOU."

Nothing she said could have made me feel better, nothing she

could have done could have warmed me more quickly to the core. I started

to reply, but she simply put one finger to her lips. "SHHH. TIME FOR

SLEEP. I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT ME, SCOTT. I KNOW YOU FEEL LIKE I

DO." She stretched out, and pulled the covers up. Then, she set me down

next to her on the pillow, and looked over at me. "GOOD NIGHT," she said.

I got up, and ever-so-carefully kissed her on her cheek. "Good

night, my love," I said, and went to sleep.

 

* * *

Eliot said it best: "There will be time, there will be time."

What, you were expecting a wild, wet love scene? Maybe someday. But

neither of us are quite ready for that yet.

It's been two months since I shrunk, and it has definitely been a

grand experience. Sarah and I are dating, and I will say that it is fun

making out with her (a lot more work for me, though). Still, I love her too

much to take advantage of her. Oh, I still have my dreams, but those

will wait.

For now, my life is simply fun. No term papers, no finals, no

worrying what I'm going to do with my life. My only concern is trying to

avoid being found by Sarah's parents, or her 14-year-old sister, or

worst of all, her 6-year-old sister. It should get interesting shorly--

I'm going along with Sarah on the family vacation, which this year takes

us all to L.A., for some sun and surf.

Let me tell you, a four hundred foot tall girl in a string bikini

is a glorious sight to behold.

So as I pack this evening, and watch the love of my life do the

same, don't ask me about regrets. All I know is that, when I lie on her

shirt, and feel the beat of her heart and the rhytm of her breath, or

when I hide in her hair, right behind her ear, or when I watch her stride

majestically into a room, I know that this is the place I was destined to

arrive. A good change for a 22-year-old loser, if I do say so myself

 

 

MORE ABOUT Change for a Twenty

Historia amp