Kisupure

Kisupure

Because I do more of these than any kind of finished work I should be proud of.

I don’t have hair nearly this luxurious, or sunglasses nearly this cool.

@Olo

Kisupure

I’m no stranger to the macro community, but I thought I’d introduce myself here. I’m Kisupure (yes, a nod to the infamy of Kiss Players!), I’m a FTM and sizeswitch, though I lean more towards the giant end of things.

The good lord above put me on this earth to bring a little more Heavy Metal Magazine to macro/micro world, so here I am, with guns and engine grease in tow. Oh, the gravel truck’s here? Tell 'em to dump it just out back.

I like realistic size difference, and wildly unrealistic size difference. I like gun play that involves stuffing tinies down the barrel of a nice, loaded M4. I like giants with their boots on, muscles bulging behind their body armor. I like daddies in dusty kevlar. I like giants who are cyborgs, robots, and machines that are designed to have people sit inside of them. Giants who are large and in charge, but also giants who are soft and kind and scared of losing their little lovers or allies or fuckbuddies, giants who have flaws as well as sexy things they’re really really good at. Giants that are unapologetically dominant, and giants that are good at faking it. Vore and endosoma are A+ too.

I’m also an objectum sexual (as in orientation), so to me, “male” can mean flesh and blood as well as axles and ailerons. An A-10 warthog is just as much a lovable giant to me as the guy on your bag of frozen peas. OS representation all the way.

I write, I draw, and I’ve got some long-form stuff in the works including a “graphic novel” that I hope tickles somebody’s fancy (other than my own, of course). So howdy!

Kisupure

CHAPTER 2: DISCOVERED

Later that evening the man ordered pizza and Dawn could smell it when it arrived. He had neglected to check under the couch earlier, and out of sheer terror she hadn’t dared leave her sanctuary all day, but the fatigue, thirst, and hunger were finally getting to her.

She had woken up that morning to find herself in a most impossible and horrifying situation: shrunk down to the size of a Barbie doll, and taken into some stranger’s apartment. She’d spent all day trying to figure out how it all happened, and where she’d wound up. By the street noise outside, she knew she was at least still in New York City. Good. That was a good start.

The owner of the apartment–she only knew it was a man by his voice–thanked the delivery driver and drew nearer to where she hid in the under-structure of the sofa. Dawn bit back a yelp when he sat down right above her, but she resolved to stay hidden. When he went to bed, she’d come out to find the phone. That’s it. She’d call the firm, let them know something terrible happened…

The man clicked the TV on. It was one of those older ones that didn’t have a remote. She’d think he was some bohemian if the rest of his apartment wasn’t so clean and white and spartan, and judging by what she could see from under the couch, she guessed that he was an artist of some sort. There were a few paintings on the walls and there were interesting wooden or plaster carvings in various corners of the loft. She recognized an elephant-headed god from India, as well as some other hyper-intellectual pieces, that resembled… well, they didn’t resemble anything that she could think of. Those were probably from just across town. Hmph. Art was such a waste of time and money.

The woman made a face as her stomach growled, hoping he wouldn’t hear–he didn’t–and tried to take her mind off her misery when he put on the news. God the pizza smelled good. She imagined the phone ringing and the man getting stuck talking long enough for her to slip out and make off with a gob of cheese…

But that didn’t happen, and the anchorman continued droning on and Dawn felt more and more scared and sorry for herself. The segment ended, though, and she froze when she heard her name.

“A Manhattan lawyer has been missing since Thursday night, a police spokesman said. Thirty-two year old Dawn Cooper, a defense attorney with the firm Raymond Thurlow, was last seen leaving the Bistro Les Amis in SoHo at about 9:30 that night, when eyewitnesses say they they saw the victim get into a taxi cab. If you have any information regarding Dawn’s whereabouts, police have opened their tipline…”

A sob wracked her body, she couldn’t help it.

The exhaustion, the fear, the hunger, it was all too much. She’d been hoping that this was all somehow just a bad dream, but any lingering doubts were now gone. It was real.

The crying wasn’t stopping, and she didn’t have the energy to try and fight it anymore. Dawn shakily released herself from her uncomfortable and precarious perch under the couch and sunk to the floor, where she let the tears flow. Who did this and why? Was there any hope in going back to normal? What would the police say when they found her like this? She’d make headlines all right, and not the good kind.

She was so tired that she didn’t notice that the man had gotten up from the couch and was in the process of getting down on hands and knees to see what that sound was. It was when he gave a startled yell that she screamed and darted out into the open.

Looking wildly around, she finally grasped just how small she was. The back of the couch loomed above her, and behind it, standing even taller, was the man. His face was slackened in pure shock and he kept a finger pointed at her.

“Y-y-you’re… real…”

"What did you do to me! Change me back!"she hollered at him through the tears.

“I-I didn’t do anything!”

“Bullshit!”

“I found you in the trash! I-I thought you were a-an art piece or something!”

Dawn’s frustration just made her cry more; it didn’t happen often, and she hated when it did. She started at him as he took his eyes off her to pace.

“I’m calling the police.”

“No!”

“No? You’re a lawyer, give me one good reason not to!”

“Please! I have a reputation!”

“And you know what? That’s not my problem.”

He sped over to a side table and grabbed the receiver. Dawn found herself sprinting over to him.

“Please, please. Just give me time to process things. I don’t even know what day it is! I’m starving and thirsty and I have to pee!”

He looked down at her with thoughtfully panicked brown eyes for a moment, fingers hovering over the keypad. Eventually, he set the phone down.

“Alright. Let me get you some water. And, uhm, something to cover up with,” he muttered.

As he dashed up the stairs to the kitchen area, Dawn looked down at herself and remembered that she was completely naked. A blush reddened her from head to toe and she sat down on the floor to hug her knees to her chest while she waited. She was surprised that he hadn’t seemed distracted by her body.

He returned with a shot glass and a tea towel, which she snatched from him with a sniffle. He turned around while she wrapped it around herself.

“I’m Keith Morgan, by the way,” he said, peeking over his shoulder after a few moments. “It’s Saturday night and you’re in Flatbush.”

Dawn lifted the glass and gulped half of it down.

“Nice to meet you, Keith.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

"And why should I be?"she snapped.

He frowned. “I’m trying to help, remember? Now come on, you said you were hungry. I’m not going to eat this whole pizza myself.”

Keeping their distance, they both went back to the couch. It quickly became apparent that she would need help to get to the food.

“Do you… want a lift?” he asked awkwardly, holding out his hand.

“No! I can get up there myself.”

Both the coffee table and couch were several inches taller than she was, which was something she hadn’t thought through. The tiny woman tried to see if she could hoist herself up–maybe she had some kind of bug strength now–but to no avail. She growled in exasperation.

Keith sighed. “Here.” He reached under the glass table and pulled out a few large books. Each of them had an artists’ name on the front in big letters, with a photo of their work. They looked expensive. Out of them, though, he managed to create something of a staircase for her, and when Dawn stepped up to the top, she was much closer to the table, and she was able to climb up the last few inches without too much trouble.

“Thank you.”

Keith circled around to turn the volume on the TV set down, presumably so they could talk.

He watched her warily as she went for the smallest slice of the pie and began to wolf it down.

“So… what was the last thing you remember?”

Chewing mozzarella cheese with a mouth this small was strange and difficult, while at the same time the flavors seemed just that much more pronounced. It was… fascinating.

“I remember leaving the restaurant and hailing a cab home.”

“Do you remember getting out of the cab?”

She nodded and took another bite. “I remember pulling my keys out of my purse to go inside…”

“…And?”

Dawn thought about it. Things were hazy. “There was a… man behind me. He pulled something out of his pocket, I thought it was a gun.”

“What did he look like?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. His face was covered.”

Keith nodded, reaching for another slice for himself. Dawn watched as his enormous hand drew near, grabbing it by the crust, and she couldn’t help but compare it to a piece of construction equipment grabbing a tree or chunk of concrete and dragging it away. It was… incredible.

They sat in silence like that for a little while, and it occurred to her that she was technically an uninvited guest in this man’s home. He deserved to have her hold up her end of the social contract, at least.

"So… are you an artist or something?"she asked.

“I’m a sculptor and furniture designer,” he said. Well that explained it. “The coffee table’s one of mine.”

The tiny woman looked around at the expanse of table under her. It was a big piece of glass held up by some kind of contrived shape in wood. She didn’t like it.

“Very nice. Could you show me the restroom, please?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah.”

Keith stood up, towering over her again as he brushed passed, and it was almost enough to give her vertigo. His long strides devoured the floor and on his way to the bathroom he grabbed another armful of books from a stack on the floor. By the time Dawn caught up to him, he had already had them arranged into stairs next to the commode.

“Try not to fall in,” he joked with a little chuckle, and eased the door shut. “I’m just outside, give me a knock when you’re ready to come out.”

She did almost fall in. Almost. Reaching for a scrap of toilet paper had thrown off her careful balance, but in the end she succeeded at doing her business.

“I’ll leave the books there for you I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Dawn looked at the wood grain in the floor and worried her now very small lip. She was not calling the police, that was for sure. This story didn’t need to get any bigger than it already was–she just need to call her firm, the people who probably reported her missing when she didn’t show up to work Friday, let them know she was still alive. There was just a medical emergency that came up, and she’d be taking some time off work. They could shift her caseload to Tim and Joyce in the meantime.

The worrying turned into full-on chewing. Keith seemed to sense her anxiety because he crouched down to get a little closer as he waited for her reply.

“Can I… can I stay through Monday?”

Stupid, stupid! What a stupid thing to ask! He was going to say no, she knew he was. But there was nowhere else to go. Not home, not even to her friend’s. Not yet.

He studied her with expressive eyes and thought for a moment.

“Why the hell not,” he sighed, and stood up again.

“Great! I-I’ll call the firm first thing in the morning. Crystal’s usually there at 8:30 sharp, she’ll answer. She may not recognize my voice, but one of the partners will, they have to… Thank you Keith. I owe you, I really do.”

“It’s, ah, no big deal, really. It’s not like you can eat me out of house and home,” he laughed nervously.

“As soon as I get back to normal, I’ll cut you a check to cover expenses.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Surely your time is worth something?”

“Yeah, if you were wasting it,” he retorted. “Frankly, Miss Cooper, this whole thing has been quite a trip. What’s a couple more days?”

Keith let her watch TV as he put the pizza away upstairs, and mentioned that he would cut one of the slices up for her into more manageable pieces. He asked if there was anything else she wanted, and Dawn knew that her usual routine of slimming shakes and freshly pressed carrot juice was probably out of the question. Maybe he could run down to a video store and rent her an aerobics tape tomorrow. Staying fit helped her stay focused. She liked getting the blood pumping.

Before Dawn knew it, it was ten o’clock and Keith said he was ready to head to bed. He brought out a clean pillowcase for her to sleep in if she wanted, but it was still so warm that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to sleep under anything. Still, she took it with thanks and he went to shower off before disappearing behind the closed door of his bedroom.

Clambering onto the coffee table and from there jumping onto the couch, the little lady realized that the pillowcase would be cooler than the tea towel, and quickly she slipped out of the one and into the other.

Feeling much less panicked than earlier, Dawn gave into her exhaustion and fell asleep.

Kisupure

Late to the topic, but it’s been something I’ve been thinking on as well as I get further along in my transition and as my tastes… metamorphosize lol. I think I have a unique perspective to bring in that regard, especially as the more I become myself, the “straighter” my orientation gets. (I put that in scare quotes because I still am absolutely queer as all fuck, including being primarily asexual and aromantic. That is, I don’t experience primary sexual attraction or desire to romance people. But I still experience “physical attraction”, which for me is most aligned with the desire to do kink and other physical activity, even if it’s not explicitly sexual/orgasmic in nature.)

Some of yall who’ve been following me for years have seen my struggles, and seen the lengths I went to explain away my dysphoria. For those unfamiliar with me, I went from SW to giant. In my personal life, the dominants I met were never dominant enough, or dominant in exactly the way I was looking for; I kept wanting to tell them what to do to me. Turns out I’m a shit sub and wanted to call the shots the whole time!

But even now, even as a straight-passing, cis-passing male in my day to day life, I am extremely comfortable with writing from the female sub POV, and I enjoy it. In my years trying to be a woman, I learned to enjoy parts of it, I learned the play the part I wanted to see in someone else, so when I write from a woman’s perspective, I don’t half-ass it, I throw my whole being into it all over again. I get into her mind, I don’t think “OK I’m a chick”, I think “OK, I’m a human”. The vast, vast majority of men don’t understand that because they’re fucking narcisstistic idiots. Except it’s worse, because they don’t even enjoy themselves! They don’t even insert their whole selves into the works they make, and enjoy all of who they are as men - they reduce the whole of their own humanity down to dick-n-ball, just enough to have the fully-rendered recipient to interact with.

As I start looking at straight porn more from the male perspective too, I’m super underwhelmed for this reason. I remember something an internet rando said once regarding futa porn and why it’s so popular, and it haunts me a little. They said that you could do stuff with futa you couldn’t do with straight porn. You could have intimacy, you could show the penis-haver’s pleasure. It wasn’t always about dick-in-hole and violence. The futa could have a face. It frustrates me to no end to see faceless dude-shaped thing after faceless dude-shaped thing in porn. Men, stop doing this to yourselves. Fucking enjoy yourself for once!

I try to avoid this at all costs, which is easy because I don’t get off on it. Everyone’s real person in everything in write, that’s always my #1 goal. If that means that what I write is chick-lit, that’s OK by me. It’s much more gratifying to write everyone as complicated people and women who are sometimes at odds with their male counterparts. As a character in one of my non-size short stories said about why he bothers to spend time pleasuring the sex workers he hired: “If I wanted to just stick my dick into something, I could make a fist. What I’m here for is sex.”

For real though, imagining myself as a giant makes me feel confident and attractive like I never was as a SW. Being small allowed me to hide. Being a GT feels transgressive, to be honest, because I’m on display, the subject of the gaze. Feeling sexy as opposed to just sexual as a man is a big source of shame and internalized homophobia. Even being clean and well-dressed is enough to make a man feel effeminate - or why did society need to come up with “metrosexual”? Like seriously, men, interrogate yourselves about why you’re uncomfortable with the things you are. Because I guarantee you, it’s not natural and it’s not how it’s always been.

Kisupure

@olo

holy shit I’m tired now, goodnight

Kisupure

I think the problem with topics like this is that there is always going to be the implication, however small, of entitlement. It’s never “I wish more people were into the thing I’m into”, but always some kind of “I wish creators would make things for me for free”. Creators make all kinds of free things already, the internet is full of them. That none of it, or enough of it, is your favorite thing isn’t anyone’s problem but yours. Creators don’t owe you their time, skill, money, resources. It’s kind of a slap in the face to creators who make things for free already, like myself (and I even take requests!), because it’s not the thing you want to see.

But that’s what commissions, trades, and financially supporting creators who make things you like are for. The more you actually pay people to make things, the more your interest is going to be noticed and acknowledged.

Griping like this is not a good look, especially when there are creators reading and posting here.

Kisupure

“But I wanna sleep HERE tonight!”

Kisupure

A Brooklyn artist stumbles across an interesting find in the trash and brings it home. Turns out “it” is a curt and demanding Manhattan lawyer who has been mysteriously and maliciously shrunk down to 12 inches tall. Will she ever get her hyperproductive, busy life back, or will the artist have time to show her how much sweeter things taste when you slow down to enjoy them?

Giving that idea a go, @tiny-ivy !

========

CHAPTER 1: THE MAIL KEY

Keith Morgan hauled himself up the 100 year-old stairs of his Flatbush loft. They creaked louder than a setpiece in the Haunted Mansion ride, and he winced. It was almost 3am, and seventy-year-old lady on the first floor always seemed to notice when he was coming home by the noise. She liked sticking her head out to mention it when he was grabbing his mail, and would sometimes ask when he was getting a real job. Wait–mail!

“Ah, shit,” he hissed, louder than intended, and spun back around on the third-floor landing. Keith had realized, while out to dinner with some friends, that he’d accidentally thrown out his mail key that morning–it had gotten swept into the trash along with some old magazines and taken out. Being five glasses of wine in, however, would make it a nearly impossible task to find it. He was going to try, though.

Nearly stumbling down the last few stairs, he surged outside and toward the pile of garbage bags on the sidewalk. His would have been the one right on top. Street trash was already accumulating on it, though, and with a wince he brushed away banana peels, pop cans, and other whatnot.

Underneath a bag of Lays, though, was something that distracted him from his mission. It looked like an arm. Not a person’s arm, of course, but a doll’s arm. He lifted his bag of garbage away from the pile, then, and saw, bathed in the buzzing orange light of a Brooklyn streetlamp, what looked like the most lifelike toy he had ever seen.

“Weird,” he said. Grinning, Keith grabbed it gently by the waist and lifted it free. When he could see it better, he realized that it was so lifelike that it had perfectly sculpted breasts and genitals. He gasped before bursting into laughter. This was so fucking bizarre! As an artist himself, he could tell that a lot of work went into this. There was an inner structure he could feel through the skin, but it didn’t seem able to hold a pose. Why include one if it was going remain limp? He imagined the artist’s statement already: a feminist piece about how women are required to be strong but punished for exercising agency. Maybe someone doing sculpture at Cooper Union made it. But why would it be thrown away? It probably cost a fortune in materials.

Keith was fascinated by the find in his drunken state, and with a sloppy grin he brought it upstairs, hoping to learn more about it in the morning and forgetting altogether about the mail key. If nothing else, she’d make an interesting coffee table piece. Maybe he could have some people over for life drawing with it.

The doll weighed maybe three or four pounds and seemed to be about a foot tall, just big enough to be slung over his shoulder. Soon he’d climbed the stairs back up to the third floor without dropping her. Inside the loft, he flicked a switch and a long line of Christmas lights lit up along the whitewashed brick walls. He swayed across the open floor and put her down on the couch. Something about the way she felt made him want to be very careful… she seemed very fragile.

“Jesus,” he murmured as he pushed and pulled the doll into laying prone on her back. It was, um… it was an attractive little thing. Through the wine he could see that there was a slit between her legs, small enough to be able to cover with the pad of his thumb. A blush reddened his cheeks at the thought. It’s just a doll, he reminded himself. This wasn’t a person, there was nothing wrong with looking. He lifted one leg a askew so he could satisfy his curiosity, but scowled deeply and let go when he thought he saw a clitoral hood. “Oh come on, it didn’t need to be this real,” he said to the cavernous loft, as if the walls themselves were judging him.

He hoped to god that it was a feminist piece, and left it there as he crossed the floor to his room on the other side of the building. He collapsed into bed and thought about the strange piece of art until he drifted off to sleep.

Keith’s head was pounding when he woke up the next day around noon. His hands smelled like the garbage he’d been digging through, so he shambled into the adjacent bathroom and washed up in a porcelain sink older than his great aunt. The tile work beneath his feet was charming and old, just like most other things in the building, and everywhere the high ceilings were covered in pressed tin. He loved the old loft, and rent was good for someone like him because he didn’t need to have a separate studio and clients could meet him here.

The summer sun was blasting through the windows. Keith winced as he shed last night’s clothes on his way back to the bedroom. His hands weren’t the only things that smelled funny. Finally down to his underpants to cool off in what was sure to be another sweltering summer day, he went about his next task.

“Coffee,” he grunted. “Coffee, coffee, coff–”

Keith froze when he passed by the couch and the doll was no longer there. For a brief moment, he wondered if it happened at all, if maybe he hadn’t dreamt up the whole thing. No, no, the smell on his hands had been real.

The man glanced wildly around the space, expecting to see it anywhere, at any moment. He’d never believed in things like ghosts and demons, but maybe it was time to start.

Sweat prickled on the back of his neck as he thought up his next move. That’s when he decided to go get coffee somewhere else. Buy himself some time. In record speed he was dressed again, key held in a shaking hand as he bee-lined out the door.

“Something’s in my apartment,” he muttered to himself, and headed for the diner a few blocks away. “M-maybe it’ll let itself out while I’m gone…”

He sat at the counter at Ray’s for over three hours. At some point he’d ordered food, one more coffee, a Coke, and gotten through two different newspapers.

“Hey buddy, you can’t sit here all day. I got other payin’ customers that want that spot.”

Keith glanced around. “There’s only six people in here, Ray.”

“Get goin’, Picasso.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Go? Go home, buddy.”

“I-I can’t go home.”

“Then go see a movie or somethin’. All I know is you’re not staying here all night.”

A movie. Yeah, yeah he’d go see a movie. Theaters were nice and cool, too, and he’d save on water by not sitting in the bath like he did every day when it got too hot.

“Fine.”

Keith paid his bill and left. A movie was perfect. There was no way he was going home now. Not with that thing there. He had to buy his time until he thought of some way to deal with it, somehow. Was there a chance that he maybe brought home a squirrel or something? Keith balked. No way, that was the most realistic human vagina he’d ever seen on a sculpture.

Maybe he could go to animal control, or the police. Or maybe they’d laugh him out of the building if he said anything about what they could be looking for.

In the meantime, Keith resolved to go see a movie. With subway token in hand, he headed for the station across the street from his building to take himself to Manhattan. Then afterwards, maybe he could have a nice stroll through the botanic garden, go out to dinner again, maybe call up one of his friends to meet up for a late-night game of pool…

No. Keith pocketed the token. From where he stood with his hand on the brass handrail leading down to the station, he looked up at his loft and its tall windows, expecting to see something, but he didn’t. He couldn’t avoid this forever, that was ridiculous. Setting his jaw, the man crossed the street and returned to figure out what was going on once and for all.

He paused on his doorstep after making that damned creaky climb up the stairs, listening through the door. There was nothing for a long time, and Keith finally let himself in. He groped for the umbrella stand, grabbing one and wielding it like a sword as he stalked through the loft. He started on the main floor, carefully winding his way around the foyer, to the living area, then around to his partitioned 600 square foot studio.

It was a mess, as all good studios should be, with plaster and wood and unfinished pieces strewn about. He held still, eyes darting around, looking for movement before slowly circling through the space. He poked at a few things with the end of the umbrella, things where a small creature might hide, but there was nothing. He headed toward the guest room next.

“I know you’re here,” he said, trying to sound commanding and fearless. Another section of the ancient wooden floor creaked as he passed over it. “I know… you’re… here…”

He stood in the doorway of the guest room, did his initial survey of the space, then ventured further in. He stood in front of a wardrobe and flung it open, but it was empty. There was nothing under the bed.

“Damn,” he said, and stroked his chin. He was now more baffled than before. Maybe he had just imagined all of it.

Moving with a little less tension now, he headed back out and to the stairs that would take him to the kitchen. There was nothing up there either. Last place to check was his own bedroom.

He crossed the floor again, more confidently this time, and went through the same motions as before. He poked and prodded at the curtains, checked under the bed, looked through the closet. He even went through his pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Nothing.

“Christ, I must be going crazy.”

Kisupure

Male renders are finally starting to look good! This is fantastic

Kisupure

CHAPTER 8: THE SKYLINE

Dawn wished that she could say that the kiss caught her by surprise, but she knew that look in his eyes, and even this small it was obvious his eyes were flicking down to linger at her mouth.

What did surprise her, though was the sheer thrill of it. His face was enormous, the size of a sedan to her, and it came close with such precision. Instinctively she held out her hands and they came to rest on his stubble-shadowed cheeks just before his lips pressed to the bottom half of her face.

She kissed him back, or tried to–Dawn wasn’t entirely sure he could feel her, so she made sure to throw her back into it. Keith’s hot, wine-cooler-flavored mouth found purchase along her jaw, and she supposed that was some geometry that he could settle on without swallowing up her nose.

Warm breath flowed over her and she felt like she were kissing some mythical beast. When he pulled clumsily away, the lawyer felt altogether like she was 16 years old again. How did that happen?

Dawn had been turned around and backed up his leg, and she couldn’t tell if she’d slid up herself up the fuzzy limb of if he’d pushed her that way, but in a calculated move she let her derriere come back down to rest in the crook of his thigh, making sure to keep her dainty legs away from the second brain surely smoldering away in those silly technicolor shorts of his.

This was a game of wills, she wanted to make him repeat for her. But somehow the idea of losing didn’t sound so bad. Not at twelve inches tall, at least. She didn’t have as far to fall at this size, and felt easier to catch.

“You’re drunk,” she said with a grin.

“I’m not the only one.”

Peter Gabriel played softly in the background, but it wasn’t exactly a soft song. “I wanna be… your sledgehammer…!”

Keith beamed in the long New York summer twilight. “Each of those shotglasses must’ve been like a fishbowl’s worth of drink for you.”

“I can hold my liquor,” she insisted.

He chuckled. “Sure, at 140 pounds, maybe. But three? C’mon, Dawn, do the math. The numbers don’t lie. You’re hammered.”

She found herself sticking out her tongue. “Are you always this much of a tease?”

“Oh, so now I’m a tease because I haven’t rushed you off to the bedroom yet, is that it?”

She watched him stretch and put his arms behind his head, well out of her reach. It was all the same to her, though, because his lean frame looked much broader this way and she could clearly see the outline of his biceps.

Dawn kept wanting to push him, goad him into acting out, but it was looking like the kiss was all she was going to get for now. She experimentally pressed her foot into his belly button and felt his abs tighten in response. It was like pushing a lever on a great, powerful machine and seeing what would happen.

“That’s not how all of my dates end,” she added with a little haughty defiance.

The song continued: “I kicked the habit… shed my skin… this is the new stuff… I go dancing in…”

“You should trying dating more artists,” Keith decided, returning his gaze to the view. “We can tease you for weeks.”

“And let me guess, “artists do it with style” or something.”

“No, we do it with longer strokes,” he said with a hint of bedroom voice she hadn’t heard before. It sent tingles down into her toes. When she looked up, he was looking at her with a bit of a self-satisfied smirk that she wanted to wipe off his face with a taste of her own sexual prowess.

Instead, she wiggled her toes among the dark hairs on his belly. “Don’t shorten them for me now, darling. I like 'em long.”

He just laughed, and it shook her in a pleasant way. Dawn decided that she liked playing with a giant like this. It was fun pulling his strings and feeling him tug back. A game of wills indeed!

“C’mon, turn around and enjoy this view with me.”

“I’m enjoying the view just fine from here.”

Keith rolled his eyes and leaned forward to adjust the beach chair further backward as she balanced on his activated rectus femoris. Then, not appearing to hesitate at all this time, he wrapped his thick fingers around her middle, tearing her away from her perch, spun her around, and set her in the crook of his arm. A relaxed pectoralis major was underneath her butt this time, and her view was of his long legs stretching out before her, the expanse of roof, still radiating heat, and beyond the river, the World Trade Center loomed and twinkled against a great backdrop of pink and orange sky. A plane hit a waypoint overhead, its engine dropping to a lower note as it prepared to circle around to JFK, and a siren wailed in the distance. The radio began playing Papa Don’t Preach.

“There. Let’s just enjoy this for a little while, alright?” He took another slurp of 7-up and held the can to his cheek, forcing a sigh of contentment.

Dawn brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, but it was too short to stay there. “What’s this about, now?”

“I don’t like to rush things, that’s all.”

“You don’t like to follow your passion while it’s sizzling hot? C’mon Keith, don’t tell me you prefer lunchmeat over a filet mignon right off the grill.”

“You’re not sober.”

“And it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m not sober.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time either.”

“This doesn’t bother you? Like, at all?”

He gestured with the can to her and then to himself, looking at her expectantly. Dawn grinned and leaned in toward his ear.

“I like a challenge.” When he made a frustrated sound, she doubled down. “Have you ever had one-night-stand?”

“Yes, I have. But that’s besides the point. The point is…” He made a handsomely befuddled face for a moment. “That you’re, frankly, barely bigger than my swack, and necking a drunk girl is bad enough without her being small enough to stuff in my pants while I’m at it.”

Oh, Keith, she thought. Those were the words of a very interested but very conflicted man.

He continued. “Look, I have no idea what this week is going to bring for either of us. But let’s not do anything that can make stuff worse for you. You’ll have enough on your plate tomorrow as it is.”

“I guess you’re not wrong,” she conceded with a huff.

“Do you know what you’ll do after you make that phone call?”

Dawn sighed and reclined against him, her head not even reaching his collarbone. It must’ve been more comfortable than his own sun-bleached beach chair, though. “I was going to call up one of my girlfriends, have her stop by. I can’t hide from everyone forever.”

“Could you stay with her?”

“No can do. She has three Great Danes.”

Keith’s chest swelled underneath her. “You can stay with me as long as you need to, I guess. You’ll need to hide when I have anyone over, though.”

“How often is that?”

“Couple times a week. I usually see clients on Thursdays.” A pause. “You’ll have to cooperate with police eventually, you know. There’s going to be an investigation.”

Dawn just groaned. She knew exactly how long and how stupid police investigations were, and she was not looking forward to getting caught up in one like this. Sure, she’d filed a half-dozen restraining orders in her time against unhinged clients who…

A little light went off in her head, then. Dawn remembered now a man she defended back in '82 who had killed a neighbor’s dog with some odd machine, and was found to be quite the all-around nutter. He was up for parole last year, and when he didn’t make any appearances around the firm, Dawn thought nothing of it and got on with her life. Looking back, though, he was an extremely difficult client. When she tried talking to him about the purpose of the machine, he said nothing. He’d taken no notes, wrote in no journals. The only details they could get out of him were what they could find in the stacks of loose papers he referred to as “the plans”, full of schematics and nonsense math that not even forensics could make heads or tails of.

“Dawn?”

She jumped up and turned around, planting a big wet one on his lower lip. His hand flew to where she was in case she fell. “Keith, you’ve just reminded me that I might have a lead after all.”

Kisupure

It’s funny, I love vore, but I don’t like any of the most popular tropes lol.

Soft vore all the way, I rarely enjoy one-shot dynamics. The characters have to be able to indulge potentially indefinitely, using it to deepen their relationship, so that eliminates all fatal and most non-con (I see rape as a kind of one-shot character dynamic; it loses its spice after the first scene).

Other stuff that’s pretty niche is M/f cockvore, endosoma, machine/cockpit vore, and tentacle sex while vored. As usual, it all just hits a different note for me than what most look for in their kink haha.

Kisupure

Never seen the show but I love these two~

Kisupure

@tiny-ivy Thank you! They are so not my usual characters, it’s a fun change of pace. Thanks for the unintentional writing prompt.

Just gotta finish it… I’m mostly over being sick, but my energy is still flagging pretty badly and now that I’m back at work I don’t have the brains for much else when I get home.

Kisupure

CHAPTER 11: THE JOY OF SEX

Keith’s bedroom was, by his measure, the least interesting room in the loft. Even the guest room, because it was original to the building, had more character. But, being on the southwest corner, it took him only one summer to decide he couldn’t live there, and with permission from the landlord had this this built. It was closer to the bathroom anyways.

He set Dawn down on top of the wall of low bookcases and found the switch for the ceiling fan by more ambient orange streetlight. The room was simple: a bed against one wall, a wardrobe against another, a vintage leather egg chair in the corner, a nightstand, and more books.

The floor creaked as he went to the window to turn on the fan perched on the thick, brick sill. Then he sat down and watched as Dawn carefully, playfully, let herself down the three-shelved case to land solidly on the floor with a little squeak. He smiled at her ability to manage that in such a horrible garment.

“I see you like red?” she said, stepping over to the bedding. Her eyes kept wandering, though, because before he could answer she had darted over to a small pile of books underneath the nightstand. “Oh, what’s this?”

He crouched behind her and made a little face as she discovered his small collection of books on the art of lovemaking. He blushed fiercely but wanted to see what she would do.

Dawn yanked out his Joy of Sex book and started flipping through it’s great big pages. “My mother has one of these,” she said, and Keith’s bud of embarrassment bloomed. She was trying to push his buttons, he knew that, and for a moment he decided he was going to let her.

He reached right on past the tiny woman and grabbed one of the slimmer volumes from the middle of the stack, plopping it down right on top of the classic text and opening it.

“I’ll bet she doesn’t have this one.”

It was two-page spread after two-page spread of baldly erotic black and white photography. It was a woman posing–and playing–with a bunch of large geometric shapes and overlaid with suggestive shadows against a psychedelic background of undulating checkerboard. There was a Bacchic mask on her face, alternating Comedy and Tragedy depending on the composition, and it was all wildly, deliriously sexual, right down to the photo of her fingers lifting a thread of liquid from her beautifully uncensored vulva.

He knew he’d caught Dawn off-guard by it, and she gazed at the lewd images for a wordless moment. Eventually, she looked up at him and nibbled her lip.

“So you do have some sizzle in there,” she said, then flicked her eyes down for a moment. Then she pointed between his legs. “There, too.”

Keith realized he was sporting the beginnings of a hardon, and some part of him was not at all surprised when Dawn daintily closed the distance between the books and stood inches away from the tenting in his boxers. He sucked in a sharp breath when she touched it, and if he thought there’d been electricity when she touched his fingers yesterday, then it was nothing compared to this. His cock bobbed in its cotton prison.

He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but Dawn made sure to cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear it, Keith. I don’t want to hear any more moralizing, no more excuses, no more clever dodges.” Dawn then pulled her arms out of the holes of the Cabbage Patch dress and it fell away from her. “I want you, all of you, and I want you right now.”

To hell with it.

Keith caught her waist between his fingers and pulled her out of the dress to set her on the bed, where he pushed her into the mattress with his lips. He gently assaulted her mouth until he could feel her little teeth on him. He gave her chin a lick and planted a few more sloppy ones before letting her take a breath.

“Oh, Keith… I knew you had it in you,” she said, chest heaving and looking positively stunning.

He kissed a short patrol to her breasts as his thumbs brushed along her smooth little thighs. At this size, the “girls” did all but defy gravity, and he guessed that they would have been a handful each had she been her normal height. With delicate fingers he traced around the curve of one full little globe, quite enjoying the harsh tan line that encased her nipple in a triangle of paler skin. When he pressed the pad of his thumb over the top, he could feel the tiny thing had puckered up and Dawn moaned. The sound set him on fire.

“You should come up here, there’s room for one more,” she teased, and Keith realized that he was still kneeling on the floor. He kept kissing her as he rose up and slipped onto the bed, wrapping his lips around one lovely breast and then the other. They were like little candies and he wanted to keep licking until he got to some soft, molten center.

“Look at you,” she giggled. “You’re like a man possessed.”

“Mhm,” he grunted into her belly. Dawn gasped loudly.

“Do that again.”

He pulled away. “Do what again?”

“That, that sound. Put your mouth on me and do it again.”

He did. “Mmmmhm?”

“Ohh…”

Keith realized what had happened and shifted his voice down an octave. “Mmmmmmm…”

Dawn panted, and it was clear that the vibrations weren’t just tickling her stomach, they were reaching her core as well. His boxers were pulled as taught as they were going to get, and he felt that he’d pop off a button at any moment. But that was no matter, he could worry about himself after this.

When he pulled back to see how undone she’d become, Dawn spread her legs for him, pulling her knees to her chest, pointing her adorable little toes, and hooked a finger at him. He was happy to see that slit again now; he could think about how gorgeous it was all he wanted this time.

“Would you mind, big fella?”

Keith licked his lips and bent down low again to finish her off.

He breathed on her to get her shivering before he touched his tongue to her heat. And she was hot! Wet too; he was surprised that the amount was noticeable, but he could taste her as the tip of his tongue massaged at her, up and down.

“Oh, yes, oh Keith, you big hunk of–”

He started humming again, partly because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know how that was going to end, and partly because he just wanted Dawn to shut up and enjoy it; what he really wanted, though, was to see her lose all sense of herself again, like she had when he picked her up that first time. He wanted her to gasp and moan and be unable to think of anything to say.

Her cries were, in fact, exquisite. Even at her volume, they filled his ears, and the higher register of her little voice gave her a fairy-like quality that felt very taboo. This entire thing was unthinkable as far as society was concerned, but as an artist, well… he wasn’t exactly one to follow convention, was he?

“Mmmmh…”

'Oh god, I’m close," she whimpered. “I’m…”

There was no way he’d be able to fit anything in that pretty hole of hers, but it didn’t much matter as he continued his attack on the microscopic little bud just above it. Her back bowed and she bucked into his mouth as her hands braced against his nose. He chuckled into her, not letting up as she began to crest that wave, and soon she shuddered and shook in his hands, screaming out her orgasm. Keith was surprised to be able to feel–and taste–the gush of juice that came out to wet his tongue.

When he pulled away, Dawn was pink everywhere and breathing like she’d run a marathon. Meanwhile, he’d barely lifted a finger, and still managed to have such an effect on this worldly, experienced woman. The thought went straight to his now painfully-sensitive cock.

“Aw,” he teased, sitting back on his heels, “What happened, burn some calories there?”

“Holy shit,” she panted.

“You’re glowing.”

“I’m downright radioactive. My god, I could I could feel your… your tastebuds on me! And your voice, at this size, is… wow. Something else. If you get a chance, you should really try this.”

“I dunno, I’m kind of attached to being five-eleven. And I’d hate to have to change my driver’s license; you know how shitty the DMV is.” He smiled and flopped onto the bed next to her with a sigh.

Dawn sat up. “Hey, what are you doing?” she snapped.

“Winding down for bed?”

“Oh no you don’t. Not on my watch.”

“What are you going to do, give me a handjob? You’ll be at it all night.”

The little lawyer jumped up and stormed over to stand next to his hips, armed folded under her generous bosom. “I told you I liked a challenge.” That she did.

“I tell you what, I’ll take care of myself and you can help out if you’d like.” When he reached for the shape straining against the front of his boxers, she slapped his hand away. “Ow!”

“I’m not playing second fiddle to your fist!”

“Fine. Have fun and let me know when you get tired.”

Dawn smacked her lips together in thought, ignoring him for now. She was already preoccupied with formulating her plan of attack, slowly circling him, and he honestly couldn’t help the little twitch of excitement at having her single-minded attention. If nothing else, this would be… interesting.

Eventually, though, she climbed over his leg to stand between his knees, evaluating the beast.

“Well?” he asked with a smirk. “Little bigger than you thought?”

“Hardly,” she said, and proceeded to dive into the leg of his boxers. He was almost startled, but immediately the sensation of her sliding along the inside of his thigh, and the sight of her disappeared into the fabric was much more exciting than he was prepared to admit.

“…uhn.”

Then there it was. Little hands against his thick heat, and Keith nearly bucked.

Kisupure

CHAPTER 10: THE VISIT

The artist was very apologetic when he had to excuse himself to get at least a little work done, but Dawn assured him she would have done the same thing if she could.

He left her on the couch to play the Price is Right while he disappeared into the studio to make phone calls. She tried paying attention to the tired old game show, but found her ears wandering instead. Dawn listened to him as he spoke with a customs broker of some sort, and liked the way that he was firmly instructing them to get to the bottom of some misplaced shipment of KEMO commercial pieces on their way to Paris from the woodshop.

His next phone call was to someone who dealt in lumber, it seemed, and Dawn was amazed that he didn’t have an assistant to make all these calls for him. She would try to remember suggesting it later, and go through her Rolodex to see who might know someone to suggest for the job.

Otherwise, the minutes ticked by with grueling slowness and Dawn couldn’t stand it. She paced in front of the TV until the buzzer sounded by the door on the wall. It was so loud and so sudden that she couldn’t help the yelp of surprise. Keith came bounding out of the studio

“Yello!” he said into the speaker.

“It’s Beverly, is this the right place?”

“It is, come on up.”

“I brought mace, so don’t try nothin’!”

Keith just buzzed her in and stood with his back against the door as they both listened to her climb the stairs. When the creaking stopped, he counted down from three and after one, Beverly knocked.

Dawn dashed behind something, wanting to give Keith a chance to butter her up before revealing herself.

“Hi there, mornin’,” Keith said as he opened the door. “Welcome to, uh, Studio KEMO.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where the hell’s my friend?” She started walking around. “Dawn? You here?”

“I’ll show you in just a minute but I-I have to just… reiterate what she told you, alright?”

“Whaddya mean, reiterate?”

“No screaming, OK?”

“Why the hell would I scream? What’s wrong with her, she disfigured or somethin’?”

“Oh no,” she heard Keith chuckle. “She’s still figured alright. She’s just um… you know.”

“I don’t understand what that means with the hands.”

“She’s, uh…”

“Would you stop gesturing and tell me so I can hurry up and see her?”

“Dawn’s been shrunk, alright?”

“Shrunk? What kinda shrunk, like in the dryer?”

“No, like like in the Incredible Shrinking Woman!”

Beverly gasped. “But that was a harrible movie.”

Dawn took the opportunity to step out of her refuge behind the big statue of Ganesh, and much to her chagrin, Beverly did scream. Keith grabbed her by the arm to keep her from running out the door.

“DAWN?”

“Yes, it’s me!”

“Holy shit, girl, w-what happened to you?” The platinum blonde got down onto the floor to gawk, and Dawn dared creep a little closer. “What on Earth are you wearin’?”

“Keith got me a Cabbage Patch dress. Look, I have no idea what happened. I-I was about to let myself into my apartment Thursday night after grabbing a bite with a client, someone comes up behind me and bam. Next thing I know I wake up on his couch Saturday morning all the way out here.”

Dawn looked to Keith and he shrugged. “I found her in the trash outside.” In fact, they all took a moment to listen to the rumble and hiss of the garbage truck a block away. Monday was trash day. “Glad they didn’t dump you last night.”

“Wait, I thought you two knew each other?”

“Yeah, that was to keep you from hanging up on me.”

“This guy’s treatin’ you right, right?”

“He’s been a perfect gentleman. I’d be dead without him!”

“Good, because otherwise I’d have to send over my cousin Frankie to check up on you. Oh! I almost forgot.” The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a water bottle filled with something that wasn’t water. “Brought you some of your favorite juice, hun. It’s carrot and celery, made it just before I left.”

“Oh thank god!” Dawn cried, running over to twist the cap off and tilt it carefully over so she could take a sip. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed these kinds of creature comforts.”

“She was going to ask you to bring her juicer,” Keith said with a shake of his head.

Beverly laughed in that nasally, tittering way of hers. “What are you, movin’ in?”

Dawn’s cheeks turned red and she looked away. “About that…”

“Would you like to sit down, Beverly?” Keith offered with his outstretched hand. In a few moments they were all seated on the big red sectional.

The artist spoke first, raising his brows at Dawn. “I guess this is a good a time as any to figure out how long you needed to stay here.”

“Yeah, where were you gonna go?”

“Well it’s obvious I can’t get along by myself, I need help. I’m like a geriatric, guys. I… I haven’t thought about it too much, I’ll be honest…”

“What if you got like, a seein’-eye dog?” Beverly said.

Dawn blinked. She hadn’t considered a service animal. They could be trained to do all kinds of things nowadays, why not this? All she’d need then is maybe a housekeeper to keep the apartment in order, prepare her little meals…

“Wait, no. No, the goal here is to get back to normal. I have to. I’m not staying like this forever. I can’t.”

“Well your next step should be to see the doctor, then,” her friend shrugged. “Maybe he could tell ya what to do.”

The doctor… doctor. That was… surprisingly actionable. Yes. Yes, she’d make an appointment, explain everything. Her case was so unusual that she’d surely get the best care possible, be treated by the world’s leading experts on whatever the hell this was. Maybe she’d get to be someone’s Nobel Prize-winning research.

“Beverly, you’re brilliant.”

“Nah. If I was smart, I’d have gotten out of the restaurant biz years ago.”

The two women laughed at that. Beverly owned a small chain of Italian restaurants and was making just as much money as the lawyer. She was probably putting in fewer hours, too.

“And what about you, huh?” The New Jersey girl cocked her head at Keith. “Who, exactly, is Keith Morgan?”

“Well,” he said, “Let me tell you.”

The trio chatted for a little while, but Beverly had to leave before too long. She and Keith exchanged numbers, and she promised to keep in touch. Dawn gave her a list of things that she needed from her own apartment, and later that evening, she came by to drop off the small box.

“You know I talked to my aunt–the one who collects dolls–and she gave me the number of the lady that makes all her outfits. That’s all she does, you know, is doll outfits. I can probably get her to whip you up some clothes in a jiffy.”

“Oh could you!”

“Sure thing, hun.”

Keith quickly found a tape measure and they began to collect a few measurements.

“I’d like some shorts and a sleeveless shirt for this weather. And some linen slacks… and maybe a tee-shirt. Oh, do you think she could make me a suit, too? Navy. A pencil skirt should be fine. Don’t know where I’ll get hose, though… Does she do shoes?”

“No, but did you want any panties? Not sure if she can do anything but bloomers but I’ll ask.”

“I know a bra is out of the question but what about something to, you know, keep the girls tidy?”

The man cleared his throat but they ignored him.

“Honey, you’ve got the world’s smallest A cups. I hardly think you’ll look like Jane Fonda.”

“I’m not putting a suit on without a bra.”

“I donno, sounds like a power move to me.”

In the end Beverly could only sort of promise a single outfit by the next day on a rush basis, and Dawn gave her a blank check for it, which she folded up and put carefully away in her wallet.

“I’ll be calling my bank to make sure you didn’t go to Atlantic City with that!”

After she left, the pair finished up the leftover pizza, and in small celebration cracked open a couple wine coolers again. Keith limited himself to two tonight, and swore up and down that that would be all.

After eating they both lounged on the couch together and listened to the sounds of the city coming in through his big open windows. They were bathed in the bright orange light of the streelamp outside; he tried keeping the place dark in the summer because the hot bulbs only made things worse.

Eventually Dawn rolled over onto her stomach and propped her chin up with the heel of her hand. “How cool is your room at night?” she asked.

“It’s not awful,” he mumbled lazily. She liked the way he looked when he was lazy. Like a sleeping animal she wanted to give him a poke. “I’ve got a couple fans in there.”

“Fans!” she exclaimed. “There’s no fans out here. The air flow is terrible.”

He opened one eye and looked at her.

“Could I stay in your room tonight? This sofa is hell on my back, too. I’m sure you’ve got something much softer in there.”

“We’re doing this again, eh?”

“What do you mean?” Dawn rolled over onto her back and looked at him upside down with her spine arched. “We never stopped.”

He leaned over her and god she loved being able to see nothing but his face and shoulders. “It’s 'cause you’re nervous, isn’t it. You do this when you’re nervous.”

“Actually, Michelangelo, I do this when I know I have something to look forward to.”

He studied her for a beat before sliding his great big hand under her and lifting them both away from the couch. “I guess that’s what I was hoping you would say,” he said and crossed the floor to the last room of the apartment she hadn’t caught a glimpse of yet.

Kisupure

CHAPTER 9: THE PHONE CALL

Night fell without much more incident, as defeatist as that sounded to Keith. But it was for the best, he reminded himself. His world had become embroiled in high strangeness, there was no sense in letting Bethlehem Steel make any decisions here. No tongue, no groping, no boners, no problem.

But he did manage to get her to talk a little bit more, which was good. He found out that the firm liked to get bit wild for its annual Christmas parties, that her family was from Milwaukee, the best dinner in town was at Restaurant Nippon, and that she couldn’t stop watching that new show, Matlock. That last one he make fun of her about.

With the cheese board dwindling to its last crumbs and his pop can long empty, it was time to clean up and go back inside. Dawn he brought down first, though this time he was able to clutch her more shamelessly to his chest as they descended the two stories of grating.

He put everything away while she poked around a little more. Keith liked to shower twice on days like this and Dawn agreed, so they went their separate ways to clean off. (And he was of course sure that it crossed both of their minds to bathe together.) When he was done, and done cleaning up the earlier mess from the bathroom floor, he found her nosing around his studio.

He had four work-benches in the space, racks of shelving holding wood and scrap, a washout sink, and behind a clear bath curtain in one of the partition boxes was his little office, protected from the dust. He used power tools quite frequently in here, and the jury-rigged ventilation only removed so much of it.

“I have to admit, when you said you designed furniture, I was imagining something obnoxious,” Dawn said, her hands running along the legs of a side table.

He pulled a catalog of his '84 work of a shelf and blew the dust off. He opened it to one of the pages with photos and set it down on the floor for her to look at. He was pleased when she did. KEMO, Inc. had done six large commissions that year for residences, three for offices, and sold a decorative sculpture at auction for $4,000.

Dawn looked genuinely surprised. “This stuff is so much more interesting than that coffee table! It’s…”

“A little mid-century, a little nouveau, a little Calder, a little Nakashima…”

He almost forgot that she wouldn’t know what any of that meant. She didn’t seem to need to know to be impressed, though; what was important was that he sounded confident, he supposed.

“And all in bronze!” she gaped.

“I started working with a foundry about ten years ago. It’s been a complete game-changer.”

“Now Nakashima… Nakashima… Where have I heard that name before?”

“You mean George?” Keith asked, grabbing a magazine. “Surely you know George.” He fwapped down the two-page feature on the lauded Japanese-American master.

“Aha!” she practically squealed, pointing at the pages. “Vincent–Vincent Thurlow–has a table of his!”

“He does? I’m jealous.”

“You know if I never change back, I should hire you to design all the furniture that’ll have to go in my new dollhouse.”

“Just think how inexpensive rent will be. You could be making the same figure and living at a fraction of the cost.” He scooped up the reading material and put them away.

“That would be nice…” Dawn’s voice trailed off as she thought about it.

He yawned, stretched, and she looked up at him. “Bedtime already?”

“M’fraid so. You should get to sleep too, you’ve got a phone call to make at 8:30 sharp.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Back outside, he crossed the floor to turn the lights off, leaving the Christmas strand on again.

“Carry me to bed, would you?” Dawn said effetely, and he obliged.

Keith set her on top of the pillowcase and she slipped in. Without taking her eyes off him, the tiny woman pulled off the doll dress, pushed it beyond her head, and twisted a little under the fabric. It was hardly enough to cover her breasts, and stretching her arms above her head brought them tantalizingly close to the edge.

“Kiss goodnight?”

He caged her in and bent down low. “Try to get at least a little sleep, alright?” Keith gave her a short peck on the mouth and chin, a wink as he lifted away, and retreated to his bedroom where he tried to fall quickly asleep.

But the artist tossed and turned, unable to get the image of her in that thin pillowcase out of his head; with a growl reached over to his nightstand for a squirt of body lotion and got to work on himself like a damned teenager.

The mood was very tense in the morning. When Keith checked in on Dawn, she was already clothed and sat on the couch, her body language guarded. It was around 8am, they had half an hour to go. He turned the TV on to help kill the time and stuck a bagel in the toaster for them.

She wasn’t much for talking this morning either, and he didn’t press it.

A 8:29, he showed her to the phone, lifting her up to the side table and keeping an eye on his watch for the moment 8:30 rolled around. When it did, he set the receiver down face-up and dialed the number she gave him. Dawn was wringing her tiny little hands as they both leaned in to hear.

“Good morning, Raymond Thurlow, this is Crystal speaking.”

“Crystal!” Dawn blurted into the receiver. “Crystal, it’s me! Dawn! Dawn Cooper!”

There was hesitation for a moment.

“Crystal, please, don’t hang up!”

“Miss Cooper? Miss Cooper, is that you? Y-you sound… far away, I can barely hear you! Is everything all right?”

Relief seemed to flood the tiny woman and she wiped her eye.

“Everything’s fine, Crystal! I-I want you to take a message for Vincent, James, and Emily. I want you to tell them that I’m alright, that there’s been… there’s been something of an accident, an embarrassing one. I’ll need to go on medical leave f-for a little while.”

She put both of her hands to the holes on the mouthpiece. “Do you have a fax machine?” she hissed up at Keith. He nodded.

“What hospital are you at? You might have some visitors.”

“No! No… I’m…” She wracked her brain for a precious moment. “I’m upstate. Look, Crystal, if there’s any paperwork you need me to finish up before transferring my caseload, there’s a fax machine here. I won’t be able to come to the phone very often.”

“O-OK, Miss Cooper. I’ll pass the note along to Emily. Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t need anything?”

“No! Totally fine, here, I’ve got everything I could possibly need,” she tried giving a laugh but it sounded like it hurt.

“What number can we reach you at? I’m sure Emily will want to talk to you, and to find out how long you’ll be away.”

“Right, right, of course, ah…” Dawn made a pleading gesture at him. “It’s…”

He tore open the side table drawer, looking for a business card. In his panic he knocked a few pens to the floor and grimaced silently. But there was nothing.

“Miss Cooper?”

“I-I’m just looking for it, I wrote it down here somewhere…” She mouthed his name, eyes wide.

Without any other ideas, or even a pad of paper to write on, he started holding up his fingers. 7-1-8…

“Seven, one, eight…”

“Hey, Miss Cooper, isn’t that a borough area code? Did… didn’t you say you were upstate?”

Dawn slammed her fist down on the switchhook with a tiny woman’s growl and stood there, clenching and unclenching her fists.

Keith swallowed. “Well, mission accomplished?”

She stood there until the off-hook tone started yelling at them. He hung it up for her.

“I need you to call Beverly.”

“Who?”

“My girlfriend Beverly. She won’t be at work yet. You need to tell her that you’re a friend of mine and… and that she needs to meet you here ASAP.”

“A-are you ready for someone else to see you like this?”

“I don’t exactly have a choice.” A pause. “She has a car, tell her to bring my juicer.”

“Your juicer?” He wasn’t sure where this was going.

“I just have a craving for carrot juice. It’s a Panasonic, very easy to operate. Won’t take up hardly any room on the counter, I promise.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, alright.”

“Go on, pick up the phone. She’ll be out the door any minute now.”

Keith sucked in a breath and did as he was told. Dawn gave him the phone number and he waited while it rang a few times.

“Hello?” came the clipped greeting on the other end. He could tell she had a thick Jersey accent already.

“Uh, hi, good morning, uh, Beverly, is it?”

“Yeah, who’s this? I’m about to leave for work.”

Keith switched ears. “Uh, hi, my name’s Keith Morgan. You might not’ve heard about me before, but–”

“Look, guy, whatever you’re sellin’ I don’t want any.”

“W-wait wait wait! Don’t hang up! I-I know where Dawn is!”

Dawn smacked her forehead.

“Oh my god,” came the startled voice on the other end. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod, who is this??”

“I’m Keith Morgan,” he said slower this time, enunciating. “I’m a friend of Dawn’s. She doesn’t talk about me much, we’re not very close, but I know where she is.”

“W-w-well where, buddy! Talk! She’s been missin’ since last friggin’ week!”

“She’s with me! Look, there’s been an accident, and she’s suffering from a very embarrassing injury. I happened to be close by when it happened, so she’s been recovering at my place. She didn’t want to go to the police, so she asked me to call you.”

“Put 'er on the line.”

Keith looked to Dawn with wide eyes. ‘She wants to talk to you!’ he mouthed. Dawn made X’s with her arms and shook her head.

“I said put 'er on the line if she’s really there!”

“A-alright, will do. Here she is.”

He shrugged and thrust out the phone.

“Beverly, hun, how are ya?” Dawn said, trying not to sound like she was shouting.

“Jesus, girl, what happened to your voice? You sound like you swallowed a balloon.”

“Well, see, Bev, that’s the, ah, embarrassing part of this whole thing. I’m sorta… stuck like this for a while. Something happened and I don’t really want anyone to see me.”

“Wait, if you’re fine, then what the hell happened Thursday night? Cops tore your place apart and said you never came home.”

“I didn’t. Look, can you come see me today? I’m stuck out in Flatbush and could really use the moral support.”

“Well I guess… business is slow right now. What’s a few hours? I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. Where am I going?”

“I’m at Keith’s studio, he’s on Avenue D and Foster, right across from the station. Big place on the corner. Buzz the third floor. Thank you for coming. And please, whatever you do, promise you won’t scream when you see me?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about but I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Love you, hun. Glad you’re safe. See ya in a bit.”

Click.

Keith gently hung up the phone. “You forgot to ask about the juicer,” he said.

She ignored him. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Keith. I don’t know how to sugar-coat this!”

“Just calm down, it’s going to be fine. If she’s really your friend, she’ll get over it quick.” That was bullshit he just made up, but it sounded right.

“Oh god Keith I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh no you don’t, c’mon. Deep breaths, deep breaths…”

Dawn sat down on the table and hugged herself, sighing. She appeared to be alright after all.

“Would you like a real hug?”

“Maybe.”

“Well all I have is the extra-large size. Hopefully it fits.” He picked her up and held her up to his shoulder while he patted her little backside. He sighed too, eyes on the ceiling. He had to try and figure out how to get forty-five minutes of work done today.

Kisupure