“I still have no idea what I’m going to write for this story; it’s due in two days and I just cannot settle on an idea.” The mild sigh of lamentation was evident in the author’s voice as they flicked on the blinker of their car, despite the empty road, merging into the far lane as they neared their fiancé’s house.
“What’s the theme?”
“Basically, ‘your ideal size fantasy’. The guy running it is packing it in after this round for whatever reason, so as a sort of ‘last hurrah’ he’s made the theme be just… ‘write your dream scenario’.”
“I know exactly what mine would be.”
“Oh?” The light of the passing street-lamps flickered over their fiancé’s bare legs as the author glanced across for just an instant, not taking their eyes fully off the street.
“You know those old pencil cases that were just, all zippers? Well, I’d have one of those, except each separate zipper would cause a different person to fall out of it; only each person would be the size of the eraser at the end of a pencil, so I could tease them with one while I was working.” The author could practically hear their fiancé’s grin as they spoke, the image of glinting teeth fresh in their subconscious mind.
“Heh, that’s great.”
“And you could go both ways with it; it would be very easy to be cruel. I like making people sit still while I’m being cruel to them,” their voice became suddenly gentle, almost like a school-teacher, “there you go, just sit still while I trace around you and OOPS, I slipped, there goes your hand.” A pleased sigh escaped them as their legs idly crossed, the flesh squeezing together just enough to be perceptible. “All it takes is one flick of a rubber band to send them across the room with terminal force. I just love the idea of watching them cowering inside a pencil sharpener, trying to dance around and avoid being cut to ribbons on the blade, or being pressed right up into the crook as they try not to get impaled on the tip of the pencil.”
A faint pull tugged at the author’s belly as they made their way down the winding hill towards the dimly lit suburb beyond.
“Mind you,” their passenger continued, “it can also be perfectly gentle and playful; having a little assistant to push my scraps around, or getting to play tiggy with a tiny while I’m working on my notes.”
“That does sound thoroughly adorable, I must say. It’s very cute. And honestly it would probably make for a better and more convenient story than anything I come up with.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it’s an actual scenario; you don’t need specific characters or people to make that scenario work. You can put just about anyone you fancy into those roles; just slap in a couple of generic titles for the characters and the people involved can be whoever you want them to be.
Most of my favorite fantasies, the ones that make me bubble up with excitement, are enjoyable primarily because of the people involved. There are potentially years of context behind those interactions that give them so, so much more impact for me, when the actual set-up of the scene itself might be the most basic, uninspired thing in size-fiction.
You know as well as I do how much the idea of being obliterated by one of our friends just melts me, but if you take away all that emotional intimacy and interpersonal history, all you’re left with is ‘big girl steps on small friend, footwear optional’.”
Silence briefly hung in the air for a moment as they pondered, the process slower than normal as they focused on driving safely. After a time, the author continued, their tone oozing with postulation as they spoke almost more to themselves than their passenger.
“I think I’ll probably wind up going with the dinner party idea, or maybe the Christmas bauble idea.”
Had they already written the Christmas bauble idea already though? They were pretty sure they had, but not specifically in the manner they had originally intended. Dangling from a Christmas tree in a little, translucent ornament while all their friends and loved ones had a nice party around them was a perfectly delicious idea as a concept, but it would be difficult to make it work in two thousand words.
“Well, you like to swim, right?” Their fiancé noted, a hand sliding across onto the author’s leg as the fingers squeezed greedily at the thigh. “I’m just picturing you in one of those Christmas decorations, swimming around amidst all the floating snow.”
A smile creased the edges of the author’s mouth.
“It’s definitely a cute, gentle visual, but it’s not something I think I could make an entire story out of.”
“It doesn’t have to be gentle; the next step was me picking it up and shaking it really, really hard.”
Chuckles of amusement echoed from both of them as an intangible wave of affection rolled between the pair.
“Same problem unfortunately. Besides, you know me, I can’t imagine a ‘dream scenario’ for me that involved only a single person. It would have to be a group effort.”
“True, true.” Their fiancé agreed without rue; the perks of polyamory.
“I think though, if it was going to be gentle-”
“It doesn’t have to be gentle; I was just suggesting.”
“Oh I know, I’m just saying, if it was going to be gentle it might potentially work better than most of my more cruel scenarios. It would probably also be more thematically appropriate; it’s ‘My Heaven October’ after all. Sure, there’s a very easy justification to be made for a ‘Heavenly Paradise’ which is just me getting smugged and stepped on over and over by all the people I like. But really at the end of the day, I’m still kind of a sucker for a happy ending done well. And after recent events, I could use a happy ending for the last of these contests.”
“Well that’s ultimately up to you honey.” The passenger noted with a degree of finality as they pulled up outside their house. All at once, they sat bolt-upright in their chair, a look of guilty dismay on their face. “Oh shit! I left my work shirt at your house; I’ll need it for tomorrow.” Silence reigned as they glanced over at the author. “I’m so sorry.”
“Well, I guess it’s back to my place first. No – wait – you have your phone date with your partner; you stay here and I’ll go get your shirt.”
“Okay, but… let me know how I can make it up to you.”
The door closed with a ‘thunk’ as the headlights of the car briefly illuminated the passenger’s lower half. A grunt of appreciative approval left the author as they reversed out of the driveway, a wave of stress and irritated fatigue washing over them.
So much had happened, and so much continued to happen, that they could barely contain themselves any longer. Behind the stony façade of their outward presentation, grief was warring with stress and despair for control of the author’s conscious thoughts; a war that was kept strictly internal as the smeared-on mask of cheer was kept erect. A colossus of stability and emotional support that merrily carried the weight of countless tiny, sobbing figures upon its shoulders, even as the engineers on its face-plate worked tirelessly to stem the leaks that threatened to gush forth.
There would be a time for that. There would be a time when the hulking figure could crash to the ground with earth-splitting force, tear open the floodgates and let themselves go. But it was not here, and it was not now; especially while they were driving.
Their mind wandered as rain spattered across the windshield, conscious thoughts focused on the safe drive home while the part of them previously focused on conversation switched instead to more bone-deep flights of fancy.
…
Soft kisses peppered a cheek amidst the snuggling pile. It was impossible to fully and completely discern where exactly one friend ended and another began, so complete was their entanglement. Warmth radiated gently from the cuddle puddle, not a one of them undressed despite the obvious intimacy and affection they all shared.
Indeed, an eclectic blend of fashions adorned the various members of that adoring group. Summer dresses of bright and vibrant colours contrasted with the dark, rich hues of a more gothic aesthetic. Leggings that resembled nothing so much as a pair of thighs wrapped in the universe curled lovingly around bright white stockings protruding from beneath billowing blue dresses laced with petticoats.
Likewise the mattresses on which they all lay were no more unified in form or presentation than any of the company, save for the universal constant that each and every one of them was as soft and comforting as the people themselves.
Smiles that gave way to softly murmured words of care and tenderness mingled with the gentle tinkle of notes emanating from the music box resting atop the nearby table. The problems of the world did not exist in that space, nor in the minds of the congregation.
There was nothing there but the shameless and unreserved love that each and every friend shared for one another.
The universal constant of most fantasies, particularly those in the realm of size, is the dynamic between the bigger party and the smaller party. Whether it be consciously and deliberately directed, or whether it be some unaware calamity or catastrophe that befalls the poor unfortunate tiny, the unspoken contract between audience and reader accepts that something has to happen for the story to take place, otherwise there is no story.
Such were the thoughts going through the author’s mind as they curled up in the crook of their fiancé’s neck, the steady thumping heartbeat felt even through the soles of their feet. Nestled in that alcove of warm, welcoming skin and shielded from the light beneath a curtain of hair, they sighed as they felt the weight and weariness of existence lift away from them for a time.
Restfulness overtook them, their eyes barely open as their fingertips traced slow lines down the neck of their true love; a single, imperceptible little figure hidden in their midst. No-one was hunting for them, no-one was fretting over them, no-one was concerned or displeased by their presence – if they even noticed them at all.
They could have wandered across the landscape of rolling curves and sweeping limbs, clambered high on ropey strands of hair only to slide down tumbling hillocks of hips. Had they been so inclined they could have found warmth and safety in the depths of tightly woven pocket, or sprawled themselves before the parted lips of a dozing friend, basking in the heat of their breath as they found blissful slumber in the arms of someone who loved them.
They could have.
But they did not.
Because there was no problem to solve, there was no great need to be overcome, there was no gut-rending drama crying out for a morally complex solution. There was no story. There was only an ending.
And in the end, the author considered, perhaps beneath caked-on layers of cruelty and betrayal, beneath ten thousand breathless fantasies of every kind of torment – being squashed, consumed, smothered, squeezed into pulp and mocked unmercifully without care or remorse… Perhaps the core, unyielding fantasy was of comfort, and peace, and love.
It wasn’t the sexiest notion in the world, but it was perhaps the most honest; the truest kind of Heaven is the one in which we are happy without compromise or fear. And for that little happy figure curled up in the center of their bigger, equally happy friends, held close to the love of their life?
That was the happy ending they yearned for more desperately than any other.