Mini Vacation

[Tiny_Significance]

Ah, I see. I understand that.
Well don't worry, the scene that introduced Stephanie and Jackson to us had Jackson pulling Stephanie out of his pants (naked and with a collar and leash on), which Stephanie acted all happy and obedient about in the moment, but then got all flustered and upset about when it was brought up. So I mean, if there's at least the suggestion of it, then I think I'll be fine with it!

Thanks for getting back to me so soon! Can't wait for the next installment!

[Xinunar]

"You're giving me to Jackson?" she repeated, staring at her parents, from her brother's hands.

"Yeah," said Jackson, "now you're gonna be my mini slave and hav'ta do everything I say!"

In terror, Stephanie looked up at his grinning face. Then she saw him blush--giving the game away. "Oh yeah?" she asked, punching him in the chest. "You and what army? You big dweeb!"

"Pipsqueak."

"Dork!"

"Ahem," their father interrupted. "Jackson, would you please give Stephanie to me, for a little while? We need to have a little talk."

The two children froze, recognizing their father's serious tone. Jackson handed Stephanie back to his father, who took her into the bedroom. Their mother motioned Jackson over to the couch. "We need to have a talk too," she said.

Dr. Miller set Stephanie down on a small cushion, on the bedside table and sat down to talk to her. "Stephanie," he said, "you've read the literature. You know that's not the proper way for you to act."

Stephanie looked at her father like he had just grown a second head. "But daddeee," she wailed, "you can't mean...."

"I don't mean that you have to be super-submissive," he interrupted. "No one is trying to turn you into the Thompson's mini, Penny." (That was exactly what Stephanie was afraid they were trying to do.) "But you can't hit your brother. He can't hit you back! And you have to show him proper deference, proper respect, when you talk to him--to all bigs--but especially to Jackson. He's the one taking care of you. He's your master."

He paused a moment then continued: "I spent the better part of ten years, active duty, in the air force. I'm still in the reserves. I know what it's like to have to say 'sir' and 'ma'am' to people I really do think are dweebs, or bitches or just plain idiots. And you know what? I suck it up, and I do it. And so can you. Especially with Jackson because he is not a dweeb or an idiot. He's your loving brother, who will take very good care of you."

With his index finger, he stroked the tiny girl from the top of her head, down the side of her cheek.

"But," stammered Stephanie, "he... will he...?"

"Your mother's telling him the facts of life right now. She's probably telling him the Henderson's' story, from 'What to Expect When You're a Mini'. And yes, Jackson will be expected to correct you, if you continue to make such errors. Your mother is probably showing him how to paddle a mini, without injuring her, right now."

Stephanie gasped. "But... what about you and mom?"

"No," he said, "if you need punishing, your brother will do it. Never me or your mother."

"Why?"

"For one thing," he said, "that means you have us to appeal to, if you think he is being unreasonable. And... a few other reasons, but mostly we want to continue to relate to you as our daughter, not our mini, as much as possible."
Stephanie choked up. She didn't know you could be so upset, and relieved at the same time.
. . . .

The Hendersons were a tragic couple, their story was used as a cautionary tale. Mr. Henderson had an abnormal reaction to the mini pill and wound up stuck at 12" tall. He and his wife tried to live as normally as possible, until one day, they had an argument. He yelled at her, over something trivial, and Mrs. Henderson snatched him up to chastise him. But when she brought him up to her face, she saw his head lolling limply. She had picked him up too roughly, and his neck had snapped. That evening, she went to bed with a bottle of vodka and two bottles of sleeping pills.

"But mom," Jackson protested, "I'd never do that! Hold'n Stephanie is just like hold'n a baby. I've held babies before. I won't hurt her!"

"A baby constantly reminds you that it's a baby," she explained. "Its looks, its coos and cries all say 'I'm a little baby. Don't hurt me.' Stephanie has to learn how to give the same kinds of signals. Or different signals, but with the same effect. Right now, everything about her says, 'I'm your big sister, Stephanie. If I say something irritating, just punch me in the arm.' She's got to learn to constantly reinforce her image as a mini, so that you don't forget that's what she is--even for a moment."

"Is that why most minis go naked?"

"It's one of the reasons," she said. "If you decide that's best for her, then she will too. And you've seen how masters and minis usually play with each other--with the master very much in control. Jackson, you can never roughhouse with Stephanie. Obviously, you can't jump on her or hug her the way you used to, but she can't jump on you either! She can't even punch you, playfully, like she just did. She might trigger a reflex reaction, that you can't help." She began tickling him, causing Jackson to twist and thrash uncontrollably.

"So," she continued, "masters and minis play in what is called a dominant and submissive mode. The dominant, the master, is kind of like an officer, or drill sergeant, in the air force; and the submissive mini is like a cadet. She has to follow his orders; he says 'attention' and she says, 'yes sir!' And stands still! It's still play, but it's very formalized, very controlled.

Jackson, the Henderson's weren't the only ones something like that happened to. A lot of accidents like that happened, before they passed the Mini Guardian Act, which puts someone in charge of the mini, and requires the mini to accept that control--unless she decides to move to a mini town."

"But momma," Jackson objected, "that kind of play, like you were talking about, it's so embarrassing to the mini! And Steph... she's so scared we're going to treat her like that. I don't want to make her feel... I don't want her to hate me!"

"No," she said. "If you humiliate or degrade her--those are fancy words for 'really embarrass'--you'll lose charge of her so fast, you won't know what happened! You and she will work out what kind of play you are comfortable with, but it will be dominant/submissive play. There's no avoiding that.

Also, it's your job to help teach her how to behave. Some days, all the indignities and frustrations of being a mini are going to get to her, and she's going to throw a fit. Or maybe she'll just get bitchy and start saying hurtful things to you--because you're her master and the only one she can lash out at. And the things she says will really hurt your feelings, because you've always idolized Steph, and she knows exactly how to hurt your feelings. She never does it, but she knows how. Do you know what you'll have to do?"

Jackson shook his head.

"You'll lay her very gently over your hand and paddle her bottom with a popsicle stick, the way I showed you. In fact, you'll probably have to do that from time to time, just for insubordination--speaking disrespectfully to big people. It's a habit she has to break, and you'll have to help her break it."

Stephanie and her father rejoined them in the den. And her father handed her back to her brother.

"OK," said Dr. Miller, "you both understand that, even though you two are master and mini, we are still your parents; and we do still have the final say. Stephanie, we have a job for you. Jackson will be taking some evening courses, and he'll be attending school this summer. Your job is to help him make good grades, so that he'll be ready to enter ninth grade in the fall."

"Huh?" said Stephanie. "He's skipping eighth grade?"

Her mother spoke up: "Your father and I feel that middle school would be too dangerous for you. High schoolers are more mature."

"What?" Stephanie was confused. "You think he's going to take me to class with him? The high schools all have special day cares for minis. They don't go to class!"

"Those are adult minis, dear," her mother explained. "There are very few children minis, because it's illegal to give a child a mini pill. The school has agreed to let you attend classes with Jackson--as long as you aren't disruptive."

Stephanie was shocked at this revelation, and frightened! It was bad enough being with her family--who, after all, showed her nothing but love. But to go back to high school, and be surrounded by her peers, who wouldn't be treating her like a peer, at all. She didn't know if she could take it. And she wouldn't have any friends at this school, although that might be for the best. She wouldn't have any old rivals either. And it was so very hard to face her old friends, even the few who still tried to be her friend. She still hadn't called Misty.

"I don't know...." she started.

"The other option," her father said, "is to be your mother's and my mini. She can take care of you during the day. I'll help out in the evenings. And maybe Jackson can take you to gaming sessions on the weekends."

"So, Jackson," Stephanie said, "you ready to crack some books?"

---End Part 15.

[Xinunar]

"It hasn't been as bad as you feared, has it?" Dr. Janice Wiseman sat very still, polishing her nails. A tiny girl straddled her shoulder, braiding her hair. 'Salon therapy' Janice jokingly called it. Girls were conditioned to open up, emotionally, while grooming each other. In fact, the practice probably pre-dated speech itself. Proto-humans connected with each other, socially, while picking lice off each other's heads. Talking about their feelings, boys, etc. came later.

"No, it hasn't," Stephanie admitted.

Stephanie was a mini girl, only 15 years old, and eight and a half inches tall. She was one of the smallest mini's on record--one of the very smallest, not living in an institutional setting. She was one of the youngest too. It was illegal to give a minor a mini pill. Accidents and villainy happened, so Stephanie was not unique. But her circumstances were extremely rare, which was one reason Dr. Wiseman had taken a special interest in her.

"Jackson never treats me like a mini--or like you expect masters to treat their minis."

"Never?" Janice asked.

"Well," said Stephanie, "I've gotten a few paddlings. And they're not fair! And most of them happen a certain time of the month, which is also not fair." Then she started to giggle and choked it back.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"It's really embarrassing," said Stephanie.

"I'm your psychiatrist!"

"I gave Jackson a scare," she said. "He thought the blood was his fault."

"No!"

"Yes! And then he started panicking and I started giggling. And then we both had a scare; he almost hurt me! He was panicked and angry at the same time--because I couldn't stop giggling. He squeezed me a little too rough, then he plopped me down on a cushion. So, I stopped laughing and explained that I had put in a homemade tampon, and I guess the spanking kicked my flow into high gear. It wasn't on purpose!

I promised to tell him from now on, if I'm on my period."

What she didn't tell the doctor--what she would never tell anyone--was that he had hurt her. In his panic, he had set her down much too hard--and it wasn't a cushion, just a cloth on the desk. He almost broke her hip bone. They both resolved to be more careful in the future. And she never even let Jackson know how badly she was hurt.

"That was my first period since I shrank."

"The mini pills include a birth control," Janice explained, "and you got a double dose. They disrupt your normal cycle temporarily, but the long-term birth-control effect is permanent, until reversed."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "The government doesn't want to deal with a bunch of baby minis. Some people say that's one reason the pills are legal. The bootleg minis don't have the b.c.'s in 'em.

I'd get myself fixed, if they didn't," she added.

Janice waited a while to see if Stephanie had more to add, then asked: "Other than the spankings, how does he treat you?"

"Oh, the spankings aren't so bad," she replied. "Here, let me move this earring out of my way."

"Since that time with the blood," she continued, "he's so careful, I barely feel them! And other than that--I've told you before, my brother dotes on me. It's less like I'm his mini, and more like he's my big giant servant."

"Do you know how many people--how many perfectly normal people, with no mini fetish at all--would kill for what you've got?" Janice asked.

"Well, they can have it," Stephanie replied tersely. "Yeah, I know I've got it good, compared to some. It's just...." She left that unfinished, which was very frustrating to Janice. She believed that if Stephanie could better articulate her problems, she'd be better able to cope with them.

"Dr. Wiseman," she asked, "what am I going to do about Jackson?"

"What do you mean, Stephanie?"

"Is he going to be a big giant servant the rest of his life?" Stephanie asked. "I still think it might be better if I went to Fantasia or something. I mean really, what am I going to do with him?"

"Help him!" Janice said. "Help him find other interests. Get him in a gaming group, if that's what he likes. You've said he does basically anything you say; use that! Have him--help him ask some girl out."

Jackson came in to get her a few minutes later.

"Dr. Wiseman," she asked on her way out, "what day is it?"

"April first."

"Oh. Well, keep that in mind!" She waved, as her brother took her away.

It took a moment for that to sink in, then Janice grabbed a mirror. Her ear rings had been braided into her hair. They were sticking straight out from her ear! And then the braid was tied into a little bow.

"That little scamp," she said, as her next patient came in.
. . . .

"It's not working!" Stephanie said, dejectedly.

"What isn't?" asked Janice.

"Being Jackson's mini, what else?" asked Stephanie. "It's just not working."

Dr. Janice Wiseman disagreed. From everything that Stephanie had told her, over the past few months, and everything she had learned from interviewing her family and her school counselor, Jackson was taking excellent care of Stephanie. And she was taking excellent care of Jackson as well. He was coming out of his shell; Dating, getting involved in school activities, and taking care of Stephanie had improved his maturity and self-confidence. But ultimately, it was the patients who decided what was 'working' for them and what wasn't.

"Is school worse than you expected?"

She and her brother had started summer school together a week ago.

"No," Stephanie said, simply. "It's about as bad as I expected. They don't even treat me like I'm a person! I'm just a mini--an uppity mini, who puts on airs and wears clothes--nice clothes that make most of them jealous. But if I wore rags, it'd be just as bad. Dr. Wiseman, how did black people take it, back in the 50's or whenever?"

"They had their own versions of the mini towns," she answered. "But mostly, they just toughed it out. It's not called being an oppressed people for nothing, Stephanie. But your situation is different. I'm not saying better or worse, but different. Your disadvantage is a physical one, not just social or legal. And the mini laws might not be fair, but they really are for your protection--mostly. So, I don't think the African American experience is really relevant to your situation.

“I get the analogy, though. The main thing is, I think we need to focus on how to help you cope with your situation, rather than worrying too much about what other people think. Most of them will come around, in time. I think you'll find that many of them already have – or at least want to.

“There is a lot of social pressure in high school. You are attending classes with children a bit younger than yourself. Don’t forget that they are children, and therefore even more vulnerable to that social pressure – more scared of getting hurt – than an adult, or even an older teen is. Many of them would love to befriend you, but they’re scared. Scared of becoming social outcasts, and scared that you would reject or at least dismiss them. Remember: you are something of a celebrity, yourself. That’s very intimidating.”

“America’s smallest teenager,” said Stephanie. “Not the most coveted title.”

“Still coveted, by more than a few,” said the doctor.

"Yeah, I know," said Stephanie, crying softly. "I know all of that. I know that they’re just kids, and I shouldn’t take it personally. I know that some envy me, some pity me, and some just don’t know how they should act around me. But I'm having hard time. And it doesn't help for everyone to treat me like a pet, or worse. The boy's call Jackson 'mini whipped' and call me 'the toy.’ And the girls call Jackson ‘master,’ with their voices dripping in irony, and call me 'the dildo.’ I don't know if I can take it—or make Jackson take it—much longer."

"Are you able to put it away, when you go home?"

"No," she said. "Sometimes. But mostly, I just dread the next day, you know? It was better, when I was so busy helping Jackson study and just stayed home all the time. I think maybe that's what I need to go back to."

"Perhaps," Janice said. "But I'd rather help you face the world than run from it. Let me tell you a short parable that psycho-therapists are fond of: Two monks are walking on an old road, when they come to a river. A small girl is standing beside the river, crying. She says, 'O kind monks, can one of you carry me across the river? I'm too small, and the current is too strong for me.' The first monk says, 'I'm sorry, but our vows disallow all contact with women.' But the second monk lets her climb on his back and carries her across.

The two continue their walk for several more miles, when finally, the first monk says, 'How could you sin so?' 'My friend,' the second monk says, 'I only carried the girl a short way. You have been carrying her ever since.'

“Stephanie, you've got to learn to put that little girl down, when you get across the river.

“When you get home, put it all down! Read. Study. Visit the folks. Watch TV. When you're at home, you're not a mini; you're just a girl with really big stuff! My God, Stephanie, do you know how much a 300-inch TV costs at Best Buy?"

Stephanie had to laugh a little at that and said, "OK, pretty good story doc. But next time you tell it, you should make the little girl a mini. But doc, I know what you mean, and I try to do that. I really do. But sometimes.... It's not just like I'm small; it's like I'm being crushed! And it hurts so bad I can hardly stand it!"

Dr. Wiseman looked down on her tiny patient. She understood. Stephanie had to learn how to conquer that pain. If she did, then the children's taunts would be nothing but annoying. And if she didn't... then she wouldn't be hearing them much longer. She would recommend Stephanie move into one of the communes.

"Stephanie," she said, with a soft smile, "have you ever heard of the game, 'Trust'".

"Yeah, you fall backwards and I catch you."

"Oh, sarcasm," said Janice. "That's progress. Do you mind if we play a little variant?"
Stephanie shrugged.

"Now, this won't hurt a bit," said Janice. She took out a couple of cords that each had a tiny noose at one end, and a clasp at the other. She slipped the nooses over Stephanie's ankles.

"Hey!" Stephanie objected.

"Trust me?" asked Janice.

Stephanie relaxed--a little.

On her desk, Janice had a six-ball pendulum--the kind that seemed omnipresent in therapist offices. Now, she removed the metal balls and hung Stephanie, upside down, where one of them had been.

"Now, if I can just find five more little girls as pretty as you, I'll be the envy of the whole building!"

"Ha, ha." Stephanie replied, sarcastically.

"Do you feel okay?" Janice asked, rhetorically. "Minis can take inversion for a long time, pretty much indefinitely. There's so little distance, from the bottom of your head to the top of your feet," (here she ran her finger lightly up Stephanie's body to briefly tickle her feet) "and your blood pressure is so low--that there's really no danger, or even discomfort. Did you know that the scientists still can't figure out why minis' blood has such low viscosity? You know the saying: 'blood is thicker than water?' Well, yours isn't."

"Fascinating." said Steph.

The doctor stared at the tiny girl with a smile that reminded Stephanie of The Mona Lisa. She still wasn't sure what the doctor's game was. Bored, she gave a yawn. Stretching her arms downward, she felt her shirt falling. She started to catch it, but then decided to let it drop. She let her arms dangle, and the shirt fell to the desktop below her. She was curious to see how the doctor would react.

"Oooh, pretty!"

Stephanie quickly covered her breasts with her arms. The doctor giggled.

"So, what's the game?" Stephanie asked.

"What do you want the game to be?"

"How about: 'Get The Mini Down From The Ropes'?"

"Oh, pooh," pouted the doctor. "We'll play that soon enough. Why did you drop your shirt?"

"I dunno. I just... did."

"Spontaneous."

"Yeah."

"Cool," said Janice. She was being uncharacteristically chipper. Stephanie wondered if she was turned on--or high.

Great, she thought, all I needed was another lesbian miniphile in my life.

"Any other reason?" asked Janice.

"Like what?"

"Like, if I give you all the answers, you won't understand the questions," she said, in her best valley-girl impression.

"Oh Kaay," said Stephanie, trying to think why she did it. But the more she thought about it, the dumber it seemed. Why did she do it? "I was bored. I thought I'd shock you--which is kind'a dumb, considering most of your patients are minis. You said you wanted to play a game, so I thought I'd be... playful. Uh, I'm not trying to be lesbian or anything."

"So, you thought you'd join in the game--kind of, make it your own game--instead of just being passive in mine?"

"Kind'a."

"That," said Janice pointedly, "sounds like an excellent idea!" She crossed her arms on the desk and rested her chin on them, just in front of the upside-down girl. She smiled broadly--a playful, friendly smile.

"I'm going to tell you another story," she said. "This time a true one."

"Oh no," Stephanie groaned. "Not another story."

"That's the other reason I tied you up," Janice teased. "Have you ever heard of Bob Flanagan?"

"Is he a musician?"

"He wrote a little ditty, but no. He was a man with cystic fibrosis. That's a terrible disease. It causes a slow and very painful death. Bob was in pain all the time--from much younger than you. You know what he did?"

"Saved the whales?" guessed Stephanie. "Became a mini?"

"No. He became a masochist! Bob was in pain all the time--crushing, excruciating pain--so he taught himself to enjoy it. He turned it into his own game, kind of like you just did with mine. He decided not to just submissively accept the cystic fibrosis' game. He conquered the pain, by embracing it.

You know, I'm really treating you like a mini here--hanging you upside down, half naked. Are you scared?"

"No," Stephanie admitted.

"Because you know I won't hurt you. Are you angry?"

"No."

"Because you know I'm trying to help you. Are you humiliated?"

"No."

"Because it's your game as much as mine! You were the one who dropped your shirt; I didn't. Lift your arms. Pose a bit," she ordered.

Stephanie did, remembering the poses she had done for Bruce at the apartment. Neither she nor Dr. Wiseman were lesbians, but it was kind of nice to pose for another girl, who would appreciate her beauty without lusting after it.

"You know, Stephanie," said Janice, "I'm not a lesbian, or even bi, but I am a bit of a miniphile--of course, being in this business, I'd have to be--and you are cute as a button!

Ooh, I wonder what this button does?" She poked Stephanie gently on her left breast. "Why it makes the mini spin to the right!" She joked.

Being poked on the boob and spinning upside down were a bit too much for Stephanie. She wrapped her arms around her chest and said, "Doctor, can I come down now?"

"Of course, Stephanie," said Janice. She quickly grabbed a napkin and wrapped it around the girl. Then she unhooked her and set her down on the desk. She turned her head politely, while Stephanie put her shirt back on. She let Stephanie remove the cords herself.

"Stephanie, I hope you don't think I'm trying to tell you what to do."

"Aren't you?" she asked.

"No," said Janice. "What worked for Bob Flanagan might not work for you. You have to find your own way. I probably shouldn't even have suggested it, so early in your treatment, but you seemed so upset earlier. Anyway, if you do decide to try this at home, just be sure Jackson knows to stop as soon as you ask him to."

"I don't think I could ever do that with Jackson!"

--End part 16.

[Xinunar]

Richard and Joyce Miller were relaxing in their den, watching the evening news. It was Tuesday, the last week of May, and the kids were up in their room.

"Mom, Dad?" said Jackson, their youngest. "Can I talk to you?"

"Uh oh," said Richard, "I'd better get my wallet."

Jackson sat down on the coffee table in front of them.

"What's the matter, Jackson?" asked Joyce.

Jackson looked a little nervous and didn't know how to start. "Well," he said, "you know, Steph... she's been having a hard time."

"We know, son." said Richard.

"Well, she wants to try something different." He paused, but his parents waited, so he continued, "She calls it 'embracing her mininess.'"

"Oh." said Joyce.

"Really?" said Richard.

"She asked me to start treating her like a mini," Jackson explained, "I mean 'really' like a mini – like a lot of people – uh, masters – treat their minis."

"Was this her own idea, or did her therapist suggest it?" Richard asked.

"I think it was her therapist."

"But she's always been so afraid of that happening?" said Joyce. "Horrified, even."

"I'm worried," said Richard, "that our 'noted miniologist' might be pushing Stephanie to conform to the norms of mini society, instead of accounting for her unique situation and personality."

"Yeah, I said the same thing," said Jackson. "I said, 'That crazy shrink's messin' with your brain, Steph!' But she says it wasn't like that. The doctor only mentioned it one time – about a month ago."

"She's really miserable," he continued. "She has been ever since the accident, most of the time. And she says she needs to try something different. And yeah, she's scared, but she says she wants to 'face her fear'; and she says it won't be too scary, if it's with me."

The Miller's both nodded. That would have sounded like B.S., coming from anyone else, but Jackson was different. He adored his sister. He'd walk on fire for her.

Four years ago, Richard had been serving his fifteen months, fighting Al Qaeda in Somalia, while Joyce kept the practice afloat, when Jackson got very sick. Stephanie had tended him, during the days, for two weeks. One day, his fever got so high she had to carry him to the bath tub to cool him down, until an ambulance could arrive.

Stephanie was a small girl, barely taller than Jackson, and not as heavy. When he got home from the hospital, he saw her sporting a serious black eye and several smaller bruises, from where he had thrashed about in pain and delirium. Some things a boy never forgets. If Jackson said that Stephanie felt safe, having him treat her like a tiny slave girl, then she did.

"We put you in charge, Jackson," said Joyce. "If you and she and Dr. Wiseman all think this is a good idea, then we're behind you."

"Is she going to be comfortable around us?" Richard asked.

"Uh, we're still gonna try to be as normal as we can around you, if that's OK."

"No. Of course!" said Joyce, "That'll be fine!" If she was disappointed, she didn't show it. In fact, she seemed relieved. "And, of course, we're still here for both of you, to talk to, or whatever you need.”

"Jackson, why didn't Steph come down with you to tell us about this?" asked Richard.

"Well," said Jackson, "for one thing, she said it was part of putting me in charge. And... I kinda wanted to see if I could surprise her with some stuff from Mini Mart."

"Ye-hap," said Richard, with a little groan, as he pushed himself up from his recliner. "Let me get my wallet."
. . . .
Mini Mart had reinvented itself over the past few years. At first, they just carried a few mini-oriented items, alongside the lotions, condoms and energy pills that crowded their counters. But over time, the mini items had come to dominate the stores.

Jackson and his father browsed through the store, looking for things to enhance Stephanie's mini experience. Richard saw several things that looked interesting, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say, "Hey, you could use this on her!” Still, when Jackson showed him some costumes and the like, he was able to critique them.

"Are these the smallest you've got?" Jackson asked the clerk.

"Yeah, those are sixth scale. 6-S is about the smallest we've got. We might have a couple of 6-SS over there," he said, pointing. "How tall is she?"

"Eight and a half," Jackson answered.

Richard was uncomfortable with this conversation but knew he couldn't shield Stephanie from the world forever - not completely.

"Eight and a half? Inches?" the young man asked, rhetorically. "That's like.... Wait, is she that girl from Charleston? The one that got a double mini?"

"My sister."

"Wow, I read about her in 'Tiny Times!'" He pointed to a nearby magazine rack.

"I'd rather not be reading any more about her," Richard said, with a hint of threat to his voice. He couldn't completely shelter her from the world, but he didn't want to draw attention to her either. He didn't even want to know her street value, but he had some idea. Stephanie was a very rare mini.

"Oh, no sir! I didn't mean anything."

Richard smiled and introduced himself. The boy was going to see his credit card anyway. At this point, the best way to keep him from running to the nearest tabloid was to be friendly – and give him some business. He noticed Jackson looking at the jewelry case. "Think you should get her one of those?"

"I was kinda thinkin' about it," Jackson admitted, "but they're pretty expensive."

"Those GPS things really work?" Richard asked.

[Xinunar]

"Steph!" Jackson called. "You in there?"

Stephanie did not live in a doll house. But she did have her own room that sat on the floor in Jackson's room. Actually, it was a suite, since it had an adjoining bathroom. (Emptying and cleaning the toilet was Jackson's least favorite part about having a mini.) It also had a large window, which let her watch TV from her bed.

All Jackson had to do was bend down to see if she was in. But he didn't.

"No. I moved back to Micro City," she yelled back at him. She came up to the window and looked at him, with a "You big dope" expression. She couldn't call him names anymore, but he wouldn't punish her for a teasing look.

"Don't even joke about that, Stephanie," Jackson said. She could tell he was serious when he used her whole name. "Or are you trying to get me to punish you already? I heard some minis do that."

"Uh, no sir. Sorry."

"You sure?" he asked, teasingly. "You said you want the whole submissive mini experience."

"No, sir," she said contritely, even bowing her head. She hadn't said anything about submissive. But it probably wouldn't be a good idea to correct him, and it probably was implied by the 'whole mini experience.'
"Com'on out," he said. "I got stuff for you."

She stepped out, and sat down in his right hand. He brought her up to his cheek for a kiss, then set her on his desk. She was surprised to see a tall bag from Mini Mart sitting there. She thought he was just downstairs with the folks, while she was up here reading. She was still holding her micro-copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows.

Jackson started looking in the bag, trying to decide what to show her first. "Well," he said, "I know you're supposed to save the best for last, but I wanna start with dad's present."

He pulled out a large black jewelry case, and Stephanie had a small panic attack. She was hit simultaneously by several powerful feelings. First, it was exciting. Scary but exiting. Second, she could tell it was expensive; it's nice when people care enough to get you something expensive. Lastly, for just a moment, it looked less like a jewelry case and more like a coffin--just her size. She was going to her doom!

She knew what had to be inside. What other kind of jewelry could there be for her? She was going to her doom! She felt weak in the knees. Suddenly, she kneeled on the desk. If she hadn't, she might have swooned - but she also did it for effect. Jackson opened the case to show her the silver collar, leash and wristband inside. The collar was beautiful! It was silver, with tiny gold threads that reminded her of the glowing script on the ring in "The Lord of the Rings." She had seen one like it in a magazine and knew it wasn't just for decoration. The collar included a high-tech alarm and tracking signal that was tied to the wristband.

She also knew that, once clasped, it would take watchmakers tools or bolt cutters to get it off.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"Yes master, it's beautiful," she said, with tears welling in her eyes.

"Steph," he said, gently stroking her back with his finger, "it's Dad's gift. But you don't have to take it, if you don't want to. He won't mind."

"I know," she whispered. "Please put it on me."

He continued to caress her lovingly. "Not yet," he said. She looked up at him. "You need to dress right for it."

Of course! It was time for her to become a naked mini. Hesitantly, almost paralyzed, she began to unbutton her shirt.

"Wait, Steph!" said Jackson. He grabbed the box to a computer game and opened it to make a screen in front of her. "We don't hav'ta do everything at once!"

Relaxing, Stephanie stood behind the screen and finished undressing. She smiled at Jackson, her head coming just over the top of the box. Sensuously she tossed clothes over it, as she removed them. When she was completely naked, he brought out a tiny cave-girl outfit and handed it to her. It was a faux Bengal-tiger-fur bikini. It had only one shoulder strap, and the top did not cup her breasts like a bra or bathing suit. It appeared to only lay over them, but it did have hidden straps to hold it in place. Likewise, the bottom appeared to be a loin cloth, but there were panties inside. So, she didn't feel quite as slutty as she looked. It was not something that she ever would have chosen for herself, but she was thrilled to wear it now.

Jackson brought out a makeup mirror, and while Stephanie was admiring herself, he held up the collar. She smiled and craned her neck, and he snapped it on.

"Let's practice some tumbling!" he enthused. Jackson took off his shirt and sat in the middle of his bed, and Stephanie started practicing. Most of the moves involved her jumping, balancing or tumbling on top his body. (Hence the mattress below.) She treated his outstretched arms like broad balancing beams. After several attempts, she even managed to vault completely over his head. She didn't nail the landing, but still....

This was one of the advantages to being a mini. Her muscles were several times stronger - compared to her body mass - than they were before. Only 8 1/2 inches tall, Stephanie could jump a full 22 inches in the air! They got several of the stunts from a book Jackson had bought: The Mini Gymnast, by Mary Lou Retton. Mary Lou had become a thirder, so that she could again perform the stunts that made her famous when she was younger - at least, that's the reason she gave in interviews.

Stephanie soon discovered that the straps on her halter top were not made for this kind of activity. It kept riding up over her breasts, and she would nonchalantly tuck it back down. Jackson would pretend not to notice, but it was an overacted pretend.

Jackson hand-washed the outfit before going to bed. It had gotten sweaty, and he didn't want to bring out one of the other outfits just yet. Stephanie wore the cave-girl outfit (and the unremovable silver collar) to school the next day - to many appreciative whistles and comments. There were some snide remarks as well, but Doctor Wiseman had been right: The children were simply better able to accept a mini who acted more like a mini.

Stephanie decided that things were looking up, when Jackson threw her for another loop. During lunch break, he took her down the hall to the athletic wing and signed her up for cheer-squad tryout. They were only a week and a half away. Stephanie argued with him, until he finally gave her the first spanking she'd had in weeks - and her first ever at school. This was done in the hallway, and there were a handful of witnesses. It was also a little harder than she had gotten used to. It was humiliating, and it hurt!

Later, in private, he reminded her that the reason she put him in charge was to help her conquer her fears. He asked her if she wanted to go back to the way things were before.
"No," she said, with a sniffle.
"Maybe you think this is all just fun for me," said Jackson, "and yeah, partly, it's cool! But you're a lot o' work, you know?"

"Yes," she said simply, and honestly.

"Well, I think I'm doing my part, aren't I?" Jackson asked. She nodded.

"You wanna give me a *good* reason why you can't try out?"

Stephanie shook her head. She had several, but she knew that the real reason was just that she was afraid they would all laugh at her and look down on her - exactly the fear she was trying to conquer. She still thought he was pushing too hard. She just wasn't ready for this! But she wasn't getting out of it.

"So, if your master tells you to try out for cheer squad - or the football team, what do you do?"

"I try out," she answered.

"No!" said Jackson. "You win! You do the best cheers ever, and you make the team!"

She gave him a shy grin.

"OK. You don't win the football tryouts. There, you just get squished."

That evening, they went down to dinner, with Stephanie standing on top of Jackson's head.

"What are you doing?" their mother asked. That looked dangerous!

"Stephanie promised to teach me how to make poison," Jackson answered innocently.

"Poison?"

"I said I'd teach you poise," corrected Stephanie.

"Poise?" said Jackson in disgust. "Forget that!" He nodded his head forward, and Stephanie gave a yelp and went tumbling off.

Their mother gasped. It was really more of a reverse scream--with the air going in instead of out.

Stephanie did a full forward flip, and made a two-point landing in her brother's open palm.

"Jackson and Stephanie, what do you think you're doing?" their mother yelled. "You could be hurt or even killed from a fall like that!"

"Not really, Mom," said Jackson.

"What?"

"I mean, minis can fall even farther than big people," he explained. "I read about it in that book you gave me. They explained it, but basically, they said that she's even lighter than she is weaker. Plus, there's more air resistance, and she's more flexible too. I mean we still gotta be careful with her and all, but that story about the Henderson's--that was mostly just a fluke.

"An' Steph's been tumbling for years! You've seen her come off the parallel bars, and they're way higher than my head."

Joyce stared at the two children in wonder. "Well..., you've got to do that again, when your father gets home," she laughed.

That evening, Jackson showed Stephanie the costume he got for her, for Heritage Day. It was a loin cloth.

"I'm going to be Captain John Smith, and you'll be Pocahontas," he explained.

Stephanie eyed the tiny cloth nervously. She'd be topless! In public! At school, no less. She still wasn't sure if she was ready for this. Would she ever be? Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. You can still back out, she thought to herself. Your safety word is real simple. It's "no" or "stop" or "I don't want to. Please don't make me."
"I know you're scared about it, Steph, so look what else I got." He pulled a couple of bottles from the Mini Mart bag. "Black hair dye, and QT. No one will even recognize you!" he said with a grin. "Let's go to the bathroom; we gotta get you ready."

He set her on the counter and said, "Uh, now you do hav'ta strip, 'cause I gotta spray you with the QT."

She gave him a gentle glare, but then stripped off her clothes. She stood at attention, with one arm over her breasts and her other hand over her bush. Slowly, she worked up the nerve to drop them to her sides.

But before she could move, Jackson said, "Wait, Steph!"

She froze, looking at him quizzically.
"I gotta take a moment," he said.

She continued to stand still, as he admired her. She had never been naked in front of her brother before. She'd never been naked in front of any man or boy, for that matter - not counting when she was too young to remember. It was intensely embarrassing, but also kind of thrilling. Her nipples were erect, and she blushed all the way to them. She prayed her body wouldn't betray her in any other way.
Jackson's eyes roamed up and down, and then he seemed to spot something behind her. She started to turn to see what it was, but then remembered the vanity mirror she was standing in front of. She remained still, but rolled her eyes.

Jackson got things ready, including a small fan he had set on the counter. As soon he sprayed her, he would turn it on to blow the mist away, so she could breathe.

"OK," he said, "like you're doin jumping jacks. Close your eyes and take a deep breath."

He sprayed her with quick, even strokes and turned on the fan to clear the air. He watched her--as much for signs of chill as for the pure pleasure of it. Once she was dry, he had her lie down so he could get the soles of her feet and between her legs.

"Most people don't tan the soles of their feet," she said.

"Yeah, but this will make you look kinda like a Barbie doll."

Lying with her feet spread and pointing at him should have been the most embarrassing thing yet, but by this time she was getting pretty Zen about it. It was sort of like a visit to the gynecologist. The spray stung a bit, where it got inside her.

They dyed her hair and she tried on the loin cloth. She did look good--and a lot like a Barbie doll. The dark, artificial-looking tan made her areolas vanish completely.

She got more than a few appraising looks and comments, at school the next day. But people did not make a big deal about it. In fact, girls had been much more critical of her expensive dresses.

Stephanie had overheard an almost surreal conversation, earlier in the Summer, between her father and the principal. He thought that her perfectly normal, high-school-girl's clothes were causing too much disruption or distraction in the class room. Yeah, thought Stephanie, people are too busy teasing me to study.

Finally, in frustration, her father had said, "I can just picture the headline: principal demands high-school girl must be naked at all times! Oh, sure. I'm sure they'll mention she's a mini - in appropriately tiny print." Well, Principal James was having the last laugh.
Stephanie practiced her cheers and stunts, for hours, every day, for the next week. Over the July 4th weekend, she spent more time practicing than she normally spent going to school and studying combined. She felt ready and psyched by the day before the tryouts.

That evening, Jackson decided to give her another 'surprise'. Setting her, nude, on the bathroom counter, he had her pin her hair up and then placed an empty toilet paper roll over her head. Stephanie waited nervously for what he would do next. Then he took the roll back off and said, "Uh, I was going to spray you with this. Is that OK?"

Stephanie looked at the can: Ultra Nude depilatory, for extra sensitive skin, *Micro Mini Safe*. Her stomach felt queasy. He was taking her last bit of cover. Of course, this meant that she'd be completely nude tomorrow, for the tryouts. She'd been half expecting it. It made sense; people did seem to accept her better, the less she wore or 'tried to put on airs'. And making the team was all about acceptance. Still, why bother? You could barely even see her fine blond hair, from more than a foot away.

Stephanie nodded.

Jackson kissed her on the side of her face and shoulder. Then he whispered, "I've got a surprise for you in the morning, that I'm sure you'll like; but if you don't, you tell me, Okay?"

"Okay," she almost felt like crying.

The next morning, they got up extra early. Stephanie took a long bath in the sink, while Jackson showered. The hair came out easily, as she bathed. Ultra Nude was a hormone that made the hair shed. It wasn't permanent, but it would take a while before the hair even started to grow back.

When she was done, she didn't even have peach fuzz below the neck. She wasn't really upset about it, now that she had gotten used to the idea. Like most girls her age, she had used it on her pubes before. And she knew that many children Jackson's age--boys and girls--were grossed by pubic hair. She was reminded of that, as he stepped from the shower. He had only the barest beginnings of hair himself.

After drying off, she was again standing at attention, waiting for her 'surprise'. Jackson pulled out a magazine with a picture of Hayden Panettiere, the cheerleader from "Heroes" - and a body-painting set.

"Save the cheerleader, save the world!" said Jackson.

"No!" she squealed.

[Rocket]

Hi!

Just wondering if there are any plans to bring Michael and his mother back into the story. I was wondering what would happen if say, she gets beligerant and he uses the popsicle stick on her, but draped over his hand - and then when he sees he was too rough and left her crying with her cheeks red and sore, he brings her up to his lips to kiss them and make them better, but gives in to temptation and lets his tongue slip out and brush her between her legs. How would she react? Also curious if he ever gets to spend more time with his friend Stephanie - will she always be with her brother or will her parents say she can spend more time with the guy she really likes ... and does he get do do anything more exciting with her at that point?

[Xinunar]

Hi!
Just wondering if there are any plans to bring Michael and his mother back into the story.

This is reposting a story I wrote about 10 years ago, originally posted on The Minimizer's site. I'm reposting slowly, to see if I feel anything needs revisions. IIRC, there is only one chapter left in the flashback.

[Xinunar]

Stephanie stood on a small table that had been set up on the gym floor. At her feet was a clipboard with her application on it and a pen. 'At least I'm bigger than the pen,' she thought. She looked anxiously at Mrs. Lee, who sat on a chair about two feet in front of her. Mrs. Lee was the head women's gym teacher and the cheer squad's academic sponsor. Sitting beside her was coach Johnson, the school's athletic director. (He probably wasn't any relation to Bruce; he was white.) He'd have some input, but mostly her fate was in Mrs. Lee's hands. Mrs. Lee looked from Stephanie to Jackson, and back. She was apparently trying to decide which one to address. Her expression told Stephanie that she wasn't going to like what the woman had to say.

"Miss Miller," she said, finally deciding. "I'm sorry, but I really don't see the point of your trying out. There's no way you can project your voice loud enough to be heard at a game. People will barely be able to see you at a basketball game, much less in a football stadium. And then there's the matter of safety. No, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"But Mrs. Lee," objected Stephanie, "a lot of squads do have minis on them, and some of those squads do really well at the competitions. Maybe, as a mini, I'd be more like a mascot than a regular member, but I really think I have something to contribute. I was first alternate to the varsity squad at my old school, in Charleston - and they had a really good team! They placed third in the state, last year. I've been really practicing, and honestly, I'm better at the stunts and tumbling than I ever was. I can even do some things no full-sized girl can do!"

From the teacher's expression, Stephanie knew she'd said the wrong thing there. A lot of big people didn't like to hear any suggestion that a mini might be superior - in any way.

"Yes," she sneered. "Well, you can certainly wear things no full-sized girl can wear. Is that body paint? Did you think that would win you some points? Well, maybe it would, with some. That might explain why those teams with minis on them have done as well as they have. But here I am judging on your merits - not the merits of your costume. Or *lack* thereof."

In fact, Stephanie was not just wearing body paint. Paint couldn't be made to twirl, so she was wearing a pleated skirt, that came (just barely) to her thighs. But the rest was paint.

Stephanie choked back an angry retort. This was no time to forget that she was a mini! "Mrs. Lee," she said calmly, "Principal Davis asked me to start dressing more like most minis dress. He said, well, he said that I'd fit in better. This 'costume' was a present from my brother, who was trying to help me dress more the way people expect me to - without being totally embarrassed!"

OK, that was very close to an angry retort. And Stephanie knew that she was lost.

"I find it hard to believe," said Mrs. Lee, "that Principal Davis would ask you to dress that way."

"He did." Coach Johnson stated simply. "And he was right. Children... often have a hard time dealing with someone who doesn't dress or behave the way they expect. A boy who dresses like a girl, a girl who dresses like a boy, even a football player who's also on the debate team... confuses them, disrupts the social order. A mini who dresses like a big - even more so."

Coach had refrained from saying: "Children *and some adults*," but she heard it anyway.

"Be that as it may," she said, "this is still pointless, and it has wasted quite enough time. Jackson, please come and get your... please take Stephanie back to class."

"No!" Stephanie shouted - totally breaking etiquette. She had no illusions that she would make the team, and she was OK with that. She hadn't made the team in Charleston, either. But she had tried! And she had done well - maybe even better than one or two of the girls who had made it. Judging was subjective; she understood that, but she wasn't going to be judged without first being allowed to try!

"What?" Mrs. Lee snapped.

"You said this is pointless!" Stephanie shouted. "I know a lot of people who say cheering is pointless, but it isn't! It's our chance to show the world what we've got! And the girls who make the team, they get to do that every week. But the rest of us, we get to do it once! Right here.

"You said you'd judge me on my merits. You didn't judge me on my merits; you just judged me on my size! You can't judge me on my merits, until you've seen me cheer!"

Mrs. Lee was taken aback, and angry. She was working up a retort of her own: "Now you listen...." She shook her finger at the tiny girl, causing her to back up a step.

"Judith," Coach Johnson said, laying his hand on her wrist, "every student has the right to try out."

She glared at the coach. How dare he interfere this way! Technically, he was her boss, but she was in charge of the cheer squad! She actually resented his presence at these things. It wasn't that she resented the oversight; she respected authority. But she thought that it was unseemly for a middle-aged man to take such an interest in high-school girls' cheering.

She had a rather paradoxical attitude towards cheering: looks were an important factor in her judging (though she never marked it on any score sheet); the girls' uniforms would have Hooter's waitresses suing over a hostile work environment; and many of the moves they used were stolen straight from exotic dancers. But she still didn't think it was proper for grown men to be so interested.

Nevertheless, he did have a point. Tryouts were open to all female students.

"Very well," she conceded, "go take your position."

Mrs. Lee looked over to Jackson, expecting him to carry Stephanie out to the middle of the gym floor. But instead, Stephanie quickly turned and jumped off the table. This startled the coaches, who didn't know the tiny girl could jump so far.

Mrs. Lee, who coached gymnastics, chided herself for not realizing it. Most girls peaked at gymnastics in their early teens, because it was one field where smaller was better - to a point. She should have known that the same would hold true for minis. Stephanie was less than half as tall as Mary Lou Retton!

Stephanie took her position, and Mrs. Lee indicated for her to begin. Stephanie started her routine with some standard cheers, contorting her body to form some letters of the school and the like. She did somersaults, front flips and back flips, which impressed her audience. The tiny 8.5-inch girl was able to leap three times her own height. She managed a double and even a triple flip, bringing applause from the coaches, as well as from several spectators.

When she finished, they applauded again, but then Mrs. Lee spoke, "Stephanie, that was a brilliant performance. But I have to be honest with you: It won't work at a game or a cheer meet. When I concentrate on just you, it's impressive. But, with full-sized girls all around you, and objects obstructing people's view and the noise of the crowd drowning you out.... Well, I'm sorry."

Somewhat out of breath, Stephanie said, "Thank you, Mrs. Lee - Coach Johnson."

Disappointed, but not heartbroken, she looked over at Jackson to come get her. Jackson came and picked her up. He kissed her on the cheek and whispered something to her. Then he stood and stretched his arms out straight, in a jumping jack or crucifixion pose. Stephanie was crouched in his right hand, with his fingers forming a cage or ball around her. When he flexed his hand open, she leaped up and began to somersault down the length of his arm.

Jackson leaned his head forward to allow her to continue her somersaults across his back and onto his other arm. Reaching his left hand, Stephanie reversed and went back the way she came. This time she paused a moment, behind his head. Standing on her hands, she stretched her legs out and wiggled them a bit. From the front, they looked like antennae behind his head. When she got back to his hand, Jackson quickly brought her towards the ground. About one foot from it, she jumped the rest of the way down - and immediately back up, into his other hand. Repeating this move a few times, it looked like Jackson was simply bouncing the girl like a basketball, from one hand to the other. He even dribbled her a few time - or so it appeared. In reality, she was just jumping up against his yielding hand.

Switching from basketball to football, Jackson held her down at his hip and pretended to dodge imaginary tacklers. Then he placed her on the ground and touched her head with his finger in a 'stay put' gesture. He backed up a step and brought his foot back as though in preparation to kick her. Stephanie, imitating a silent movie damsel in distress, threw her arms up in terror and then threw herself down to the ground. Jackson kicked and fell backwards like Charlie Brown being tricked by Lucy. Stephanie quickly ran over, jumped up on his chest and struck a heroic pose, concluding their act.

Jackson stood, to applause from all attending, and both of them gave a quick bow - Stephanie standing in Jackson's palm. As they walked off the gym floor, Mrs. Lee called out: "Miss Miller, if you were to make the team, how would it work? Would I be your temporary 'owner' while we are at the events?"

Jackson answered for her: "I thought I'd stay with her. Stephanie wouldn't need to go to the locker room, since I could bring a wash bucket. And I thought maybe I could help out, be like equipment manager or somethin'."

"I'm afraid I can't make you team manager," Mrs. Lee replied. "He (usually a boy) is elected by the squad. And it's a very sought-after position - most of our male students are not quite as dumb as the characters in 'Dumb and Dumber'."

. . .

Stephanie and Jackson went back to class. As the day wore on, they got increasing numbers of congratulations. Word of their performance, as well as what was said in the gym, got around. Selected or not, their social standing had been permanently improved.

The next day, Friday, was pajama day. Jackson wore some baggy pajama pants and a tee shirt. Stephanie wore her cheerleader outfit from the day before - minus the skirt. Just before lunch, a list of girls were called to the gym. Stephanie's name was not on the list. But during lunch, a girl came up to the two of them and asked them to accompany her to the gym.

"What's going on?" Jackson asked.

"It's kinda like a special award," she answered. "Common, you'll see."

The girls who had been selected for the cheer squad, along with Mrs. Lee, were all in the gym. Most were not attending summer school, so this was the first time Stephanie or Jackson had seen them.

"Ah," said Mrs. Lee, "it's about time you two got here. The girls have decided to do something a bit unorthodox this year. It seems they have gone ahead and voted on a team manager, before the final team member was selected. So, unless Stephanie blackballs you, Mr. Miller, you're it.

"Of course, if she does blackball you, then she will not be able to be on the team, and her vote won't count. So, unless you want to risk a time paradox that could destroy the universe, I suggest you two accept your fates."

Wow, thought Stephanie, who knew Mrs. Lee was into sci fi?

Final cheer squad selection was announced during lunch. In the hallway, as people prepared to go to their next classes, Jackson and Stephanie were bombarded with congratulations.

"Bet you never thought having the most uppity mini in the universe would make you The Lucky Bastard, huh Jack?" one guy called out, good naturedly. 'The Lucky Bastard' was the school's nickname for the cheer squad manager.

"Yeah," another guy said, "that's almost as good as having a real mini!"

He meant it as a compliment. But Jackson saw Stephanie's reaction - like she was about to slip back into the depression, that was as much her curse, since the shrinking, as being shrunk itself was. Part of her problem was that she was still "neither fish nor fowl, nor good red herring." He thought about it for a moment, then said:

"Yeah, almost."

Jackson held the tiny girl up to his face and kissed her. With his other hand, he opened the waistband of his shorts, and dropped her in.

Stephanie was in shock. She started to yell at him to get her out of there! But then she realized what that would do. For one thing, it would totally ruin the master-mini relationship she had worked, for the past few weeks, to build - over a month, counting the time she'd spent mentally preparing for it. For another, it would shame Jackson, to be shown as mini-whipped.
Instead, she decided that this would be a good time to practice the pole-dancing routine she had learned in Micro City.

. . .

With impeccable timing, Jackson rejoined Stephanie and the Kincaides, just as she was wrapping up her story. The four ate lunch together at the same table, where she had told her tale. The girls used tiny utensils to cut pieces off the boys' sandwiches and fruit. Stephanie only needed about 5 calories per day, and Margarett 6, so the boys didn't miss it.

They still complained, of course.

Stephanie and Jackson headed to the water park. And Michael and Margaret, at Stephanie's insistence, headed across the street to Mini Mart - for extra-strength sun screen, among other things.

- End part 19

[Tiny_Significance]

Jackson held the tiny girl up to his face and kissed her. With his other hand, he opened the waistband of his shorts, and dropped her in.

Stephanie was in shock. She started to yell at him to get her out of there! But then she realized what that would do. For one thing, it would totally ruin the master-mini relationship she had worked, for the past few weeks, to build - over a month, counting the time she'd spent mentally preparing for it. For another, it would shame Jackson, to be shown as mini-whipped.
Instead, she decided that this would be a good time to practice the pole-dancing routine she had learned in Micro City.

Not gonna lie, this moment is what I had been hoping that it all built up to when I wrote my last review! Damn, the casualness of Jackson in this moment, and Stephanie's little reaction to it, are just so hot.

However, I will also be honest and say that it was a little disappointing. Because of how Stephanie was introduced (naked, on a leash, and being only temporarily fished out of Jackson's pants, happy and docile and devoted towards him), the way this moment right here was written feels a little anticlimactic. The whole flashback felt like a balloon of tension, building and building, slowly until it reached this bursting point, but then as soon as it got there, all the air was let out instead.
Now, I'm not blaming you for that. You said before that this story was originally posted on a site with heavy teen restrictions.
(Although, to be honest, I feel like the way Steph and Jackson were introduced, the way she lost her virginity in Micro City, the nudity with Jackson, and this final moment of the flashback all feel like they would violate those restrictions anyways, but I digress.)

I was wondering if, now that you're posting on this site, you would be willing to maybe do a spin-off story that expands on the end of the flashback and continues the story of Stephanie's transformation from there? If she appears again in "Mini Vacation", then maybe this spin-off would just go right up until the Waterpark. If she and Jackson don't, however, then the spin-off could continue past this. (Maybe that story would even explore Stephanie's frustrated feelings seeing a boy her own age who she used to know and who is attracted to her, only for her master to then have to remind her that every part of her, including her body and heart, belong to him now... hehe )

Anyways, those are just my thoughts/request to you.
Please don't take this as me not liking the story! I really love this story and you are an amazing writer! I just feel like the dynamic/arc between Jackson and Stephanie has so much more potential that would be awesome to explore!

Keep up the great work

[Xinunar]

It was a little disappointing. Because of how Stephanie was introduced (naked, on a leash, and being only temporarily fished out of Jackson's pants, happy and docile and devoted towards him), the way this moment right here was written feels a little anticlimactic. The whole flashback felt like a balloon of tension, building and building, slowly until it reached this bursting point, but then as soon as it got there, all the air was let out instead.

I kind of felt the same way. When I first conceived this story (wow, 13 years ago), it was a little stroke story. Mother becomes a temporary mini. Son slips her some of the Min Fix (mentioned up front). Makes her his pet. But Minimizer had rules. And honestly, those rules made me a better writer. I was forced to drag it out and tease around it. This was the first story I ever wrote, and it turned out pretty good. (That last scene, pole dancing on her little brother's boner, broke the rules. But I got away with it because it was brief, and by then a lot of people liked the story.)

Revising it for this site, I thought I might add more spice, but I just can't see fundamentally changing Stephanie and Jackson now.

[Xinunar]

Michael and Margaret headed to the Mini Mart, while Jackson and Stephanie went to the mini water park; they planned to try to meet up again later. Riding in the carrying case at Michael's chest, Margaret seemed thoughtful.

"What did you think of Stephanie?" Michael asked.

"What?" asked Margaret. "You know I've always liked Stephanie. She was such a fixture at our house, she's almost like a daughter to me." She and Joyce used to joke about being almost in-laws. It was never likely--children grow apart more often than they grow together--but it still made her sad to be reminded that it was no longer possible.

"No, I meant what did you think of her story--her situation?"

"Oh," said Margaret, slightly embarrassed. That was exactly what she had been thinking about, but then she had been too distracted to understand his question.

"It's strange," she said, "I feel sorry for her and glad for her, at the same time. It's so unfair, the way minis are treated. It's especially unfair to a girl like Stephanie, who never chose this life. But I'm glad that she has adapted so well, and that she has someone like Jackson to look after her. He seems so devoted to her!

"She and I are both lucky that way."

She smiled up at Michael, and he smiled back but then made it a bit crooked and said, "I don't think I'm quite the saint Jackson is, mom."

"Oh, don't I know it!" she laughed. "But I still trust you."

"Do you know what shade of sun screen you want?"

"I'm thinking just a shade or two lighter than Stephanie's," she answered. "Then we'll look like a matching set."

"Speaking of that," Michael said, hesitantly, "I'm going to get you a leash and collar while we're at Mini Mart."

"What?!" she yelled. "Michael, no! I refuse! I just said how much I trusted you, and now you're betraying me? No!" The tiny woman ducked down to the bottom of the carrying case.

"Mom, common!" he said. "You just said how you wanted you and Stephanie to look like a matched set. And besides, most of the minis here are wearing them--especially the micros! It wouldn't be safe for you to stand in the queue, by yourself. It was one thing, when you were on the table, right in front of me...."

Margaret continued to cower at the bottom of the case, saying, "No. No. No!"

"Now you're being ridiculous!" Michael scolded. "I was discussing this with you calmly, but now I'm gettin' mad. Do you remember when I used to act that way, and how you responded?"

Michael had always been a good son, but he was also strong-willed. When he really didn't want to do something, he would run and hide and make it as hard as possible for his mother or father to get him. And when they did, his punishment was always much worse than whatever had made him hide in the first place. Looking down at his mother now, he realized that at least he came by it honest. And he decided that his response would also be the same as hers.

Now, the problem was that she was so tightly wedged in the bottom of the case, he wasn't sure the best way to get her out. She was lying, face down, with her arms and legs pushing against the sides and ends of the case. He could see that she was in tightly enough that she would not come out, even if he turned it upside down. Also, there was no room in there for him to get his fingers around her--not without risking hurting her. Then he saw the solution. Pinching the waist of her swimming suit with his thumb and finger, he began to pull up--slowly.

"If these rip off," he warned, "you're not getting replacements."

Margaret's head jerked up. "You wouldn't?"

In answer, he pulled a little harder, and she could feel the fabric begin to rip. Margaret let go of the walls of her case, and grabbed her shorts to keep them from ripping further or coming off. Michael lifted her up and turned her to face him.

Margaret dangled in front of his face with her bottom up high in the air. Her hands were held behind her back, gripping her shorts. Pulling on her shorts allowed her to arch her back and look him in the face.

"You're in a bit of trouble, Magpie." he said sternly, but also trying to suppress a grin.

"Michael," she pleaded, "you promised, no humiliation. A collar and leash are humiliating!"

"Not so much, when all the other minis are wearing them," he corrected. "And Stephanie's wearing them! You're going to be standing right next to her in the queue. Did you think how she'd feel, if you're in your bathing suit, with no collar, and she's in nothing but leash and collar? And what about safety? What if I got distracted, talking to Stephanie and Jackson, and you got snatched?"

"You realize you are…," and here he dropped his voice to a whisper, "an unregistered mini."

"Oh, and in spite of all my good reasons, you might've talked me out of it, if you hadn't pulled that little stunt. All that ever got me was a spanking, and that's all it's going to get you!"

"No. Michaaael! I'm sorrry!"

He laid her diagonally across his left palm, so that his thumb and index finger could hold her shoulders, and her rear hung over the heal of his palm.

"I had a feeling this would come in handy," he said, fishing the popsicle stick from his pocket. "You did say you're sorry, so... just five." Snagging the back of her bikini with his fingernail, Michael pushed the panties down to her thigh. Margaret let out an outraged "Oh!" which sounded like a mouse squeak, but that quickly turned into a mewl of embarrassed pleasure. Being admired was a turn on for Margaret. Embarrassment was a turn on for Margaret. And, though she didn't want to admit it, her son and being in his power were turn ons for Margaret. And so was being spanked.

Michael took a few seconds to admire his mother's pretty ass. It looked more like the ass of a twenty-year-old than a thirty-five-year-old. That was partly due to the minning: weaker effect of gravity, blemishes too small to see. But even so, Margaret had a great ass. He took a bit longer than he intended, and she started to say something before a sharp 'thwack' on her bottom made her yelp. Michael gave her five quick swats with the paddle.

"Ow," she whimpered.

Putting the stick away, he gently rubbed her bottom. His fingerprint was rough, but the pressure was so light that it sent waves of pleasure through Margaret. Michael could see it, but he decided to stop before the sensuous pleasure became a fully sexual one. He thought he probably could even make her cum this way, but he feared how she would react, when it was over. After a minute, he let her stand back in her case, as they headed to the Mini Mart.

Michael and Margaret looked around the store. Michael had not had a chance to shop here, when he was getting things ready for his mother. It was pretty far from their house and closed on Wednesdays, when he had done most of his shopping. Also, it was pretty expensive. On one rack, he noticed some CD's from the 'Subliminal' series: Subliminal - Sensual!, Subliminal - Small is Beautiful! Subliminal - Submissive! Those three dominated the top three rows. Below them were some more mundane motivational CD's, to help people overcome various problems: claustrophobia, acrophobia, macrophobia, gag reflex, smoking....

"Michael, you wouldn't!" Margaret gasped! She stared in shock at the first two rows.

"Nooo," he said. But he gave a teasing sound to his voice.

"I can't believe they even work," he said. "I didn't think stuff like that was even legal!"

"Sure, they work," the clerk said, from behind the counter. "And those top three aren't legal--for bigs. Those are just for minis. The subliminals are too high-pitched for big folks to hear--even subliminally."

Margaret was appalled! "That is just so wrong!" she said.

"What's wrong with 'em?" the clerk walked over. The store was empty at the moment, except for them. "Those are no different from the 'lose weight' or 'stop smoking' CD's. Some minis have a hard time adjusting. They don't know how to be submissive, the way a mini needs to be. Or they become frigid, or they just hate themselves for being small. What's wrong with helping them out a little?"

"So, why are these illegal for bigs?" asked Margaret.

Just like a mini, he thought. Cute as buttons and almost as smart. Here he was having what seemed like a sensible conversation, and suddenly she asks a question you wouldn't expect from a first grader. "Uh, some guys would use them to take advantage, of their girlfriends, or their neighbors, or their sisters... even their moms."

"Yeah, Magpie," Michael said, smiling, "some guys are real jerks."

He reached down and caressed her head and shoulders with his finger. She leaned into it contentedly, and chuckled.

"She needs some sun screen," he said. "I think she's starting to burn. Oh, and we need to get a leash."

The clerk nodded knowingly. You sure wouldn't want one as dumb as that running loose, he thought.

He showed them to the jewelry case. The ones that would fit Margaret or Stephanie were actually made as ankle or wrist cuffs for larger minis. They had one like Stephanie wore, but made for a sixth-scale. It was just as well, the thing cost $1495.00. They looked at some more modest models, and settled on a silver-plated circlet with a simple alarm--no tracking system. It could be removed without special tools.

Michael was going to pay for it himself, since she didn't even really want one. But Margaret insisted he use her credit card. She said it was because the only ones he could afford were ugly, but Michael suspected there was another reason. He wasn't sure what.

They decided to get her tanned before putting on the collar. The lotions came in all colors--including a chrome, which would make someone look like The Silver Surfer, and true gold. Michael pictured holding Margaret up and saying, "I'd like to thank the Academy." Margaret considered several, but eventually came back to her first choice: a gold similar to Stephanie's, but a few shades lighter. It would make them look like mother and daughter. She didn't think Joyce would mind.

The clerk took Margaret over to the tanning 'booth'. It consisted of a screen--intended to catch the excess spray.

"Explain to me again, why it's a big deal if I see you naked, but the Mini Mart guy can?"

"This is just like a doctor's visit," Margaret explained, from behind the screen.

"Mini Mart Guy is not a doctor."

"No," she said, "but this is a very clinical, non-intimate procedure that requires a bit of nudity--like some doctor's visits. The doctor doesn't see me naked because he has an advanced degree, but because he needs to see me, to help me--like Mini Mart Guy."

"Uh, it's Rich, actually," the clerk said.

"Shh, no names," Margaret said in a husky voice. "You'll always be my big strong Mini Mart Guy."

She stood on the electric turn table with her eyes closed and her arms and legs spread a bit. The clerk turned on the turn table and sprayed Margaret with smooth, practiced strokes.

They're here for a collar, he thought, but he's not supposed to see her naked. Some masters and minis are just plain weird!

"Wait there a minute, while it dries," he said. "And keep your eyes shut, or it'll sting."

Going over to Michael, he slipped him 'Subliminal - Submissive!'

"They work better if she doesn't know about them," he whispered.

[Xinunar]

Michael headed back to the park with Margaret. As he walked, he was also looking at a brochure for the Subliminal series of CD's, from Sylvan Learning. Margaret was also trying to read it, but it was difficult, with her and the book both bouncing as Michael walked. She was sitting on his right collar bone, with one hand resting on his ear for balance.

Margaret gave up trying to read. This was worse than reading in the car! Michael came to the same conclusion a minute later and put the booklet in his backpack. "That is really interesting," he said.

"I agree," said Margaret, "but seriously Michael--don't."

"I said I wouldn't, Mom!" He had repeated that enough that he was beginning to get exasperated. "But I don't see why you're making such a big deal. The brochure says it's basically just like watching a movie or listening to music--the way that can sometimes turn you on, or make you scared or whatever."

"There are plenty of movies I wouldn't watch with my son," she said, "especially while I'm a mini!"

"Hmm." That, he didn't promise.

They joined Jackson and Stephanie and got in line for The Big Gulp. Actually, the girls were in line, since the ride was for minis only. The minis stood on a raised walkway, three feet high, while their masters stood beside them--holding their leashes. Stephanie excitedly praised Margaret's new color--and new collar (which was very pretty, though nowhere near as expensive as her own). Margaret turned and showed off. She caught Michaels eye and blushed, remembering the fuss she'd made about getting it.

The Big Gulp was a combination water slide and tubes ride. It's gimmick was that it was made to look like a giant digestive track. The entrance was the mouth of a giant face. The rider sat on the tongue, which lifted up to send the rider down a steep slide (the gullet), into a stomach-shaped pool. That slowed the rider down for a moment, before they went through a very twisting set of tubes, to finally plunge into a large white bowl. There, a gentle whirlpool brought the rider out to the edge, where he or she could climb, or be lifted, out.

"I think riding this ride is the most embarrassing thing I've ever done," laughed Stephanie.

"I don't think the motif is any worse than Flushed Away," said Margaret.

"Well, at least that one is decorated with characters and scenes from the movie," Stephanie said, "but it's not the motif that bothers me. It's the reaction of some of the minis." Her voice went down to a whisper: "I swear, some of them orgasm, when they first go down."

"Oh, no!" gasped Margaret.

"And I think some others do later," finished Stephanie, choking back a laugh.

"Ugh," said Margaret, "now I'm embarrassed!" She proved it with a blush. And they all laughed at that.

The group all heard some boys singing bawdily, a short way behind them in the queue.

Oh, Deep Thought is our computer, who we thought had all the answers,
but we always get the same insane advice:
"Oh, you need teeny weenie bathing suits for minis,
like you need teeny weenie hands for milking mice!"

This was not the first time Margaret was aware that she was the only mini in the queue wearing a bathing suit. Some, like Gordon, did wear clothes in the dry areas of the park. But here at the water park.... She looked up and down the queue and spotted one girl with shorts on. Looking closer, she saw that it was actually a loin cloth; it had nothing in the back, but a single string around her waist. The girl was also wearing what looked like a bowie knife at her hip--and war paint on her face, so that was more of a costume than a bathing suit. (In fact, it was the same costume Stephanie wore, the first time she went topless.)

So, we got ourselves a genius, who regressioned all the programs,
but we only get results that look like these:
"Oh, you need teeny weenie bathing suits for minis,
like you need teeny weenie license plates for bees!" *

"I wonder if they're going to sing all forty-two verses," said Michael.

"Forty-two?" squeaked Margaret.

"It's a nerd thing," said Stephanie, dryly.

They all chuckled.

"I really do feel out of place," Margaret confessed to Stephanie, talking too softly for the boys, who were having their own conversation, to hear. She looked glumly at her suit. "This was a present from Michael, and I loved it. But it's too big and not really my style."

"No, it's fine," Stephanie said, diplomatically. "It's like the clothes they have at mini resorts. They're always a little too big, to help the guests feel small."

She eyed the older woman up and down. Then she asked, "Do your real friends tell you the truth, or do they try to make you feel better?"

Uh oh. "The truth," said Margaret, "be brutal."

"Michael's a great guy, but he's got a devious side," said Stephanie. "He could've got you something much better at Mini Mart, so he's probably hoping you'll just give up and chuck it."

Margaret knew the truth of that, as soon as she heard it. She looked up at her darling boy, still talking to Jackson. He saw her looking at him, and they shared a tender smile. That little--OK, not so little--scamp! She looked back at Stephanie, and they both started laughing.

"Do you think they're laughing at us?" asked Michael.

"Probably," said Jackson

Margaret got her laughter under control and took a deep breath. "Michael," she said, "do you remember what I said at the Mini Mart, about nudity being sometimes appropriate?"

Now she had his full attention, but he answered cooly, "Yeah, you said something about doctor's offices and tanning booths."

"Well," said Margaret, "uh, there are any number of.... Oh, what the heck. I look so frumpy, standing next to Stephanie. And all the other minis are nude. And this is not an intimate setting, so it's not like it would be inappropriate. Do you mind if I go nude too--here, at the water park?"

Michael grinned. Feeling daring, he decided to tease her a little: "Gosh, I don't know. We wouldn't want to break any rules, would we?"

Margaret stood, as if at attention, and said, "Master, may I please chuck this ugly bathing suit?"

Michael smiled and held out his palm.

Margaret quickly stripped off her suit and handed it to Michael.

Michael took the tiny bathing suit and brought it up to his face. Margaret was shocked! It looked like he was going to sniff her bathing suit in front of everyone! But then he simply spit his gum into it, wadded it up, and tossed it into a trash can.

Margaret was relieved, at first. But then she said: "Hey! what am I going to wear home?"

---End part 21.

*With acknowledgements to Larry Niven's A World Out Of Time.

[Sumguy14]

so nice to revisit this moment. Always one of the most memorable scenes from your first posting, and a personal favorite of mine. I continue to enjoy reading this again.

When I first conceived this story (wow, 13 years ago), it was a little stroke story. Mother becomes a temporary mini. Son slips her some of the Min Fix (mentioned up front). Makes her his pet.

that said, when I read this the other day I couldn't help but wonder ....

Maybe Mini Vacation needs the "What IF?" treatment.

Regardless, it is great. Thank you for posting.

[Xinunar]

Mini Vacation Part 22 Nymphs

"Michael, what were you thinking?" Margaret asked, plaintively. "Nudity is appropriate here at the water park, standing beside Stephanie, but going home.... I'm going to have to close myself in the carrying case, until you get me back to my... room." Now was not the time to call it a bird cage--which it was.

Suddenly, this little outing wasn't so much fun anymore. Margaret stood a tiny nine inches tall, in line for an embarrassingly kinky water slide. Her son, Michael, had just thrown her bathing suit away--after first wrapping his gum in it, making it completely unusable. Now she was totally nude, not counting the silver slave collar she wore around her neck. So, she stood with one arm over her chest and her hand covering her vagina. She had never been so humiliated.

It wasn't the nudity itself that bothered her so much. She and her husband used to vacation at nudist resorts, years ago, before Michael was born. And they had both agreed that they would bring their children there, someday. But that was before the mini revolution had so transformed American culture. Big people didn't go nude in public anymore--only minis. Margaret was a mini for the week, so that was OK--in public, at a water park, surrounded by other nude minis--including (especially) Michael's best gal-pal Stephanie. But at home, in an intimate setting, that was a completely different matter. And Michael had agreed--he'd promised! Suddenly, she wasn't nude. She was naked.

"Mom, mom," he said, "Look, I got you other presents at the Mini Mart. You weren't going to have to go home naked. I was just teasing you. I didn't mean to upset you" He paused a moment then said, "I thought it would be funny."

Margaret calmed down and relaxed a bit. So, he continued, "But, again, your habit of overreacting is going to cost you."

Margaret's eyes got wide.

"And no, you will not be hiding in your case," said Michael. "You will be sitting on my shoulder, posing prettily. Fact is, you'll probably look much prettier than you would have in the sun dress I bought you."

Margaret started to yell something to him, but Michael continued: "That is, if you behave yourself from here on. If not, Jackson has given me an idea how else I might carry you home."

"I did?" asked Jackson.

"You did."

"Oh. Right," said Jackson. "Safest place, if you don't want to have one of those dorky carriers on your chest. Uh, no offense."

"None taken," said Michael.

Margaret stared, mouth agape. She kept starting to say something; but when Michael turned to look at her, eyebrow arched, she simply shut her mouth.

"Do you want to see the dress I got you?" he asked.

Margaret looked at him angrily a moment, then said, "keep up."

Margaret turned and trotted ahead, closing the gap that had formed in the queue. Michael had to race to catch up, or the leash would have pulled up short. It would not have choked her--not much. As a safety feature, the snap would come off, and an alarm would sound. (This struck a balance between protecting the mini from mini snatchers, without risking choking her.)

Michael saw that this was a dominance play on her part; normally the master led the mini on the leash. The other people around would think he was thoroughly mini-whipped. But that was fair, after the way he'd embarrassed her. He decided not to press the issue further. Instead, he took the opportunity to look at her shapely butt, as she trotted ahead.

When he caught up, he showed her the presents. First, was a nice blue dress. It managed to straddle the line between evening wear and something she'd wear to church. Then, there were matching bra and panties, shear stockings, shoes and even a bonnet. Amazingly, they all fit--or could stretch enough to manage.

While she was getting her tan, she had been (secretly) digitally sized at Mini Mart. The price of micro fabrics had come down so much, in the past year, that Michael was able to afford the whole outfit--just barely. It all came to $350, almost exactly what he had saved up.

Margaret felt the fabrics and held them up for size. She showed them off to Stephanie and to the boys. "All right," she said, "I forgive you. I guess that proves I can be bought."

"Oh, no Mom!" said Michael. "I'd never sell you!"

They laughed, and Margaret gave the clothes back, so she could ride the ride. She was made acutely aware of her nudity, once again, when Michael fished her out of the pool at the bottom of the ride. She acted like she didn't even notice, though, and simply sat in his hand and helped him snap the leash back on.

Standing in line for the next ride, Michael and Jackson both enjoyed viewing Margaret, without the garish, ill-fitting bathing suit she had been wearing all day. If she thought that standing next to the pretty teenage cheerleader would distract the boys from noticing her, she was mistaken. The boys were gentlemen enough not to stare, but they noticed! She and Stephanie both noticed them noticing.

Margaret did not have Stephanie's trim athletic build. What she did have was a mature, attractive body, with womanly curves. What her husband used to call curvaceous--just shy of voluptuous. She could stand to lose a little less than half an ounce (10 pounds, at full size); more than that, and she would be losing curves that belonged there.

Stephanie would not have absolutely needed a bra, even if she were still full-sized - though she normally would have worn one. But Margaret certainly would have. As a mini, Margaret's full-C breasts seemed to defy gravity. It was a trick of scale. They were only half an inch, rib cage to nipple tip, but on her they looked like melons! A full-sized woman, with tits like that, would be the stuff of legend, or anime.

The light-yellow lotion she wore gave her whole body a glossy shine and covered the telltale signs of age and motherhood. It also caused her sixth-inch areolas to be less dark than normal, but didn't completely hide them. The shiny, blemish-less body did not look quite natural, but neither did it look artificial. Where Stephanie looked like a tiny pixie, Margaret looked like the pixie's mother--a tiny fertility goddess. The essence of motherhood, concentrated into an nine-inch package.

The boys were practically drooling.

Even Stephanie was affected. She was unsure how to compliment Margaret, without making her feel self-conscious - Margaret wasn't used to public nudity - and without making Stephanie look gay. She wasn't, she didn't think. But she had been minned so young, she hadn't really had a chance to explore her own sexuality. Her one time, with the dark giant, Bruce, had been magical but hardly conclusive. She played with Jackson, mostly to repay him for being her full-time, unpaid caretaker, on call 24 hours; but she didn't really think of that as erotic.

They (the girls) rode Big Gulp, Flushed Away, The Garter Snake, The Washing Machine and Moby Dick--which was for micros only. It actually shot the mini into the air through the blow hole. (At least, it looked a little like a whale.)

"Second most embarrassing ride here," said Stephanie.

"Yeah," Margaret agreed.

They went back to the picnic tables to have a snack, before calling it a day.

"Jackson," Margaret said, "I want you to know how proud I am of how well you've been taking care of Stephanie. I was telling Michael how lucky she is to have you." She wasn't sure how he would take the compliment--coming from a mini. (Stephanie, after all, was a special case.) She was gratified when he blushed and thanked her politely.

"So," said Michael, "Lucky Bastard, how's that going?"

"It's ah... well named," said Jackson, grinning.

The Lucky Bastard was the nickname for his school's cheer squad manager. It was elected by the squad members themselves and was usually a meek boy like Jackson. But still, it was highly coveted.

Jackson got it because of Stephanie, because she needed him close by. The world was a dangerous and difficult place for an 8 1/2-inch-tall girl, and Jackson was her protector and caretaker. Technically, he was her master - but about like Tony Nelson was Jeanie's.

"Three of the girls on the squad want to become Jackson's minis, as soon as they graduate," Stephanie said.

"Three?" asked Jackson, surprised. "I only know two!"

"She doesn't want me to tell," said Stephanie, "in case she changes her mind. If she does change her mind (but I don't think she will) then I'll tell you who she was, after she goes off to college.

"Joannie, on the other hand, doesn't even want to risk changing her mind. She keeps trying to get a hold of a mini pill. I keep telling her what a bad idea that is. It's illegal to give a juve a mini - even yourself! She'd wind up in a reservation until she turned 21! But she says you could just hide her."

"Tell her I won't!" said Jackson, "and make her think I mean it!

"Have you explained to all of them that I wouldn't be treating them like I treat you? If they're signing up for it, they can't complain about it being unfair. Gosh, how would I take care of three or four minis anyway?"

"They know it wouldn't be exactly like us, but the way you treat me tells them what kind of person you are, so they're not worried. As for taking care of three or four minis, I'm sure Mom and Dad could help out," she said with a wink.

Michael suddenly realized they were serious. This little thirteen-year-old kid had two or three cheer leaders wanting to be his minis - plus he had Stephanie! "Mom," he said, "I'm scared! This guy's either made a deal with the devil, or he's the devil's own son!"

"I know, Son," said Margaret, round-eyed. "She really does wear Prada! Just, be nice to him. Offer him another vanilla wafer."

. . .

"Do you guys ever worry about the other cheer leaders?" asked Michael. "I've always heard that they can be really cutthroat."

"You've never been on a sports team, have you Michael?" Stephanie asked. "They're almost like military units. And our squad is like a squad of green berets! Yeah, they're competitive, but they look after their own - even a mini. Heather Morgan, that's our team captain, might be a bitch with a capital 'B', but nobody better mess with her team!

"On the other hand, if Jackson ever left me alone with her, I'd be a dildo in a matter of minutes."

The others laughed, but Stephanie's face said she was dead serious.

"The only real danger is at practice. Some of my stunts are pretty intense. The girls are as careful as they can, but.... Let's just say it's a good thing minis are so flexible."

"Flexible?" asked Michael. "They mentioned that in Minis for Dummies, but they didn't say much about it."

"Yeah, they don't want to get sued. If they said how much we can bend, somebody would be bound to test it. And it depends on how small the mini is. Just like with a wire or rod, the thinner it is, the more it can bend. The only difference between fiberglass and regular glass is that fiberglass is really thin, so it's flexible. Minis are the same way.

"We micros can do things that make dogs jealous," she said with a wink.

Margaret gasped. Michael and Jackson both choked on their drinks.

Stephanie stood and twisted her left foot around 180 degrees, so it pointed straight behind her. Then she brought her right foot up behind her and leaned back until the sole of her foot rested on the top of her head. Head, back and right leg made a near-perfect circle, while she continued to stand on her reversed left foot.

"Gimme a P!" she yelled. Then she looked over at Michael, "Not literally, big guy. I'm not into that."

It was almost seven o'clock, when the two pairs decided to call it a day. They took a bunch of pictures of each other, got a passerby to take some of the whole group - and of course, got several of Margaret, posing prettily on Michael's shoulder. They exchanged numbers and said they would try to get together again, before the Millers had to go back to Baltimore. They were staying with their grandparents the whole week, but they would be busy with church and family on Sunday. They thought they would be able to do something later in the week, though.

Margaret again sat on Michael's collarbone, as they headed back to the car. Michael had a learner's permit, so he could drive - if accompanied by an adult. He wasn't sure if minis counted, but he decided that it might help if she was clothed.

"I love the dress," she said, and kissed him on the cheek before slipping into it.

"I'm glad, Magpie."

Margaret sighed resignedly, "At least the dress isn't black and white."

"Magpies are black and white?"

"Yes."

Michael made a mental note: get white chocolate.

- End part 22.

[McShrinker]

been loving these updates, cant wait for the next one

[Xinunar]

It was almost eight, when Michael and Margaret got home. Michael set his mother in her cage and did his evening ritual in the restroom, while she did the same--using the makeshift facilities in her cage. When he got back, he had on a tee shirt and pajama shorts, and she had on her nightshirt.

"I ran your bath with lots of bubbles, so you won't have to wear a bathing suit," Michael said.

"Oh, thank you." She worried that a little nudity at the park might have turned into the new normal, or worse - the proverbial slippery slope. But a nice warm bath did sound heavenly.

Michael carried her to the bathroom and set her on the vanity beside the sink, He turned his back to allow her to get in the water. He had rigged a rope ladder to help her get in and out. The water came up to the overflow hole in the sink, so it was more like a deep hot tub, than a bath tub, to Margaret. She felt decadent, wasting so much water. She laughed at herself for that. Minis are very environmentally friendly, she thought.

She bathed with her back to Michael, so that he could shower. There was a large vanity mirror behind the sink, but she was so low that she had to look up at it, and could only see Michael down to his chest. It was a pretty good setup for having a conversation while they bathed--intimate, without being inappropriate.

Michael finished before Margaret did and asked her if she wanted him to wash her back.

"No, but you can give me some more hot water--and bubbles."

Michael added hot water and bubble bath and agitated the water with his fingers. He let his fingertip rub the soles of her feet, causing Margaret to laugh. Her feet were about as long as his fingerprint and much softer. While agitating the water with one hand, he rubbed her back with the other. Margaret luxuriated in the pulsing waves and the massage. Michael refrained from letting his fingertips wander to any inappropriate places.

Later, they chatted with their backs to each other, as they finished getting dry and dressed for bed.

"Did you like the dress?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she said. "It's beautiful!"

"Do you think you'll want to wear it to church tomorrow?"

Margaret was taken aback by that and visibly shaken. "Oh no, Michael," she pleaded. "I can't go to church like this. Seriously, if you make me go to church tomorrow, I'll... I'll have to change churches!"

Michael frowned. He could tell she was serious. When he said he was getting her a collar, she yelled and pitched a fit, and he could tell it would be all right. Now she calmly pleaded, and he knew he'd better not push it. Still, he wanted to understand why it was such a big deal.

"You wouldn't have to wear the collar," he offered.

There, he said "wouldn't" not "won't". She knew she'd already won.

"No," she said simply. "I mean, thank you, but no. I'd still have to change churches. You just don't understand."

"No, I don't," he said. "There are some mini's who go to church every week! You always chat with Betty and Henry and Marge--or at least say hello. I thought it'd be neat to see them, now that you're even smaller than they are."

"But they're permanent minis. I'm a minette."

"Don't say that!"

"Yes," she said. "It's an ugly word. It's pretty much replaced 'slut' as the derogatory of choice. 'A little bit mini', someone who plays at being a mini, or who wants to be a mini-or… just someone you don't like and want to insult. And it's even worse, because my teenage son is my caretaker. People will think I'm... making an end-run around the law and... the rules."

"Oh," he said, feeling stupid. "Will you be able to go back next week?"

"Yes. I'll get some dirty looks and cold shoulders, but church is all about forgiveness. You can be a slut or a sinner, or even a minette. But you just can't flaunt it right in front of them!"

"I thought it--" Michael stopped, mid-sentence. That was dumb!

"What?"

"Uh, I thought it was 'miniette'," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"I've heard both."

They were quiet for a few moments.

"See what's on?" he asked.

"Sure," she answered, "I'm too tired to go to bed."

. . .

"So, do you have any more devilment planned for me tonight?"

They were watching an old episode of 'Sex And The City', but neither one was very interested in it. The two of them were both leaning against the back of the couch, Margaret sitting in the crook of Michael's shoulder.

"I thought of a few things," he said. But his voice lacked some of the playfulness she expected.

Margaret sighed. "You don't want to just tell me about it first?" she asked. "You know I like surprises, but not all the time!"

"Sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission," he said. "But maybe I'd better save it for tomorrow. I'm going to go lie down and watch a movie for a while."

He was a bit abrupt, taking Margaret upstairs to her cage. She had a feeling something was up, but then he just kissed her good night, set her in the cage and placed the cover over it. With nothing else to do, Margaret headed to bed.

Soon she heard the sound of the TV, but it was low enough that she could sleep through it. Then she realized: it was porn! No wonder he had rushed her to bed and covered the cage. She was a little disappointed in him; it was rude of him to flaunt it like this. She thought it was probably best if she just tuned it out, but she couldn't help listening. Then she recognized the movie. It was 'The Story of mOm'!

"Michael!" she yelled. "No! You can't watch that! Absolutely not!"

"Good night, Magpie," Michael called. "Little girls need their sleep!"

"No, Michael," she yelled back. "I'm serious! You can't watch that! Michael, are you listening to me?"



He was obviously ignoring her. Left with no other option, she used her own remote to turn off the TV.

"Someone better turn that right back on, or someone's in trouble!" Michael said.

This time it was Margaret's turn to ignore him.

A moment later he lifted the cover off her cage. Margaret stared up at him defiantly.

"You got that out of my closet, didn't you?" she accused. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "Michael, it's a sick little fantasy. I'm ashamed that I even own it. But if you think that's what mommy really wants, then you are very much mistaken! Everyone reads or watches fantasies they would never do in real life. It's kind of like a horror movie. It's just.... I can't believe you would so completely disrespect me!"

Margaret was literally red-faced with anger, and now she was beginning to cry--trying hard not to, in fact.

"No mom," Michael whispered. "I'm sorry, but I do have a reason. Look, I promised I wouldn't treat you exactly like a mini, so I got this idea: watching, or even listening to this movie, should make you feel... more submissive. I want to make you feel like a mini, this week--like my mini!"

"Michael, No!" she cried. "You promised!"

"Mom, I'm not going to make you be my mini," he assured her, "but you need to know what it would be like."

"Why?" she sobbed, "I don't want to!"

"Here," he said, "let me show you this."

Michael went over to his bookshelf and got out a book: "The Mini Mind". Margaret was surprised. She thought he'd stick with lighter reading, like "Minis For Dummies". He set it on his desk and opened it to a book-marked page, then he lifted Margaret out of her cage and set her on the desk too.

"This is a chapter on the dangers of the mini pill," he said. "Here, look. Johns Hopkins University did this study of people who took minis. This chart is people who went to mini parks. One month later, 4% of them are still minis. One year later it's 10%. Five years later it's 20%, and ten years later it's 22%." He turned the page. "This one's people who took a mini at a doctor's office--like you did--to be a mini at home. One month later, 10% of them are still minis. One year later, it's 36%. Five years later it's 75%, and after ten years, it's 82%!"

"It says here," he read aloud: "The mini pill is not addictive. But it is highly habit forming. This is especially true for people suffering from loneliness or depression-and for some individuals, who seem to have an innate, deep-seated desire to be minis."

Margaret continued to stare at the page, but she was no longer reading the words. She was remembering….

"Maybe I just need to get it out of my system."

"All right, Margaret," said Dr. Connors, "I'll write the prescription. But I doubt you will get it out of your system. My bet is that if you get this prescription filled at the mini clinic, you'll be a mini for life."

"I'm sorry Michael," she said at last. "Please give me the antidote now. I promise I won't do this again."

"No, Mom," Michael objected. "Don't you see? If you take the antidote now, before you get your fix, you're even more likely to do it again. Or maybe you won't, and you'll just go back to being... sad all the time. Ever since Dad died, you've been.... I hate to see you sad, Mom. I don't want you to be mad at me, but I really don't want you to be sad."

Margaret's anger began to dissipate, and turn inward. She knew her depression had been hard on Michael. He'd had a rough two years too, and she hadn't been there for him. He'd lost his father and his best friend, in short order. Stephanie was a good friend, but she didn't understand how much she meant to Michael; and she had understandably been too busy with her own problems to worry about how her sudden disappearance hurt Michael. And he'd lost his mother too; her body was there, but her spirit was MIA.

"Michael," she said, "I promise I don't plan to stay a mini. This was just a one-time thing. But if, somehow, I did wind up staying this way - if I got stuck - couldn't you just take care of me? You know, some children do take care of their parents, when they get sick, or in their old age, without turning them into their pets!"

"Mom," said Michael. "Of course, I could. I'll treat you like the Queen of Sheba, if you want me to. Problem is, I don't think you want me to."

That caught Margaret off guard, and all she could do was stammer.

"Do you remember when you first told me about becomin' a mini?" Michael asked.

"Yes. I asked if you would mind taking care of me for a week...."

"No," Michael interrupted, "not Monday. Two years ago."

"Hey, mom!" Michael yelled, running up to his mother. "Guess what Gerry got?"

Margaret put down her cooking, to give him a hug. "Uh, a bicycle? Play Station? Puppy?" she guessed.

"No, but you're getting closer," he said with a grin. "He got a mini!"

Margaret stiffened. She did not at all approve of giving custody of another human being to a child--especially to a thirteen-year-old boy. Especially when that human was a tiny, helpless girl! Ultimate guardianship was always with one of the parents, who was supposed to supervise. But she knew how lax parental supervision often was. Gerry was a classic example.

"What's she like?" asked Margaret.

"She's really pretty!" he enthused. "She's like from Russia or something, and she's got blond hair and really light skin. Her name's Svetlana, and Gerry's gonna let her keep it, 'cause that's a cool name. And she already knows lots of tricks."

"No," said Margaret, "I meant: what is she like, as a person."

"Mom, she's a mini!" he protested.

"Michael," she said, "a person does not stop being a person, just because they got minned in the park. Did you know that a lot of these girls from Eastern Europe didn't even choose to be minis? There is a huge slavery ring there! The slavers have other minis abuse them, so that the idea of being sent to a reservation becomes horrifying to the m... girl. When they get bought by an American family, they don't complain."

That did sound horrible. But Michael was sure Gerry's parents would never have anything to do with something like that!

"But mom," he said, "still.... She's a mini. I know you're supposed to be nice to them and all, but they're not like regular people."

"Let me show you something," said Margaret.

Margaret led Michael to her bedroom and got something out of her jewelry case. It looked kind of like a hair pin, or maybe a toy arrow. It had feathers on one end, but it wasn't very pretty.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A bit of contraband," she said. "One of Al Qaeda's favorite weapons: the mini dart. Your father pulled it out of his flak jacket, about an inch from his bare arm."

Michael looked at the thing in horror. "Is it...?"

"It's been cleaned out. It's harmless," she said. "He's gotten another one since. Blow guns are so easy to get past metal detectors."

She waited until he looked back at her before she asked, "How are you going to treat your father, if one of them gets lucky?"

Michael was visibly shaken. But he held his ground.

"But mom," he protested, "the toy soldiers...."

"Disabled veterans," she corrected him.

"The disabled veterans aren't minis! They have a special status!"

"Under the law, yes," she admitted. "But Michael, these are the same darts they use in Eastern Europe. They will do exactly the same thing to a soldier in Baghdad, as they will to a girl in St. Petersburg. We don't owe Svetlana the same debt we owe the veterans, and she doesn't get a stipend from the government, to afford a full-time personal assistant. But she is just as much a *person* as they are!"

They were both quiet for a while, as Michael pondered what she had said, and she struggled with whether or not to tell him something else.

"The incidents with the mini darts have led to some... interesting conversations with your father," she said, casually. "I told him that if he could brave those things, and worse, week after week, then I could maybe brave being a mini for him, for a week or so, when he gets home."

"What?!?"

"But it sounds like you're going to help me get out of it, anyway," she concluded. She sounded more disappointed than relieved.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, I only promised to do it to boost his morale" she lied. "And I told him that I wouldn't do it if you had a problem with it, or if you wouldn't respect me anymore. It sounds like you wouldn't."

Michael felt ashamed, but he didn't know what to say.

About an hour later, Michael snuggled up to his mother on the couch.

"The next time I see Svetlana," he said, "I'll be more considerate."

Margaret hugged him and kissed the top of his head. "You remind me more of your father every day," she said.

"If Dad got hit with a mini dart, you'd take care of him, right?"

"Of course-just like he'd take care of me."

"Yeah," Michael said. "I guess... I mean, I would... respect that... uh, you."

"After all," he said, "you'd just be like supportin' the troops! The government should give you a stipend too!"

He grinned. Then his face grew more serious.

"The antidote doesn't always work. I heard that's how lots of people become minis."

"That's true," she admitted. "But it's fairly rare."

"But if that happened, you'd be like his mini wife," he said. "You'd really be OK with that?"

"Yesss, but..." she stopped mid-sentence.

"But what?" he asked.

Oh well, she thought, in for a penny: "Well, it's very unlikely anyway, so we don't really need to worry about it. But I think, if that did happen, I'd become his mini, not his mini wife. I'd strongly encourage him to marry again."

"What? Why?"

She thought about how best to answer. "As a mini, I couldn't really be a wife to him, or a mother to you. I couldn't cook, or keep the house, or take care of you, when you're sick. I couldn't take care of him, when he gets old. And even the s.... Well, anyway, I couldn't be a real wife. But I could be his mini; I think I'd make a very cute one. If he had someone else to be his wife, to take care of him - and you, then it would be OK. Then I wouldn't be a burden. To me, the most important thing in life is what you do for others, especially the people you love. I want to always..."

"...be a blessing, not a burden," tiny Margaret finished the sentence, remembering the conversation she'd had with him, almost two years ago. A few weeks later, James had been killed, and all that talk about spending a week as his mini was forgotten. His death was like a great big blot on the calendar, obscuring all the surrounding events. She hadn't even remembered the conversation, at all, until Michael reminded her.

"Yeah," said Michael, "and this morning you started getting all depressed, when you couldn't make breakfast - the first day of your vacation! You couldn't handle me taking care of you, for even one day, without going on a guilt trip.

So, I figure, I'm going to really show you what it would be like to be my mini - as well as I can, without breaking my promises. (OK, maybe bend 'em a little.) And maybe you'll say, 'OK, this isn't so bad. I can be Michael's mini.' Or maybe you'll say, 'Oh no! I could never do that! I'm never taking another mini pill, ever again!'"

Margaret was impressed. That was a pretty good plan--a little like letting a child smoke until he threw up, so he wouldn't become addicted. And he was right, If all he did was show her a great time all week, she'd want to do this again, and again. And if he'd shown her a lousy time, she'd be running to someone else, to see if they could do better. Two years was a long time to go without a smile.

This way, she could really enjoy herself this week - in spite of a little embarrassment. She would not worry too much about Michael 'bending' his promise (not much she could do about it anyway). And then she would never, ever take another mini pill again!

"What if the antidote doesn't work?" she asked - thinking out loud, more than really wanting an answer.

"Then," he said, "you'll be a very pampered mini, kind of like you are now. But if you go back into your depression, I'm gonna do whatever I have to. I'd rather have you mad at me than see you like that again."

She smiled up at him. She could never stay mad at him very long.

"Speaking of which," he said, lifting the tiny woman up and setting her in her cage, "I know a little mini who stayed up past her bed time, turned her master's TV off without permission, and yelled at her master! Now, kneel here on the couch, facing the back. Lift your shirt over your bottom and push yourself against the couch to hold it in place."

Margaret gasped; she was not wearing underwear. Somehow, in the intimate setting of her home - her cage - a bare-bottom spanking from her son was much worse than it had been at the park. But she knew better than to object. She dutifully took the position. Her body was already tingling before she felt the first swat.

He gave her a sound paddling of ten strokes. Then he turned her entire cage, so that she was facing the TV. And that's how she watched the movie, kneeling, with her burning bottom cooling in the air, on display for her son, in a rough imitation of one of the movie's most famous scenes. The mild pain, submissive pose and erotic movie all had her practically on fire!

"Look up at me mOm," said the son, onscreen. The actor went by the stage name of Little John. He was very short and youthful looking, but in reality, he was nineteen when the movie was made.

The newly-minned thirder craned her neck to look up at her son, towering above her. Her mouth fell open in awe, and his thin cockhead slipped neatly into it. The woman looked too shocked to move, but as the penis began to grow downward, into her mouth, she began to suck. Then the cock started to rise. She stood on her toes to stay with it as long as she could; but finally the 'boy' had to kneel, so she could give him a blow job in earnest.

The movie was a classic, of sorts, from the early days of minis. But ironically, the scenes where the woman was turned into a mini were poorly done. They sometimes used camera magic, and other times used a body double. It was doubly ironic because the actress was Victoria Bronson. She did things in her movies that would make O herself wince, but she wouldn't take a mini. Not back then.

She was the woman who had been on the news, about a week ago--who had become her own son's mini. Well, she must have gotten over her phobia.

When Margaret was finally able to get to bed, she decided to see if Stephanie had been telling the truth about how flexible micros were.

[Xinunar]

Major Kincaide approached his target carefully, using the ample cover and his years of experience as a Ranger. It was funny, a lot of guys, not in the Rangers, tended to look down on their heavy use of stealth. James gave a low chuckle, thinking of that. Like he didn't get enough opportunities to prove his courage, he should take unnecessary risks to earn a bunch of jerks' respect? Not hardly.

Respect, that was something he'd been thinking about a lot lately. There was a time he almost obsessed over it. That had been one of the main reasons he became a Ranger in the first place. But you get a little older, you get a little wiser. These days, there were only two people who's respect he gave a damn about. Three, counting himself.

He was coming up on the target now. Target: not enemy to be killed, not hostage, or victim, or even beautiful woman to be rescued. Thinking that way, got you dead. Before the mission, and especially after the mission, you could think about just who those 'targets' were. You had to, or you'd lose your humanity. But during the mission, they were just targets. Still, he was glad that he was a Ranger. His targets were almost always enemies to be killed - or, rarely, people to be rescued. If he were air corps or artillery, his targets would usually include 'collateral damage', civilians, women and children that he couldn't think of as enemies, not before the mission, and certainly not after.

He squeezed under the heavy fabric that prevented visual acquisition. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light. And there she was. He couldn't think of her as a target now, not in the usual sense. Prize would be a better word. The only thing separating him from his prize were the bars of the cage that held her.

That was a common mistake.

People tended to think of strength as proportional to size; and it was, in a way; but in different ways, depending on what kind of strength. A muscle or steel bar, one sixth of an inch thick, was only one thirty sixth as strong as its one-inch counterpart. But that was tensile, or pulling, strength, which was proportional to the thickness squared. The bending strength of a rod, on the other hand, depended on its moment of inertia (technically, its second moment of area) which, in turn, was proportional to its thickness to the fourth! A one-inch rod was thirteen-hundred times harder to bend than a one-sixth inch one. That was why minis were so flexible; bones, ligaments and tendons worked much the same way.

James braced himself against the bars and began to pull. He remembered one more factor from his micro-ops course. A bar was harder to bend, the thicker it was; but it was easier to bend, the longer it was. These bars looked about ten feet tall to him, but were actually only a little more than a foot. Effectively, he was only about six times stronger than if he and the cage had been full-sized - not thirty six. He was gratified and relieved, when he felt the bars give.

He entered the cage quietly, but not quietly enough. The woman, already stirring from the sound he'd made bending the bars, became fully alert. She looked over at the unexpected intruder in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I'm here to rescue you, milady," he said with a smile.

"Now that's just silly," she said, giggling. "Come over here, and I'll give you a kiss for your trouble. But then you've got to go. It won't do at all for my master to wake up and find you here."

"Is he a cruel one then, your master?"

"No, he's quite sweet," she said, "but do you really want him to find out about you, like this? This was your idea, after all. Let him get used to the idea of having a mini parent - or two. I told you before, that I thought he could handle it. Well, now I'm certain of it! But James, if we wait much longer, there could be other... complications. He might get used to having me... to himself. I think I should tell him today."

James pondered a moment. "Hmm, I worried a little about that. Are you sure that he hasn't gotten used to that already?"

"No," she said, "it'll be fine, but not if he finds us in here together! Then he would feel betrayed."

"Don't worry, it's only 04:30. We've got some time. And I have a mission to complete."

He grabbed her roughly and kissed her passionately.

"And a target to acquire."

He quickly tossed off her nightshirt. She didn't even know where his own clothes had gone, maybe she did it herself.
"And a duty to... fulfill."

"Oh, James!" she cried.

"Quiet, woman. You'll wake the baby."

"He's no baby any more."

"Just don't let him forget that you're his mom," he said, punctuating each word with a powerful thrust. "I'm his father, and you're his mom. His mom. His mom! Mom!"

"Mom. Mom!"

"What?" she said, in confusion.

"You were screaming," said Michael. "Were you having a bad dream?"

"Uh, no," she said, blushing. "I was... dreaming about your father."

"Oh," he said, with a knowing smile. "Did you know that minis blush a lot?"

"We ah," she blushed even deeper, "our blood vessels are very close to the surface."

"Do you need a minute," he asked, "or would you like to come watch me try to make breakfast?"

"Let me just wash my face first," she answered.

A minute later, she sat in the hollow of his collar bone and snuggled a bit closer to his neck than usual. As he started for the door, she noticed the mini dart sitting on his shelf, a souvenir his father had sent home two years ago, which she had given to Michael.

If it had struck an inch to the left, James would have been a minned. The bootleg potion Al Qaeda used would have turned him into a micro, possibly even smaller than she was, depending on how big a dose he got. Of course, she would have gotten minned too, to be with him; but the strongest pill you could legally get back then was a sixthy. Margaret wondered what that would have been like, towering over James? She suspected she would have been spending a lot of time on her knees. Maybe officially become his love slave, so that kneeling beside him would be expected.

O cursed dart, why didn't you fly true and send my James back to me?

Breakfast was fine. Eggs, toast and bacon. Don't burn them, and they're always good. Margaret got the bread from the bag and buttered it. She Wished she could do more, but she didn't let it bother her this time.

"So, Magpie," Michael started.

"Yes, Master?"

Michael ached his eyebrow. "Master?"

"Well," again with a blush; she tried not to be self-conscious of it. "I decided you were right. I want to have fun this week, but I also need to use it for a reality check. But just this week, OK? This week...."

She took a deep breath and continued, "you're in charge. Anything legal - um, anything that would still be legal, if I was normal size - you have the right to insist on. So... calling you Master, wearing a leash, being nude - actually, that wouldn't be legal in public, but it's still OK. What's left? Begging for food? Mini tricks? Piercings? Uh, let's agree no permanent body mods, OK? Otherwise, what you say goes.

But next week, big or small, it's back to Mom and Michael."

"Can I call you Magpie sometimes? When it's just you and me?" he asked.

"Well..." she said, "why don't we just wing it?"

Michael laughed.

"Anyway, you started to say something?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "So, tomorrow's Memorial Day, so we'll go visit Dad, uh visit his grave, tomorrow. But you usually go to the Memorial Day service, the day before. I know how you don't want to go to our church today. So, I thought we could go to another one, downtown or something."

He got that out in a rush, and Margaret was surprised that this seemed so important to him.

"Why are you so anxious to go to church, all the sudden?" she asked.

"It's just, I thought you should try doing normal things... as a mini. Church isn't really my thing, Mom. I mean, I go and all, but it's always been real important to you. So, I thought you should see how that would be."

Margaret thought about it and realized that, once again, he was right. Church was a big part of her life. If being a mini made her too uncomfortable to go there, then that was one more reason to take the antidote and never touch another mini pill. On the other hand, if she knew that she could still go to church, that would be one less worry. She began to suspect that Michael had talked to Dr. Connors or someone. He didn't get all this insight from Minis for Dummies!

They finished breakfast and headed upstairs to get ready. Michael ran a little water in the sink, for her to wash off. She had bathed the night before, but it took so little time and water for her to bathe, that it made more sense than just washing her face and sweaty areas. Michael got out a can of sun screen.

"Of course, you'll dress for church," he said, holding up the can, "but I'm not sure where we're going after. Better be prepared. Don't worry, I promise I'll be as professional as the Mini Mart guy."

Margaret pouted only a moment, then remembered that she had already resolved to put modesty on hold for the week. She tossed off her nightshirt and quickly climbed into the water. When she was done, Michael let out the soapy water and used his hand to direct fresh water on her, so she could easily rinse without getting her hair wet. He wrapped a washcloth around her to lift her from the sink and dry her off. Then Margaret posed, holding her hair up, to allow him to spray her all over, with sun screen. Michael was very professional, but he did enjoy the view.

Church was a surprisingly normal and comforting experience. There were a few other minis there, and Margaret only stood out because she was the smallest and most conservatively dressed. She spent pretty much the entire service on Michael's shoulder, even standing and kneeling there, as appropriate. Margaret realized that she would need to start exercising, if she didn't want to get horribly out of shape, being carried around all the time. But she decided to wait and see what Michael came up with. It would probably be more fun, for both of them (if slightly more embarrassing for her), than anything she would suggest.

After church, they took a walk downtown, window shopping and just enjoying a sunny Sunday afternoon. It was much too hot for the dress Margaret was wearing, so Michael had her take that off. Margaret felt oddly liberated, wearing only a hat and collar. Even the leash (which she had not worn to church) was a comfort. She felt very secure on Michael's shoulder but knew that she would be an easy target for mini snatchers, without the leash.

They shopped for a while, especially enjoying the antique stores. Margaret had always liked antiques, but now they both looked at them with special interest. Antiques often contained nooks and crannies and sometimes even secret compartments, that would be exciting to explore at Margaret's size. Michael took her picture posing on or beside several interesting pieces. Then Margaret got the idea of climbing into the window display for a quick photo shoot. They liked this so much that they repeated it at two more antique stores, two clothing stores, a florist's, a toy store, a candy store and a photographer's studio. The Photographer was the only one to complain.

Heading back to the car, Margaret felt a sudden chill. Coming straight, deliberately, unavoidably towards them was Mary Henderson, her co-worker. She was not her friend. Mary had a wide and widening smile - never a good sign.

"Margaret!" she called out. "I can't believe it! You're so cute! You know, no one could believe that you had the guts to go to work, four feet tall." Margaret had been reduced to four foot six, for the past week, in preparation for the full reduction. But apparently Mary was rounding down.

"But now I see that we underestimated you - and your threshold for embarrassment. And this must be little Michael, not so little any more. He's gotten so big and strong and virile, I'm sure. I guess nothing beats home cooking. Congratulations on that, dear."

Margaret was mortified and struggled to compose herself. It was amazing how quickly one could go from artistically, liberatingly, nude - to vulnerably, humiliatingly, naked. She crossed her legs with as much nonchalance as she could muster, but there was no way to cover her breasts, without announcing to the world how embarrassed she was. Michael was obviously out of his depth here; and besides, this was her challenge, not his.

"Yes," she said, "Michael's taking excellent care of me during my vacation."

"Vacation? Surely you're not planning to go back to work after this?" Mary asked, genuinely shocked.

"Of course," said Margret, beginning to feel a little more confident, "I can't afford a mini resort; I certainly can't afford to quit my job. I'll be back next Monday."

"Oh, really?" asked Mary, contemptuously. "You can't afford a mini resort, so you spend a week, playing naked with your little boy. Somehow, I doubt that your clients - or Fenton, Marsh and Marsha - will have quite so liberal an attitude."

"I don't see why they would have a problem with it," Margaret said, uncertainly.

"You don't see why they would have a problem with you spending a week as your boy's... toy?" Mary asked, incredulously.

"Mrs. Henderson, Mom's not my toy. I promised her I'd treat her like a mini this week - except," he emphasized, "I won't do anything that would be illegal if she was big. And I won't do anything that makes her uncomfortable. Maybe some parents couldn't trust their kids to keep a promise like that. But... I just feel sorry for them."

With that, he brushed past her and headed to the car.

"Thank you, Michael," said Margaret, as she snuggled next to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Jeff Henderson's not a bad guy, not really," he said. "But there's no way she could trust him like this - Susanne either, for that matter. She knows it, I know it, and she knows that I know it."

Margaret did feel a little bit sorry for Mary, as she thought about that.

"I'll still catch hell next week," she said.

[ralgar]

Just wondering when u would continue.

[Xinunar]

Just wondering when u would continue.

Probably after taxes.

[Xinunar]

Margaret was getting tired and winded. She had run a hundred laps around the kitchen table and was working on two forty. That would be the equivalent of six miles to her. She was wearing a pair of Hooters souvenir shorts and a short white blouse. The blouse had no buttons, but was tied in a knot, just above her belly. She didn't like that; she thought it emphasized her paunch. But then, that was what she was working to get rid of.

She was a little surprised that Michael let her wear so much, given that she had given the okay to nudity. She was torn between gratification and regret--the clothes chafed! The only micro-fiber outfits she had were the dress Michael bought yesterday and a micro-terrycloth robe that was lying beside the sink. She looked at it longingly on each pass.

She was also wearing a leash that was attached to a mobile that hung just above the table. The mobile played Brahms' Lullaby over and over, as it forced her to keep her pace. She was amazed the thing still worked, after all these years. And she quietly cursed her sentimentality--which had kept her from throwing or giving it away, years ago. It had comforted Michael, when he was a baby. And now it was torturing her! Not literally, of course. It was just exercise. But she was definitely feeling the burn.

She had been exercising for the better part of an hour and a half. He had started her on rope climbing--climbing the drapes' draw string, all the way to the top, ten times--until she couldn't do it anymore. Then it was sit-ups, then weight lifting using a Magnetix set. Then it was laps.

“Michael!” she called out, grabbing the leash to bring the mobile to a halt. “Michael, can you come here please?”

“What is it, Mom?” he asked. He walked over to the table and switched off the mobile, so she could talk to him without shouting. Her voice was so soft that it was the sound of the mobile being stopped that caught his attention, more than her voice did.

“It’s this outfit,” she said. “It’s really chafing.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Mom. Let’s see, what can you wear?” He mused. “The dress won’t do. Do you want to wear your robe?”

“Ugh. It’s heavy, and I’m already sweating,” she said. She was also tired and hoped he would let her ‘off the hook.’

“Well, then it’s body paint, or naked,” said Michael.

“Michael! I’m not read…. I mean, you can’t paint me!” she yelled. She hoped she sounded firm and not whiny.

Michael chuckled. “It’s alright, Mom. You can paint yourself,” he said. “Here. Hang a minute, and I’ll go get the paints.”

For a moment, Margaret was frightened when he said, ‘hang a minute.’ But Michael unhooked her from the mobile and even moved the soft pincushion she used for a seat over to her. It was only on the other side of the table, but Michael could see she needed a break. She appreciated his consideration.

Michael left the room, and came back a few minutes later with a set of body paints, a brush and a small construction he had built earlier with an erector set.

“You can put the paint brush into the holes in the tower I built, to set it at different levels. Then just move your body against it, to paint yourself. Or you can just use your hands. The classic handprints on your boobs would look good.” He placed his own hands on his chest, with his fingers splayed to show her what he meant. Then he got four cups of water from the kitchen, for her to wash the brush or her hands in.

“It’s not real body paint,” he said. “Just finger paint. It won’t last as long, but it’s easier to clean up.”

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll leave you to it.” He went back to preparing dinner.

Margaret appreciated all the trouble he went to, but it was only after he went back to work that she realized she had implicitly agreed to exercise in nothing but body paint. Worse - finger paint, which would wash off if she got too sweaty. But at this point, she couldn’t back out.

Margaret took off her clothes, glad to be out of the scratchy things. She started with Michael’s suggestion – putting palm prints on her breasts. She got yellow paint on her right palm and blue on her left and pressed them to her breasts. The paint seemed very thick to her, almost like paste, so she felt it somewhat covered her modesty. Her middle fingers covered her nipples, but some parts of her areolas were exposed, tiny pink crescents above and below the paint. They were only fractions of an inch too her, so she doubted Michael would see.

Rather than wash off the excess on her hands, she used them to paint some bikini briefs on her. In front, it was yellow on the right, blue on the left, and swirled in the middle. The thick paint matted her bush and pressed it against her, so she looked smooth. In the back, she worried how the swirled paint would look in the middle, so she painted her left cheek yellow – and part of her right, as well. She let her left and right fingertips touch, as they came up her buttock in one stroke, to hopefully give a smooth line up her right cheek, where yellow met blue.

She rinsed her hands and thought about adding more palm prints, of different colors. But she decided to keep it simple. She stood still for a minute, to let the paint on her dry, before she called Michael over to help her close the paint jars.

Michael admired her work, while he closed the jars. Looking closely, he could see tiny pink crescents framing paint-covered nipples. The paint hid them as well as a tight shirt or bathing suit would, but it was still sexier, especially with the pink framing. Margaret stood still and subtly posed for him, smiling up at him adoringly. Then Michael connected her collar back to the mobile, took away the paint supplies and turned the mobile back on.



"Two hundred, one!" she called.

"You're doing great, Mom!" Michael called back to her, from behind the kitchen island.

He had been working on dinner while she was exercising. She could smell the ham roast, mashed potatoes, and green beans and also the chocolate they would be having for dessert. It smelled good! And she was hungry!

Dinner was ready by the time she finished, and so was her bath. Michael had run water in both sides of the kitchen sink--one side hot, the other cold--for a full spa treatment. She relaxed for a few minutes in the hot tub. Then she bathed with soap, with Michael washing her back. There were a few suds in the water, but mostly she was unconcerned about her nudity. Her barriers had relaxed a bit, on that. Michael enjoyed some glimpses of side boob and nipple, even though he had seen more earlier.

She rinsed in the cold water, dried off and put on her robe. They chatted while they ate--sharing the same plate.

"Yes," said Margaret, "work was difficult, last week. And it wasn't just Mary. At four-six, I wasn't small enough to be officially a mini, but I was obviously a minette. And very quickly everyone--including people I'm supposed to supervise--had me reduced to fixing coffee, fetching office supplies, and taking notes. I did a lot of that.

Pretty soon, someone came up with a little table for me – a pedestal, actually. It was too tall, if I sat on the floor, and too low if I stood. So, I spent most of my time kneeling!"

She stopped there. She felt she had already said too much, and if she told him any more, she'd just be humiliating herself all over again. The worst part was that they would give dictation--until she could not stand bending over any longer, and had to kneel. But as soon as she knelt at the pedestal, they would switch to talking in a conversational mode--that did not warrant writing down, word for word. Soon, they had her conditioned to kneel at the pedestal, as soon as she joined a meeting.

The strange and disconcerting thing was that she found this treatment kind of exciting, almost erotic. If this had been a hazing, or initiation to a club, or some kind penalty in a game, she would have actually enjoyed it! She used to love to play strip poker in college. And some of those games had 'extra penalties' that were very similar to what she went through at work. And those penalties usually came after she had already lost all her clothes! But this was worse, this was her workplace. Her coworkers, her superiors and her underlings were all showing her extreme disrespect. It was not all in fun, not at all.

"That sounds awful, Mom," Michael said. "Couldn't you like... threaten to fire some people, or threaten to quit or something?"

Margaret shook her head. "I could quit," she said. "That's the only thing I could do. People look down on minis, plain and simple. And minis and even minettes do not have anything like the legal protections that minorities, or handicapped, or gays, or even sexual submissives have.

More than a few of my co-workers have been to mini parks. But that's OK, as long as they leave it there, and don't bring it to the office. Going to work, as an obvious minette, was about like going to work in drag or full bondage gear would have been a few years ago."

"Oh." He partly understood. He knew that his mother and father had always been much more polite to minis than most people were, but he always thought that the dom/sub games people played with their minis were mostly just like the ones big people played. Nurse Moore usually kept Principal Hollander on a short leash and dressed like a hooker, but people still respected him! Mostly.

"Ready for your treat?" he asked.

"Sure!" she replied. "Sounds good, and smells delicious!"

Michael cleared the table and brought out a casserole dish that did indeed have the delicious aroma of warm chocolate. Margaret saw that the dark smooth surface was broken at one end by a folded crepe.

"Why the one crepe?" she asked.

"Pillow."

"Wha? Oh no!" she exclaimed in mock dismay.

"You mentioned Hershey's Kisses earlier this week," Michael said. "And I remember you saying something about wanting to try the chocolate mud bath at Hershey Park a few years ago."

Michael gently tugged the robe off her shoulders and asked if she needed any help getting in. She didn't and hesitantly climbed into the dish. The warm chocolate squished between her toes like soft mud. She took a few steps, enjoying the sensation, and looked back at Michael. He was sitting behind her, watching the tiny woman intently. She felt shy again about her nudity and started to get down into the mud.

"Wait a moment, Mom," Michael said.

She turned again, just in time to have her picture taken. Michael showed her the picture in the digital camera. It showed her standing in the dark mud, walking away from the camera, with her body twisted, so that her surprised face was almost facing the camera. Her blush was obvious in the three cheeks visible in the photo. She had to admit--she looked good!

Michael reached out, with his left hand, as though to grab her. Instead, he firmly grasped the circlet around her neck, with his thumb and forefinger. Then he unhooked the clasp, with his fingernail.

"You won't be needing this," he said, as he removed her collar for the first time in more than 24 hours.

Margaret laid down, with her face on the rolled pancake 'pillow'. She started to roll over, now that her front was covered in chocolate mud, but a giant finger firmly pushed her back. She felt the mud come up around her, and soon she was completely buried up to her neck. Then the giant finger began to massage her back--and more than her back, from her neck and shoulders, all the way down to the soles of her feet, even her soft-but-firm butt--politely avoiding only her most private spot.

Margaret could do nothing but moan, as the tensions of the week, and seemingly the past two years, melted away, under Michael's touch. The massage was wonderful. The ridges of his fingerprints felt like a ribbed massager. But the main thing was that Margaret totally surrendered to the massage. Most times, she would tense up and not completely relax, even during an expert massage; but here, that wasn't even an option. There was no way she could resist this giant's manipulation, even if she wanted to, so she didn't bother.

Michael flipped her over to massage her front. He even covered her eyes with tiny slivers of cucumber. This caused her to tense up for a moment. But again, Michael showed that he was not going to take advantage. Realizing that she was tensing up every time he rubbed near her thighs, he simply said, "I'm not going to touch you there." After that, she was able to completely relax again. A part of her was actually disappointed, but she knew that, as good as it would have felt--at that moment, she would have been angry and hurt later.

As for her chest: he avoided her nipples, but that was all. It was a bit like a game of Operation – almost, but not quite, touching the sides. Actually, if it had been a game of Operation, the buzzer would have sounded a couple of times. She hoped he didn't notice. She was pretty sure that, at her size, it was impossible for him to feel the difference between her areola and her regular skin; she just hoped that he didn't notice the buzzer sounding.

Michael massaged her face with his chocolate-covered finger, careful not to get it in her nose or eyes. Then he flipped her back over and gently rubbed her back until she was nearly dozing. Finally, he covered her in a thick layer of the warm chocolate and let her rest, while he finished cleaning the kitchen.

"Every woman's fantasy," she thought, "a man who cleans up the kitchen, without even being asked."

Michael brought a bowl of warm water over to the table and checked if she was sleeping. She wasn't.

"Ready to get out?"

"Mmm, hmm."

"Shouldn't I rinse off first?" she said, sitting up.

"Don’t worry, I'll wash you off."

Slipping his fingers under her arms, Michael lifted her up. Holding her above the pan, large drops of chocolate ran down her legs and dripped off her feet.

"Can't let that drip on the tablecloth," said Michael, lifting her higher and catching the drops with his tongue. Then he began to lick lightly at her feet.

"Hey, that tickles!" she yelled, kicking and squirming.

Ignoring her protests, he caught her feet with his lips and licked the soles of her feet until she was howling with laughter. He sucked her lower legs into his mouth and licked the chocolate off. He turned his hand, then positioned her with his tongue, so she sat in his palm, with her head resting on his fingertips. This was getting into the danger zone for Margaret, she was so exposed. She thought she should make him stop, but the pleasure was just too great.

Michael drew a line at the top of her pelvis with his tongue, removing all the chocolate above it, to just above her navel. Now, instead of a chocolate dress, she wore chocolate shorts and crop top. Not satisfied with that, he drew another line on her thigh, diagonally, from just below her vagina, to the top of her hip on the side. He used a mirror, so he could see and get just a few millimeters from her vagina, without touching it. He knew that would cross the line.

Margaret was afraid he was going to cross that line and tried to tell him to stop, but she couldn't find her voice, through her moans of pleasure. The closest she could come to, “No - Don’t - Stop” was “Nu ahh. Dah. Gahaaa!”

Michael wanted her completely clean below the panties he just made, so he took her legs into his mouth, one at a time, and sucked them like he would a finger. Having her legs sucked this way was a unique pleasure for Margaret, one that wasn’t possible when she was full-sized. She felt herself nearing orgasm.

Michael released her leg from his mouth and moved up to her torso again. This time, he focused on her belly, removing all the chocolate from her waist to a line just below her breasts. This was a less-sensitive area for Margaret and let her calm back down – until his tongue moved upward, to trace the line where her breast met her chest.

Michael then did her arms, as he had her legs. Sucking on them didn’t give Margaret quite the erotic pleasure that having her legs sucked did, but it still felt good, leaving her arms limp and weak. With her arm in his mouth, Michael used his tongue to remove the chocolate from her armpits and over her breasts. He repeated this with each arm, and when he finished with each, he pushed her elbows down between his fingers, leaving Margaret restrained, with her chest thrust forward.

Michael licked the chocolate from her upper chest and neck and face, He alternated between licking and kissing her there. Margaret kissed back, sometimes kissing a lip and sometimes his giant tongue. She laughed and squirmed when he licked the chocolate from her ear. She was ticklish there, and they were very much erogenous zones for her. Her back arched, her heels dug into his wrist, and her fingers dug into her belly – almost painfully. Having her arms restrained at her sides made this even better for her.

Michael took a quick picture of Margaret in her chocolate bikini. Her mouth was open, her head tilted back and slightly to the side, hiding the ear that still had chocolate on it. Her body was arched and tense. Her arms were obviously restrained by his fingers, and her own fingers dug into her belly, which looked quite flat in this pose.

She started to relax, when giant lips covered her face again, in a gentle kiss, and a giant tongue reached down to lick her other ear. This time, Margaret could not control her hands. They came up from her belly, to kneed her breasts and pinch her nipples and run her fingers in the warm smooth chocolate.

Michael licked the chocolate from the back of her right hand.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

She lifted her hand off her breast, and Michael licked it clean before tucking it down between his fingers with his tongue. He repeated this with her other hand. Then he tidied the mess she had made, licking a clean line all the way around each tit, except leaving a tiny line of chocolate between them.

“Did you breast-feed me, Mom?” he asked.

“Tha that’s different,” she said.

“I’ve heard that it gives some women almost orgasmic pleasure,” he said, as he began to lick around one tit. He pressed firmly with his tongue, massaging as he cleaned, leaving only a tiny circle around her areola untouched.

“Ah, a – almost,” said Margaret, barely able to breathe. “That’s why it’s different.”

“That’s why this will be better,” he said. His tongue swept over the nipple he had so carefully avoided, cleaning it in one wipe, and his mouth descended on her other tit, sucking and licking it clean all at once.

Margaret howled, in the most powerful orgasm she had experienced in more than three years – since before James was deployed. Her arms strained to reach up, to grab him or push him away or dig her fingers into her cunt; she didn’t know which. But they were trapped between Michael’s fingers, making her come even harder.

Michael sucked one tit, then the other, then both at once. Margaret always loved having her nipples sucked hard – even better, if her tits were squeezed at the same time. This – having her entire tit sucked, then the other, then BOTH, while a giant tongue lathed all around and between them – was beyond imagination. She came and came, and Michael didn’t stop until she passed out from coming.

[Sumguy14]

Xin... I do not remember this scene from the original. Am I just getting old or is this new (and absolutely amazing!) ???

Great addition to what is probably my favorite SW story.

[Xinunar]

The scene was there, but edited for television (or Minimizer's community standards). I did expand it a little.

[Xinunar]

Great addition to what is probably my favorite SW story.

Wow. That is high praise, coming from one of my own favorite SW authors. "She's Asking For It" is one of my favorites. Hint Hint.

[Xinunar]

Margaret was only out for a minute. She laid in Michael’s hand, as she recovered. She wasn’t sure what to say about what just happened. Michael had clearly crossed her set boundaries, but she hadn’t tried very hard to stop him. She was trying to decide between thanking him, fussing at him or just making a joke, when she felt herself being lowered back into the chocolate.

"No! No. No double dipping!" she yelled.

But Michael just licked his lips and continued to get his fill of the tasty desert. By the time he was done, she hung limply between his fingers.

"You OK?" he asked.

She just smiled. All thoughts of trying to object to this treatment were gone. Maybe she could have a talk with him about it later. And maybe it was already too late to stop him from fully making her his sexual plaything. This thought didn’t bother her nearly as much as she would have expected it to.

"See," he said, "and you were worried about not being able to feed me at this size."

After drying her off, he took her to the den, to let her nap on a soft cushion. He covered her with a silk handkerchief and set her robe beside her, for when she got up. Margaret was mildly surprised that he was still going to let her wear clothes around the house. Lying naked on a soft cushion, under a silk handkerchief, she felt very safe and secure – and very tired. After all the exercise and other activity, she immediately drifted off. Michael cleaned up the kitchen and settled near her to watch TV.

About an hour later, Margaret woke to the sound of the phone ringing.

"Hello?" said Michael. "Oh, hi! Yes, but she's taking a nap. Oh, wait a minute; I think she's awake. Yeah! That sounds great! Let me just ask.

“Mom, it's Dr. Miller--Mrs. Dr. Miller. She wants to know if we want to go to dinner with them tomorrow. Yeah? OK. Thank you! We'll see you then.

“They'll be here about 5 or 5:30 tomorrow to pick us up. We're going to 39 Rue De Jean."

Probably the best restaurant in town--one of the few where even minis had to dress formally.

"Morning, Magpie," said Michael, smiling down on the tiny woman in the cage on his dresser.

Margaret smiled up at the giant boy, yawned, stretched, and said, "Good morning, Master."

She managed a fair imitation of Barbara Eden in 'I Dream of Jeanie'--in manner and voice, at least. She didn't look very much like her, except the height. She continued to lie in bed for a few moments, looking up at Michael. She still couldn't quite get over the sight of him, towering over her like a forty-foot giant. Logically, she should be scared out of her wits, waking up to a sight like that. But she wasn't, quite the contrary.

"I'm trying to think what we should do today," said Michael, "besides visiting Dad and having dinner with the Millers."

"Michael, you don't have to entertain me, every minute," she said. "Sometimes, I just like to relax. I honestly could have a great vacation and never leave the house. Hey, that's an idea! How about if I just explore the house for a while?

“Uh, do you mind if I put on some shorts and a shirt?"

Michael gave her a tiny outfit to wear and turned around, to let her dress, but then he remembered his resolve to make her feel like a 'real' mini. He forced himself to turn back and watch with casual interest. This was harder than it sounds. He had to overcome his shyness, to make himself turn around; then he had to make it look natural.

He didn’t want to leer or gawk or let his mother see that looking at her was giving him an erection. He wasn't trying to humiliate her or scare her into taking the antidote. (He actually liked the idea of her staying a mini!) But if she did become a permanent mini he thought she should go into it with her eyes open. If she became his mini, there would be a lot more embarrassment in store for her than this.

Margaret did feel embarrassed. She knew it was silly, as much as she had been nude lately. But there it was. She thought of nudity the way most women thought of wearing a bathing suit; it was fine at the beach and in other appropriate places, but not suitable around the house. She was compartmentalizing yesterday’s fun and still hadn’t decided if she should have a talk with him about it.

She put on her clothes and had Michael lower her to the floor. He started to leave, to let her explore, but then had a thought. He came back and grabbed her.

"Hey, what's going on?" asked Margaret.

"I know just the place for you." Came the evil-sounding reply.

He took Margaret to her room and set her on the bed.

"I'm going to go open all the doors," he said, "except to my room. You can explore the rest of the house. I’ll check on you in a couple of hours. Make sure you’re somewhere I won’t step on you."

Margaret laughed. She bounced around on the bed for a minute, then set out to explore. For a moment, she wondered how she was going to get down from the bed. Then she remembered what Stephanie had said. No matter that it looked like a twenty-foot drop, her bed was, in fact, less than three feet high. She would land much softer than she would at normal size--and on a seven-inch thick carpet!

Gathering her courage, she took a running start and jumped. Landing softly on the carpet, she realized: this wasn't just easy, it was fun! She had been letting Michael carry her much too much. Excited, she began to explore the giant room.

It would be hard to describe what was so exciting about her bedroom. It was filled with ordinary things: bed, couch, television, clothes, dresser. They were just... big. Very big. And that was exciting, like looking up at the Empire State Building or standing in a stadium or the rocket assembly hangar at Cape Kennedy. But it was more than that. It was the knowledge that this was her old room. It and the things in it weren't huge; she was tiny!

As she explored the room, her eyes kept going back to her dresser--or rather, what was on it. That would be naughty. She kept pushing that thought aside, but then she'd come back to it. Finally, she decided to just do it. She climbed up to the top of the dresser.

"Hello old friend," she said. "You helped me through a lot of lonely days. I think it would be rude to ignore you now."

Cautiously, she reached out her hand and stroked the nose of her pet hamster, Clarise. Clarise had been hand-raised from a kitten and had never bitten anyone, but it was still a little scary. After all, Clarise had never had a good target to bite before. Now, she could take off Margaret's hand with a snap. But she didn't. She just sniffed and rubbed against it affectionately--more so than usual, in fact.
Like many small animals, Clarise did not have much sense of scale. She did notice that there was something different about the food bringer. She seemed less threatening, nicer somehow. On the other hand, she didn't seem to have any food. She usually brought food.

Margaret went over to the can of hamster treats and struggled to open it. Why did they make those tops so tight? She looked around the desktop and spotted her fingernail clippers. She opened the nail file, itself no easy task, to use as a lever. Then she laid the can on its side, straddled it and pried the top open. She gave Clarise a few of the pellets, then headed upstairs to get Michael.

"Michael," she said, slightly out of breath from bounding up the stairs, "I want to visit Clarise."

Michael looked down at her from behind the newspaper, "What? Who?"

"Clarise," she repeated. "I want you to put me in her cage or bring her out and let me pet her."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mom," Michael answered. "She might bite you."

"She's no bigger to me than a large dog is to you, and she's gentle as a lamb. Come on, you'll be right there."

It was against his better judgement, but after a bit of pleading, he followed her back up to her room. He was surprised at how spry she was, jumping up the stairs.

Using pillows, he made a little pen on her bed. He placed Clarise in the circle, while Margaret stood outside it on the bed. Then he lifted Margaret into the pen, keeping his hand ready, just in case.

Clarise checked out her surroundings first, then started sniffing and rubbing against Margaret. Margaret pet her as she would a large dog. The hamster responded with obvious affection, but it was a bit unnerving. A hamster is almost incapable of holding still unless it is tired and sated. After a bit of fidgeting, it sat up on its haunches, and Margaret rubbed its head and scratched it behind the ears. Then it did something surprising. It actually hugged her.

"Oh Clarise," said Margaret, "you do love your mommy.
Uh, Clarise?
Oh. You're not Clarise; you're Clarence! Uh, baby, Mommy loves you too, but not that much.
Michael, I think we'd better put him back in his cage now."

Michael put Clarise back in his cage.

"Who knew?" said Margaret. They both laughed.

Back downstairs, Michael and Margaret read the paper as they ate breakfast. Margaret was pretty hungry, so she had a couple of Cheerios and some milk.

"Michael, did you see this?" she asked, looking at an add opposite the comics page.

The add read: "Avianeer. Let your mini fly on one of our beautiful macaws or gryphon condors. Lessons start at $100. 7 lb maximum mini weight." It had a picture of a pretty girl flying on a red macaw.

"You want to do that?"

"Yes! I haven't been hang gliding since before you were born!"

Wow? Thought Michael. Who knew Mom was cool?

Michael called and made a reservation for the next day.

The phone rang, as they were getting ready to go to the cemetery.

"Hello. Oh, hi Stephanie! We're just getting ready to go to the cemetery. No, we're not in a big hurry. How've you been?"

Stephanie was happy to chat with Michael again, like it was old times. She felt badly that she had cut him and her other friends off the way she did. She needed to call her other friends too, while she was in town. Most would be easier than Michael, because they had not been as close in the first place. Misty was another matter. She had not decided how to handle Misty yet.

"Really?" she asked. "Clarise didn’t hurt her, did he? Well, that’s a relief - and a funny coincidence. We had a pet-related scare over here too. You remember my cat, Mittens? Well, Grandma put all her animals in a kennel before we got here, but Mittens disappeared a couple of weeks ago, and she thought he must be dead. Well, last night he showed up again, out of the blue.

Jackson sees him and says, 'Hey, it's Mittens!'

Jackson reached down to pick him up; but Mom, Dad, Grandma and my cousin Tyler are all in the next room; and they all yell at once, as soon as they hear that. So, Mittens gets scared and runs away, and everyone starts looking for him. Only, everyone thinks he's still downstairs, when really, he's come upstairs, where I am.

I'm lying on the bed in the guest room, watching Brothers and Sisters, when Mittens jumps up on the bed with me.

Yes, I'm serious!

Of course, I'm scared! I weigh less than a quarter of a pound! Mittens weighs ten – maybe twelve pounds! Can you imagine a cat, forty or fifty times heavier than you, jumping on the bed with you? I'm petrified!

So, I'm lying there, propped up on a pillow, and Mittens is staring right at me. And it's probably a good thing that I'm too scared to move, because you're not supposed to. Dogs and cats have an instinct to try to catch anything that runs. So, Mittens and I just stare at each other for, like a minute. The only thing moving was his tail. It’s twitching back and forth, making me think of ‘The Pit and The Pendulum’. Then I say, 'Hey Mittens. Good boy. Is that my Mittens? Is that my good boy?'

Yes, I really talk to my cat that way. I don't know; they remind me of babies, so they bring out the baby talk.

Anyway, Mittens walks over to me, like he's stalking me. And I think: ‘This is it; I’m going to die.’ But then he just rolls over, with his head on top of me, practically smothering me. And he starts purring and rubbing his head against me. I didn't try to pet him, because sometimes he thinks that means play time. So, I just lay there, with his head in my lap, doing the baby-talk thing.

Then dad came in, and he looked white as a sheet! He came over and put his hand between me and Mittens.

Then he lifts me up and holds me next to his chest, and he doesn't say anything to me; he just reaches down with his other hand and starts petting Mittens. And he says, 'Good Mittens. That's a good boy.'

And then Mom came in, and he handed me to her, while he picked up Mittens and took him to his cage.

Dad'll be taking him to the kennel in a few minutes. Can you believe, they still won't let me pet him, even through the bars?"

"Oh, that reminds me," she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, "don't tell them about Clarise."

They chatted some more, and Michael mentioned the avianeer.

"Really? Can I come? Yes, I've always wanted to do that! Well, I'll have to ask them; that’s the sort of thing where I have to get Jackson’s permission, and Mom’s – and Dad’s. Does that suck, or what?”

“It blows,” said Michael. “Hey Steph, I promised Mom we’d go to see Dad’s grave, and we need to get moving, if we want to get back in time to go to dinner with you guys – I mean, we definitely want to go to dinner. You know what I mean. Let's talk about it some more at dinner.”

“OK,” said Stephanie, laughing. “See ya. Love you. bye!"

The cemetery had a few more people than usual because it was Memorial Day. Margaret again wore her best dress, with its matching bonnet and high heels. She didn't like wearing the same dress three days in a row, but it had only been for a few hours each day. She only had two dresses that fit her, and she planned to wear the other one that evening.

Michael set her down a few paces from the headstone.

She walked up to it and said, "Hello, James. It's me. I'm a mini! Surprised? I told you I would, when you got back."

She hated that he was missing out on this – her being a mini. It would give him such a thrill. She used to have this fantasy, where she became his mini for a week, and he’d slip her some Minfix. She’d be turned on like crazy, but of course, she’d also be outraged. She’d yell at him, and he’d lay her over his cock to spank her.

She placed her hand on the interlocking rings that adorned the face of the monument and bowed her head a moment. She missed her own wedding ring, at that moment. She heard Michael, behind and to her left, take her picture. She looked up at him with sadness in her eyes. He took another picture.

"Michael. Isn't that disrespectful?"

"No Mom!" he said sincerely. "I haven't seen Dad in almost four years, and I want to remember him. I want to remember you remembering him."

Margaret understood. She smiled and posed, cocking her head towards the rings as she stood beside them.

"Is that what you're doing this week mom," Michael asked, "keeping a promise to dad?"

"Partly," she said. "It was something we were going to do together. I'd be his mini, and he'd be my master. It's not a promise I can keep, without him here, though. The 'him being my master' part was the part he liked best; me being a mini was more for me. But he did think minis were cute. I thought I should at least show him, while I've still got some cute left in me."

"You got plenty!" Michael said, laughing. "OK, go ahead and show him. Take off the dress."

"Michael! That's totally disrespectful!"

"No, it's not," he said. "Most minis almost never wear clothes. I saw some on the other side of the cemetery earlier--a man and a woman, and they were both nude. You said you wanted to show him. Go on. Show him the mini!"

Margaret shyly began to take off her hat, but Michael suggested she should leave that on.

"I suppose you want me to leave my heels on too?" she asked.

"Wouldn't Dad?"

She stripped down to just her hat and heels and posed in several very sexy poses. They had brought a bouquet of flowers, to lay at his headstone, and she brought a few of them over to it, one by one: a rose, a daisy and an orchid. She lay them in front of the monument and kneeled like a slave girl, presenting them to her master. They placed the remaining flowers in a holder, built into the tombstone and took a few shots of her, standing in the middle of them like Sheena of the jungle. Finally, she lay on her back, on top of the stone and reached down to caress the top of the 'J' in James.

"I'm going to Hell for this," she said.

"No, you're not."

"This is not the way you're supposed to treat a tombstone!" she said, in a voice that mixed worry with playfulness.

"That's what I want on my tombstone!" an old man said.

They looked around and noticed they had attracted an audience. There were three couples, and two men and a woman, who seemed to be alone. The woman who was with the man who had spoken slapped him playfully on the head.

"Well, you're gettin' pepperoni," she said.

Michael and Margaret said their goodbyes and a little prayer, then headed home.

[Xinunar]

"Mom," Michael yelled, "you need to hurry! The Miller's will be here any minute."

Michael walked into her room and saw that Margaret was still on the dresser, getting ready. She stood there naked, surrounded by makeup, creams, jells, nail polish, tissue paper and about a dozen toothpicks, that she had used as makeshift grooming tools. She had a mini grooming kit, that they picked up at Mini Mart. It included tweezers, clippers, toothbrush, hairbrush, comb and a file. But she still found dozens of uses for the toothpicks, which she could break and shape into various disposable implements.

"Everything is so awkward!" she said. "Even this mini grooming kit is too big for me. Everything in it is about twice as big as I'm used to."

"You look great, Mom," he assured her. "Remember, we can't even see little imperfections that might bother you."

"What imperfections?" she said in a panic.

"Uh, I can't see them. That's what I mean."

"Oh, Joyce will see them," Margaret said with finality. "That woman sees everything. Did I tell you she used to be my GP? I'll bet she remembers every mole and birthmark."

The doorbell rang.

"Oh no!" she yelled. "Five more minutes, Michael.

“And Michael! No Magpie! You promised!"

Michael was amused, but he also understood. Good-natured teasing from Dr. Miller was twice as bad as vindictive digs from Mary Henderson. His mother didn't really care what Mrs. Henderson thought. But Dr. Miller was different. For one thing, they were friends--kind of friendly rivals, in their social group, Michael didn't know why--but still friends. And Dr. Miller was older; Margaret looked up to her, like Michael would to an upperclassman or adult. And she was a doctor.

And she was drop-dead gorgeous. Michael had seen pictures of her, from when she was younger; she was in the same league with Sharon Stone, Angelina Jolie and Catherine Zetta Jones. She had beautiful skin, beautiful hair, beautiful figure and d-cup breasts that seemed to float like a mini's. OK, she was in her early fifties now. But unless the past two years were very unkind, she'd still look good!

Michael figured that the reason Stephanie had such a good personality, and didn’t have the self-centeredness common with pretty girls, was that she thought of herself as plain. And objectively, next to her mother, she was.

"Hi!" he said, greeting the guests. "Jackson, Stephanie, Dr. Miller, Dr. Mrs. Dr. Miller, come on in. Mom will be down in a minute."

"Michael," scolded Mrs. Miller, while hugging him politely, "it's either Doctor Miller or.... You know what? You can call me Joyce."

"Michael," said Richard Miller, clasping his hand, "then I guess you can call me... Dr. Miller."

"So, where is our little Magpie?" asked Joyce.

"Oh no," chuckled Michael. "Who told you?"

"That she's a mini?" asked Joyce. "Why, I suppose everyone did. Everyone who knows us: Jackson, Stephanie, my mother, that awful Henderson woman, Susan Plummer, Suzanne Prestridge.... I imagine everyone in town, who knows her, knows 'it'."

"How can such a big city be such a small town?" Margaret shouted from the top of the stairs. She had a tone and look of mock dismay that Michael suspected masked real dismay.

"Margaret, Darling!" Joyce shouted. "Come. Give us a hug."

She knelt and looked over at Michael for permission to touch his mini.

"Oh, sure," Michael said. "Any contact Mom's OK with, I'm OK with. That goes for all of you."

Margaret stepped lightly down the stairs. It practically looked like she was floating down them. Each step dropped her almost her full height. She had spent most of the day getting used to mini ambulation.

She walked over to Joyce, who quickly swept her up with both hands and briefly pressed her to each cheek, while kissing the air behind Margaret's head.

"Magpie," she said, placing Margaret back on the floor, "you look pretty as a songbird, which Magpies aren't, of course, but it still suits you."

Margaret smiled, but said, "That son of mine was not supposed to tell anyone his little nickname for me."

"Michael?" Joyce asked in surprise. "Calls you Magpie? Well, great minds, I suppose. I've thought of you as Magpie, since the day we met. Remember? The Thompson's block party. You were dressed in that black and white pinafore, hanging on your handsome soldier's arm, catching furtive glances at the Thompson's mini – Jenny, I think her name was, cute little thirder."

"Joyce," Margaret objected, "I was not catching furtive glances."

"Of course, you were dear," said Joyce. "I should know. I spent the whole evening catching furtive glances at you!"

Margaret gasped and blushed.

"All right, you two," said Richard. "You keep going, and we'll be late for our reservations. Joyce, curb your enthusiasm. You're going to scare her big."

He winked at Margaret then knelt and extended his hand to her, as if he was asking her to dance.

She smiled and climbed into his palm.

. . . .

"So, I understand you want to put my little girl on a big bird and fly her around like a kite?" Richard Miller stared at Michael as he asked this.

Michael had a mouth full of chicken.

He swallowed and said, "Uh, yes. I mean, I don't really know how they do it. We were going to go check it out. Stephanie's welcome to come, and Jackson too, of course."

"She's already sweet-talked Jackson into letting her spend the day with you," said Richard. "But safety is Mom and Dad's bailiwick. So... if it looks a bit dangerous, what do you do?"

"I say, no thank you." That one was easy.

"And if Margaret thinks it's safe enough for an adult, but not for a teenager?"

"Uh," Michael had a feeling they'd get harder. "Then I wouldn't let either one of them do it."

"Margaret," Richard said, shifting his focus, "you're minning it for the week and being submissive to Michael. Will you be able to stand up to him, and Stephanie, if it looks dangerous?"

Margaret and Stephanie sat at a small table, which sat on top of the larger table. She looked up at Richard with a startled expression. She was surprised at his casual assumption that she was being submissive to Michael. OK, there was some truth to it, but it wasn't.... Well, she was still upset that he would even suggest that she had lost all authority over her son!

"I'm a small woman, Richard," she said. "But I was always a small woman. I haven't been able to physically intimidate Michael for a long time, and I haven't needed to. He respects me. If I say it's too dangerous, he's not going to ignore me."

Back to Michael: "Will you mind her?"

Michael looked at the older man defiantly. "She knows I will," he said.

Richard and Joyce agreed to let Stephanie go bird riding, and they all went back to pleasant dinner conversation.

“Say, Joy – uh, Dr. Miller?” said Michael, chickening out from calling her Joyce. “If you always thought of Mom as ‘Magpie,’ why didn’t you ever call her that before.”

“Oh, I’m a very formal person. It’s part of my style,” said Joyce, sipping her tea. “But I assume Magpie wants us all to treat her a bit less formally, this week.”

Michael blushed. He had certainly been treating his mother less formally than normal.

"Margaret," said Joyce, "I haven't forgotten what day this is, either. Let's have a toast to James. But then you come right back here to us. OK?"

"I was just thinking of him. How did you know?"

"Oh, I could just guess that you're thinking of him – and be right about half the time," said Joyce. "But you had a faraway look, and all the important things in this world are right here.

“To James, the only other man who ever tempted me to the dark side."

They all drank. Even the kids were given illicit sips.

"The dark side?" asked Michael.

"Heterosexuality, dear," she answered, "the root of all the world's evils."

"I'm flattered," said Margaret. "And I was flattered that James seemed to be the only man, besides Richard, that you ever seemed to flirt with. But you know what they say: 'If it wasn't for the honor of the thing....' And did you have to make it worse by teasing me so?"

Margaret laughed. She knew that the teasing – and the flirting – had been good-natured, and it didn't really bother her. Embarrass, yes. Bother, no. So, what Joyce said next totally shocked her.

"Is that what you thought?" asked Joyce. "Richard, you have ruined me! My seduction skills are gone – have been gone for years! Margaret, I wasn't teasing you and flirting with James. I was teasing James and flirting with you!"

"It's all right dear," said Richard, patting his wife's hand. "I don't think Clark Gable or Marilyn Monroe could have gotten her to notice anyone but James."

Margaret was blushing furiously – and getting angry! She stomped into the middle of the table to square off against Joyce.

"Joyce, I can't believe you! I was expecting some teasing tonight. But not to be the butt of such a joke!"

"What do you mean, dear?"

"You expect me to believe that you had a crush on me?"

"Jackson has crushes; I have... interests. And it's have, dear. Not had."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Joyce's expression shifted back and forth between bemused and concerned. And as the moment wore on, the concerned look was winning. And Margaret began to wonder if she might actually be serious.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met in person," Margaret said. "You're 'The' Doctor Miller, wife of 'The Other' Doctor Miller. You're always surrounded by beautiful people. Why would you have 'an interest' in me?"

"Well..." said Joyce, "for one thing, hard-to-get works!

"I fell for you at that first party. You're right. I was surrounded by beautiful people, and most of them were fawning over me – nice, but boring. And then there you were, fashionably late, but looking embarrassed about it. I wasn’t the only one who noticed the two of you – fresh blood, and all that. But you only had eyes for James, and he for you. There is nothing more beautiful than a woman in love – and no accessory like a man in love with her.

Then too, I'm a bit of a miniphile. You looked so small next to your tall soldier, and the way you kept looking at Jenny—not like you wanted her, but like you wanted to be her. After ten minutes, I had to excuse myself to – ah – wash my face and powder my nose. And then I discovered that you were the nice woman my Steph kept talking about – mother to this darling boy, who my whole family was taken with.

Now tell me Margaret, are you really so shallow, that you think someone has to look like me or James to be the object of a crush? Or do you just think that I am?"

Margaret was dumbstruck for a moment, then she said, "I'm sorry" and rushed back to her seat and busied herself with eating.

Joyce looked embarrassed herself, but then she made a sly grin.

"Michael," she said, "your fiendish ploy has worked. Your mini has completely humiliated me, and now there's nothing else for it: I simply must have her. Go ahead, name your price, you have me over a barrel."

"Sorry Mrs... Joyce. You can't afford her."

"Try me."

"Melinda Gates can't afford her."

"Then what about a trade?" she asked. "Jackson, dear, we'll get you a new mini – two, in fact."

"Hey!" piped Stephanie.

"Sorry," said Michael "But no. She's cute and all, but she's a very uppity mini, and I think she'd be a lot of work."

"Oh, you want me. Admit it," said Stephanie.

"No. Seriously. I think it'd be... awkward. I just want to spend lots of time with you. You could visit all summer and a week at Christmas. But own you? No, I think we should just be friends."

Stephanie glared at him, and it turned into an awkward moment. Everyone went back to eating, in silence.

"I need to go to the bathroom," said Stephanie. "Michael, can you take me?”

"I can take you, Steph," said Jackson.

"Michael can take me."

"Or... Michael can take you."

As Michael carried Stephanie to the men's room, Jackson and Richard went back to eating, but the two women stared after the departing children.

"Don't I have a beautiful daughter, Margaret?" asked Joyce.

"Yes Joyce. Very beautiful."

"Three days ago, she was just cute," Joyce observed.

. . . .

"I can't believe you said that," said Stephanie.

"Said what?"

"'We should just be friends'."

"Well, Stephanie... as many times as you've said that to me?"

"Twice."

"Both times I asked you out! At that point, it's like a standing order. Like you're saying it to me every day."

"So now you're paying me back?"

"No!"

"Here, hold my shoes and put me in the sink. I really do have to go. Then what? Why'd you say that?"

"Because it's true. It would be awkward."

"Awkward? This is awkward. Going to the bathroom in the sink is awkward. Having you carry me - to the MEN'S room - is awkward. Having you say you don't want to deal with it... hurts. You gonna watch me pee, or are you gonna stand guard?"

Michael turned around.

"I meant emotionally awkward. And why's it different if I say it to you, than if you say it to me?"

"Because it is."

"Because I'm a guy? You snap your fingers, and I'm supposed to come running?"

"No!”

“Then why?”

“Because I got minned!” she shouted. “Damn!"

"What?"

"I stepped in pee."

"You done? Can I help you clean up?" he asked. Hearing no objection, he turned back around. "Here, sit in my hand, and I'll turn on the water and get you some soap.”

She followed his directions silently, without looking up at him.

“I'm sorry you got minned. I wish I could make it all better. I'd do anything for you, Stephanie. You know I would."

He tore off a corner of a paper towel, for her to dry with.

"When I was full-sized and cute, you'd do anything for me. Now, you wouldn't take me if I was handed to you on a platter. Now, I'm just a bother."

"You're not a bother. I love taking care of you."

"Then why wouldn't you want me?"

"Because you don't want me."

"What?"

"You don't love me, Stephanie. You just like me as a friend. And I'm fine with it. I am your friend. But if we were living together, if I was taking care of you every day.... That'd hurt."

"It's not that one-sided. I'd be doing stuff for you, too. Jackson... doesn't seem to mind."

Great, now I've made her think she's a burden to Jackson.

"That's different. You're Jackson's big sister. He knows you love him. Whether you're giving him a hard time, or a kiss, or a... pole dance, he always knows you love him. But me...? A hard time, I can take; you've given me enough of those. And kisses... that'd be kinda nice, once in a while. But more than that?

You doing more than that, just to say 'thank you,' when I'd want it to say 'I love you'? No, thank you! I couldn't handle that, Stephanie. I'm sorry. I used to think I could, but I couldn't."

Stephanie looked up at her giant friend and used a piece of paper towel to dry her eyes and cheeks. She wrapped her arms around his index finger and kissed the tip of it.

"That's thank you, for helping me go to the bathroom,” she said.

“Shoulder!"

Michael set her on his shoulder, and she kissed his cheek.

"That's thank you, for being my best friend.”

“Lips!"

Michael turned and pursed his lips. Soon he felt her tiny tongue trying to force its way past them. He met it with his own, and the two tongues danced, unbothered by their size disparity.

"That's thank you, just for being you."

They rejoined their families at the table.

"Things work out OK?" asked Richard.

"Daddy," scolded Stephanie, "you know it's impolite to talk about bathroom things at the dinner table."