Sumbitch

He is a little asshole.
He is a little asshole.

Nearly nine years I’ve been working on this post. I started it and then pedaled back; restarted and deleted it once more. And again, a few times. I’m not sure where I’m going with it now, but I have thirty-three drafts waiting to be completed as blog entries, and this one, being one of the oldest, will be tackled first. I have a NaNoWriMo story to begin, after all.

And another false start. Why is this one so hard?

Sumbitch

He sat in the palm of her hand, his scowl matching her wide smile twitch by twitch. His eyebrows, thick and dark as though drawn with a stencil and a permanent marker, came together every time her hand shook too hard. Her excitement was difficult to contain, but she paced herself. She was going to enjoy this moment, and no flaring temper would take this away from her.

“Now what?”

“Now your new life begins.”

“I should have never let you talk me into this.”

“You worry too much.”

“Someone has to. I see your goofy grin and I know you can’t wait to drop me down the waistband of your pants. Boy, that will be so much fun for me.”

Her smile faltered, but only because she was trying to keep her smirks in check. Her hand, however, told on her as its surface beaded with sweat, and its temperature spiked to host blood that rushed faster.

“Hey, stop it! This is gross! Your hand is all wet now. And your skin is too hot. You’re such a pervert. Here I am, my life completely altered, and all you can think of is sex.”

“I can’t help what my body does. I can’t help wanting you the way I do. This is the best feeling in the world, to hold you like this. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She watched him shift uncomfortably, and gather his legs closer to his body. Despite the heat leaving her hand in waves, he shivered. Or was his body simply responding to the pulsing of her skin? She couldn’t tell, and that fact made her jerk in place with a wave of unexpected pleasure. Her hand rocked in place, and he with it. He yelped and called her a word he had never used before.

“Would you watch it? Be careful! I’m only a few inches in height now! You drop me, I die. Die. Is that what you want?”

Her smile was gone. She looked at him, and had visions of dropping him on purpose. He’d fall into her lap, and his eyes would show fear that would only increase as she used that same hand that held him now to swat him off her, and down to the floor. Then, she thought of crushing him. His bones were so thin now, so delicate, she wondered if she would be able to hear them snap. She was still looking at his defiant face as she weighed her options, and made a decision.

“You will never use that word on me again.”

“And what if I do?”

“It will be the last time you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know you are upset, but you will calm down, and treat me with respect. Your looks will only take you so far. I want you, and I want to keep you forever. Your life will be perfect. But make me unhappy, keep up this bitchy attitude, and I’ll say goodbye to you as easily as I can replace you.”

“Replace me? Me? You’d never! You can’t. I’m special. I’m unique. And you love me.”

“Maybe you are one of a kind, but that won’t make a damned difference if I’m not happy. And I don’t love you. I like you. I like you a lot, which is much, much better than love. Love is a childish, useless feeling seldom accompanied by permanence or loyalty. Piss me off, and I’ll stop liking everything about you that made me choose you.”

“You are moody. I don’t know how anyone can stop you from being pissed off.”

“True, but there’s a big difference between normal flares of temper and chronic unhappiness. You can survive the former.”

“How quickly you moved from happiness to threats.”

She stared at him for a few long seconds and found a smile on her lips again. “Not at all. I’m still ecstatic. I’m delirious with joy. This is the best day of my life.”

“Really? The best day?”

“Well, one of the best.”

“And I bet your very best day has to do with some other guy.”

“Not ‘some other guy’. My son. The best day of my life was when I gave birth to my son.”

“So how do I rate as best days go? Like on a scale from one to ten?”

“You are a close second.”

“But you are ready to get rid of me if I piss you off too much.”

“I am. I did this so I could be happy. If I’m not happy, then I was wrong, and must rectify my mistake.”

“And it doesn’t occur to you to regrow me instead of… whatever else you have planned?”

“There is no going back. I shrank you permanently. This is forever.”

“If it were forever, then you wouldn’t get rid of me just because I make you mad. What if I become depressed? Are you just going to flush me down the toilet?”

“Of course not! I would do what I can to help, if possible. I would cuddle you and hold you and get you whatever you need. You are my toy, but you are also my little man. Your feelings matter.”

“What if I feel I need to grow back and return to my job and my home? And that’s the only thing that will help my depression?”

“Then I will help you see that you must accept what you can’t change. If you continue to be depressed and unable to accept your life as it is, that’s something we’ll face together, and whatever I decide will probably be informed by your wishes.”

Probably. Wow. OK, what if my cock falls off?”

“Stop that. Now you are being silly!”

“Seriously. What if you attack me one morning the way you did when I was big, and you come down on me so hard, it breaks off?”

“Let’s not get into every macabre what-if. Anything can happen, but I will try to be as careful as possible.”

“That’s good to know. That means sex is out of the question. Sex is dangerous, and you might kill me while trying those things you like so much.”

She contained her laughter so as to keep her hand as still as possible, but she clarified matters immediately.

“Sex is the only thing that will always happen, my little toy. Sex will never stop. Sex is why I did this. Sex is the only reason you exist as you are now. My sex, your body. Every day of the rest of your life. It doesn’t matter what falls off, or what breaks off, you will be used for sex. You can be depressed, angry, insane, happy, asleep, in a coma… it won’t matter. I will grab your little body every morning, and use it. Then I’ll wear it every afternoon, and use it. And when I’m done with my day, I’ll peel it off me and use it one last time before I go to sleep. Sex. You are sex now. That’s all you are.”

His mouth opened and moved as though to form the beginning of a word, but nothing came out, not even when her hand dropped slowly, carrying him to his final destination. The screams only started a minute later.

 

 

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6 thoughts on “Sumbitch

  1. Yet another situation where demonstration is more efficient than explanation.

    At the risk of being too graphic, I find nothing more arousing than the sound of a tiny’s protests being suddenly muffled as they are engulfed by a giant orifice. It’s like an aural money shot for me.

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    • Maybe… though I go back and forth in thinking that writing a story heavy on explanation is also a great deal of fun. I’m going to try sticking to sheer explanation for my next story, and see what (if anything) happens to my brain.

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      • My meaning was unclear. Efficiency isn’t necessarily a desirable factor. The “inefficient” dialogue between your two characters is quite effective at illustrating their personalities.

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        • Oh, I understand. I was pondering moving away from my usual style for the duration of a story, and trying (as a writing exercise) no demonstration, and no dialogue, and only explanation. I’m trying it later today.

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    • Thank you, meremention. Yeah, I spend time imagining fictional settings where the small man is a royal creep, or a liar, or a con artist, or a criminal. The Tiny Mafia. It’s a thing.

      I hope that real-life sumbitch didn’t give you any grief.

      Like

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