I was born smirking, likely I was thinking about the day I’d shrink someone, or find a tiny man in a gutter or a ditch somewhere. When my giantess senses tingle, the first (well, maybe) muscle that moves is my smirk. I can feel it in my right cheek as the corner of my mouth tugs upward, and the flesh next to it contracts. The wheels in my head turn, and I think.
I think of the day I find a tiny person, or have the power to shrink—someone not myself, I never want to be tiny—and I smirk. I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it. I won’t scream hysterically, or faint with horror, or ask pitifully, “Oh, goodness, what happened to you? Is there someone I can call? How about an ambulance? Do you have a family member you want me to reach that will take care of you forever and ever and never ever tug at your clothes until they rip off your skin or kiss and caress your skin until it’s wet and red and spent and never drop you down their panties and keep you there for hours days weeks months years the rest of your life because now you’re their sex toy?”
Ah, never mind… my smirk overpowered that question and ran with it. My point is, when I get a hold of a ray gun, there will be no power in the Universe that can stop me. Here’s my moral compass:
And it’s fixed upon My North, a direction that can’t be avoided. I’ll gleefully put my ray to good use, shrinking whoever I want, whenever I want, and for as long as he shall live. You won’t know it’s happened, because I’ll give no outward sign that it’s happened… at least in the beginning. I’ll disappear from online for a while, because I’ll be too busy having fun with my brand new toy. You understand. But then I’ll make my way back to my blog with mysteriously perfect collages, and maybe a couple of fascinating gifs. What special effects! “What program do you use?” Eh, PS. iMovie. Smirk.
But the most important smirks, the best ones, I’ll save for that little speck of a man who now sees the sun rise and set in the light of my eyes when I see him, in the glint of my bright smile when I pick up his infinitesimal body, in the smirk stretching my lips when I bring him closer to my face so I can whisper with the force of a thousand hurricanes, “MINE.”
He’ll stare at me, wide eyed and frightened, and beg me to be quiet. Smirk.
He’ll cry out and try to cover his ears, but I’ll pinch his body ever so slightly, and drain his lungs of air, and his mind of thought. Smirk.
He’ll twitch and squirm when I bring him to my lips, full and swelling with blood even before I kiss his entire body without ever trying. Smirk.
He’ll hmph and mhmph as I press his legs against my lower lip and his face sinks into my upper lip, and I feel his tiny feet kick at the base of it. Smirk.
He’ll hear his own echo when I part my mouth for him and his own is free to scream, and then he’ll listen to every wordless yelp bounce back from the distant wall in the back of my throat. Smirk.
He’ll tell me to be careful with him, to treat him gently because he’s so small and delicate. I’ll agree, and put him in the silkiest part of me. Smirk.
He’ll grow old with me, and when his end comes and I spread his ashes somewhere beautiful, we’ll go on as I smirk with his spirit in mine.