Corrective Partnerships

Somewhere in Fairview…

Zahid looked up from the paper to watch his girlfriend. Jackie was hunting for a snack, bending over to dig through the lower shelves of the fridge. He grinned, admiring her round butt in jeans. She hummed to herself and her hips swayed gently, back and forth, hypnotically. Zahid drew a luxurious breath, and his pulse rose slightly.

Jar of pickles attained, Jackie rose, turned, and caught her boyfriend staring dead at her. “Were you checking out my butt again?”

He laughed. “Why not? It belongs to me.”

“My butt does not belong to you!”

“Half of you is mine, isn’t it?”

“I guess. But you can’t just choose parts you want. I’m not… à la carte.” She leaned against the brushed steel sink and struggled with the jar lid.

“Oh, you’re all that and dim sum.” He licked his lips dramatically and went back to the paper. “Anyway, I didn’t just choose parts of you. It was very even-handed.”

Jackie arched an eyebrow. “And how did you decide?”

“I get the outer half.”

She thought about that and declared it gross. She washed her hands and the jar, dried them thoroughly, then took another attempt at opening the lid. “Fuck, why do they seal these things so tightly?” She hissed and shook out her hand.

Zahid looked up again. “Need some help with that? Bring it in here.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Um, that’s okay, I’ve got it.”

Zahid reared slightly in surprise. “No, really, let me give it a shot. Why not?”

Jackie’s sneakers padded from the kitchen quietly, and she sat down next to her boyfriend. “If I can’t get this, sweet, I don’t think−”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” He glared up her nose in disbelief. “Why are you being weird about this?”

She sighed “fine” and plonked the 24 oz. jar of pickles on the newspaper. Scoffing, Zahid strutted up to it and rapped soundly on the glass sides. The lower beveled edges reflected his tiny bare toes, the loose black fleece pants Jackie stitched together for him, and he could just see his hairline in the upper rim. His minuscule fist hardly made any sound on the container.

He leaped up and planted his arms and bare chest upon the cold metal lid, and cried out in mild shock.

“Need some help?” Jackie offered, staring without apology.

“Not at all,” he grunted. He swung one leg up and his bare sole stuck to a beveled glass panel. From there it was nothing to push himself up, and he stood upon the lid, arms raised triumphantly.

His girlfriend laughed gently through her nostrils. “Very impressive. Now get to it, big boy.”

Zahid planted his fists on his hips and regarded the situation. He was standing on a large red disk, atop a large glass jar packed with factory-fresh pickles. The jar rested upon his newspaper, and the newspaper was spread out over a table. Zahid stretched his arms forward, flexing his shoulders, and thoughtfully paced to the lip of the jar. His tiny bare feet made the faintest ringing noises when they struck and sucking noises when they lifted. Jackie began to breathe deeply, slowly, and below the table her fingers slipped between her thighs.

“All right, I think I’ve got this,” he announced, and he knelt on the edge of the lid. He looked around one more time, muttering “righty-tighty,” and planted one foot upon the beveled glass again. He wrapped his little hands around the metal lip and began to push.

Jackie watched the tiny muscles lining his back working: his deltoid’s pumped and knotted, his trapezius rippled and shifted, and his latissimus dorsi clenched and shuddered. Her fingertips strummed the inseam of her jeans, right over her crotch. “That’s it,” she whispered, “you’ve got it.”

Zahid relaxed and kneeled on the edge of the lid. He looked up at his girlfriend and nodded. “No, it really seems stuck. No wonder you were struggling with it. Gonna need a little more torque, I guess.” With this, he stood up and peeled off his black fleece pants, tossing them dramatically to the newsprint below.

Jackie moaned very quietly. Her little man stood there on the jar, hands on hips, just the merest pencil-thin line of dark hair running from his round pecs and over those flat abs, down to his… She licked her lips and tilted her head, and she leaned a little forward. She had forgotten all about the pickles.

Zahid only glanced at her quizzically before getting back to work, resuming his position. Now he was able to use more bare skin against the lid (to which he was acclimating) and the glass. He laid one long leg around a beveled pane, one developed arm ahead of that, and the rest of his body lay flat on the lid. He pushed away with his right leg, pulled with his right arm, and shoved the left half of his body. He grunted, took a deep breath, and tried again.

This time Jackie could see her little man’s glutes flexing, tensing, shuddering with effort. And down between his powerful little thighs, there dangled his manhood in shadow. She rested one elbow on the table, her other hand thumbing open the button-fly on her jeans, and held her breath as she leaned in close to study him better.

Zahid froze and stared at her over his shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Her voice was a low moan.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to work here.” His voice was curt and indignant. “I’m doing this for you, you know.”

She said huskily, “Oh yes, this is definitely working for me.” Her lips parted as her face lowered closer and closer to where he lay sprawled over the condiment lid. The tip of her tongue began to pour out of her mouth, looming closer to his round little buttocks.

He recoiled, standing up and folding his arms defiantly. “Jackie! Come on! What’s got into you? Do you want your pickles or not?”

For a moment she considered opening her jaw just a little wider and lunging at him, but he would take this badly. She straightened up. “I’m sorry, honey. How’s it coming along?”

“It’s really stuck on here but good,” he said, jumping a little along the edge of the lid. His penis flapped wildly and his teeny-tiny balls bobbled.

Jackie unbuttoned a couple more on her fly. “Well, maybe it’s too much for you to handle, you know?”

Zahid stared at her icily. “Exactly what does that mean?”

“Sweetie, look at it. It’s kind of a big job.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” he intoned, taking two steps toward her on the lid, then hopping down to the newspaper. It crinkled sharply beneath his mass, which satisfied him somewhat. “This again? You’re still hung up on this bizarre fantasy of yours?”

“It’s not a fantasy, Zahid.” She cleared her throat and undid one more button. “I mean, look at you. Look at the jar. Don’t you see that−”

He stomped to the edge of the table, where the newspaper gently bent over. “Don’t you dare. Jackie, think very carefully about the next words out of your mouth.”

The corner of her lips curled. “Zahid, baby… you’re tiny.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“That jar could hold a dozen of you, sweetheart. Don’t feel bad that you couldn’t−”

Enough!” The tiny man leaped off the table and bounced off her thigh before coming to a rest on her other leg. “I am not tiny, Jackie! For fuck’s sake, I’m taller than you!” He rose unsteadily, taking a wide stance on the denim curve of her thigh, then glanced at her surreptitious hand. “Oh my God, Jackie. Were you about to masturbate? Again?” He stared accusingly up at her, but his gaze was blocked by one huge, spherical boob jutting just overhead.

“I was just touching myself, baby.” Her fingers never rested for one moment, sliding under the fabric and churning even as they talked.

“This is outrageous! I thought we had moved past this ridiculousness!” He stormed up her leg, up to her hip, and swung his leg back mightily. With a grunt, he planted his foot deep into her t-shirt, into her belly. Her fingers continued to knead within her jeans. He kicked her again, shouting, and again. Above him, her breasts heaved gently with her breath.

“I’m, um, kicking you now, sweetie,” he said quietly.

“Oh! Right, sorry.” Jackie clasped Zahid securely to her belly with her other hand and carefully slid off her chair. She lowered herself to the floor, stretched out, and lifted her hand free. When Zahid stood up upon her belly, she used both hands to unto her jeans all the way and cinch them down over her hips, just a bit.

Zahid stormed up his girlfriend’s belly, carefully maintaining his balance over the precarious terrain. “Outrageous, I say!” he bellowed. “You and your tiny-man fantasies! Jackie, I’m really worried about you!” He stomped up to her rib cage, where her breasts sloped gently to either side. “Didn’t we go to counseling for this? Didn’t we work this out?” He stomped some more, picking his way over the folds in her shirt, finding more reliable terrain on her sternum. “I’m sorry I have to trample you like this, but I don’t know any other way to remind you of my tremendous size.”

“Trample me!” Jackie’s fingers worked in her crotch. Her hand caught her breast and, making sure her little boyfriend stood clear of it, massaged it. “Stomp all over me, you big, gigantic man!”

“I will not be condescended to!” Swinging his fists and roaring, he stomped and paraded up between her breasts, preparing to scale her jaw and really teach those sassy, puffy lips of hers a lesson they’d never forget.

Somewhere in Washington…

Devin wandered carefully into downtown, where the buildings blistered up from hilly forests. He had carefully picked his way through the trees, trying to follow anything that resembled a path, and then it opened into brownish-greenish plains, and then came the small businesses and warehouses and residential areas.

He turned his Oxfords to the side, walking out the outside edges of his shoes, but he still drove entire boulevards into the ground. Probably worse, because he was applying so much pressure on so narrow a ridge. Once he figured that out, Devin simply placed his shoes down as gently as he could, whispering an apology each time.

Cars necessarily crunched beneath his soles. Black, silver, sometimes red or shades of blue, they all collapsed without resistance. There was a trail of flattened metal and sparkling glass dust behind him. He just felt sick about this, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t walk any lighter: in fact, he was almost late as it was.

The buildings weren’t much better. Why did they have to be built so close together? Or so tall? No matter how he turned, Devin’s round butt would carve a deep gouge out of the sixth floor of one building, or his hips (narrow as they were) would grind through the fifth and sixth floors of skyscrapers opposite each other. If he forgot himself, he would jerk away from one building, and an errant hand would swing wide and go crashing into more offices. Any jutting angle or rounded, bulging area would sift through these otherwise solid structures, pulverizing anything they touched instantly to glittering dust that went crashing upon the pedestrians and vehicles below. Blinded by the showers of glass fragments, walkers cried out in pain and drivers blocked traffic or veered onto the sidewalks or into other vehicles, and Devin felt just horrible about that.

But he looked good, he hoped. Right before some of the skyscrapers shattered and crumpled, he glimpsed his own reflection. The wool suit was not cheap, not with materials in such vast quantities, but he wasn’t exactly spending money on anything else. The jacket flared briefly in the high winds that build up in the city’s corridor. And then one flap would wing out to the side and smack into a building, and all the mirrored windows would vaporize, and he had to hope nothing changed in his appearance until he could find another skyscraper before it, too, succumbed to his presence.

Where is she, Devin wondered. All the buildings looked the same from his height, either cresting around his chest or shooting up much further. She said to look for the neon kanji. Picking out addresses or even street names was impossible. He couldn’t ask anyone without rupturing their eardrums, and he was already causing enough trouble as it was. So he froze in place and peered down at the streets: there was plenty of neon, but the shapes were not really distinguishable. Reflexively he crouched down.

His Italian wool slacks bore his bulk gracefully. After all, they were tailored for him, unlike the city. He rocked forward on his toes, shifting the full weight upon them from his heels, and even he could feel himself sinking into the pavement. Not forever, no, but enough to press some very deep gouges into the main avenue. Wincing, Devin peeked down to survey the damage, spreading his knees and swiveling them directly into two more buildings. Oh, no, he thought, as the one on his right buckled and collapsed upon his head and upper back. Bricks, steel girders, so much glass and hundreds of screaming tiny people peppered his shoulders and got lost in his hair. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

He rose slowly, carefully, not wanting to knock anything else over. Reflexively he shook out his hair, immediately regretting doing so: debris and survivors flung out across city blocks, smacking into structures and raining upon the street behind him. He closed his eyes and grimaced, listening to the carnage all around him. He needed to find the woman and get out of there, the sooner the better.

He saw flickering sushi icons in the corner of his eye: bingo. She said she was across from the sushi place, about eight floors up. Devin placed one more regretful Oxford dead in the center of four lanes of traffic, shifted his weight and counted the floors. You know, in England, he’d told her when they arranged this meeting, they count the first floor as the ground floor, and the second floor as the first floor.

She found this very interesting and assured him she worked on the eighth American floor of her building. He could hear the treble in her voice, indicating the bright smile he’d seen in her pictures.

Six, seven… eight. Praying he hadn’t miscalculated, Devin licked his fingertip and swiped it through the blackened metal frames of smoked glass windows. They flowed around his fingertip like chocolate frosting on a cake, except he didn’t lick the detritus from his finger. He checked it, turning it over in the air to ensure no one was stuck to it, and then he leaned down and peered inside.

His own enormous face rippled and flowed down the side of the building, and he saw his hair wasn’t too bad. When Devin got to his friend’s floor, it was just a dark band of space, nonreflective, empty. His large hazel eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he could see tiny red pinpoints of light, marking the exits to which dozens of screaming people were more or less staggering toward.

“Natalie?” he whispered into the dark band.

He waited. More screaming, sirens crescendoed in the streets, and a helicopter was approaching.

A pale shape emerged from the darkness. “Devin?” A young woman raised her hand and smiled.

“Hey, Natalie, hi.” He grinned, and his teeth reflected dim light into the building. Natalie stepped forward, almost up to the sheer drop of her building. “You ready? I mean, I don’t want to rush you,” he stammered, looking up and down the street. “I just think I need to get out of here soon.”

Natalie said “one minute” and danced into the darkness. She has a nice little butt, Devin thought. Soon she reemerged holding a black clutch. She turned back to the office and shouted, “Oh yeah, and I fucking quit!” She stepped up to the ledge and announced, “Now I’m ready.”

Devin lifted his palm up to her floor and pressed it gently against the side of the building. Without hesitation, Natalie leaped far into space and let herself tumble into the center of his palm. She beamed up at him. “It’s really nice to meet you, finally!”

Devin wondered if he was blushing. “It’s really nice to meet you too, Natalie.” He bit his lip, then grinned, embarrassed at himself. “So… we outties?’ She laughed brightly and agreed.

Devin was less cautious leaving the city than he was entering it. He probably did less damage, taking longer, loping strides, but the difference was lost on law enforcement. Just before he exited the city proper, a news copter swung ahead to get a shot of him. He wouldn’t have noticed except Natalie pointed and laughed, and he looked up at the last second to see what was so funny. The cockpit of the copter burst as easily as a soap bubble. Its sluicing blades didn’t break so much as a thread in the weave of his Italian wool blazer. It simply fell apart in midair, and Natalie hugged Devin’s thumb to watch it drift to the street like so much ash from a cigarette.

“You’re pretty awesome,” she called up to him. He grinned, and his Oxfords pummeled the soil of the second tier, where he permitted himself to speed up. She’d stuck her pumps in her clutch and flopped to her back, waving her thin little legs in the breeze. Devin held her at chest height, between his gently swelling pecs. He deigned not to wear a tie for this outing, which was good because it might’ve bulged and flopped on her around this time. Instead, he studied her slender soles, toes so fine he could barely see them, watching how her black slacks sank and bunched around her knees, exposing slender calves that pumped and flexed as she waved her feet around in the cool air.

“Did I look like you’d expected?” he asked her, when they were over two hours away from the city. Devin settled down in some quiet, picturesque bluffs, not near any highway. He had carefully dumped her upon his chest, and she’d spread out over his shirt and skin and muscle, listening to his heartbeat.

Natalie nodded. “You look like your pictures, if that’s what you’re wondering. Your eyes are hazel, you seem to have all your teeth.” She laughed, and it was so silent in the hills that she sounded loud.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You’re shorter than you described yourself.”

He blinked and was about to apologize for inadvertently misleading her. But Natalie was cracking up at his seriousness, and he started to laugh. Natalie clapped her hands to the sides of her head and he turned away promptly, letting himself guffaw. He scared the birds out of their trees for a mile. She bounced around on his chest, clutching a buttonhole on his shirt and laughing hysterically.

Devin rested his chin on his chest. “So this is what you’re into?”

She hmm‘ed. “I wasn’t always, but I saw it in a movie and started thinking about it.”

“What do you think about?”

“This.” She spread out her spindly limbs and lay flat, face-down upon his chest. “Without the shirt. Just me and all this skin all around me. Warm, smelling like a guy in a good way.” She propped her head up on her elbows. “Listening to the blood flow through your veins, listening to you breathing. Just…” She grinned lopsidedly at him. “Being close to you.”

Devin licked his upper lip and smiled shyly. He noticed how the sun was beating down on the woman, so he cupped his hand over her where she lay. “Is this what you want?” he asked her.

“What? The shade? It’s nice, thanks.” She stretched out a leg and stroked the inside meat of his pinky with her bare foot.

“No, the whole thing. Being here with me, like this.”

She waggled her eyebrows at him. “This is nice, but I have other things in mind, too.” When he wanted to know what, she waved him off. “No, no, this isn’t about me. I mean, it’s about us, which means it’s about you, too. What do you want to do?”

He looked away and sniffed. The trees were blooming and the air smelled yellow and green. A bird whisked up into his nostril, without his noticing, but it found its way out again. “You know what I want to do,” he said quietly.

“Would you like to do that now?” She sat up to a kneeling position, running her palms over her thighs. After a moment, his massive head nodded. “Okay, well… put me where you want me.”

She stood up on his chest, and he very carefully wrapped his fingers entirely around her. Only the crown of her head poked out, a little hemisphere of brown hair. Devin could feel her in his grip, very thin and frail. It wouldn’t take any energy at all to… bend his fingers in a little more… tense his second knuckles, draw his fingertips in…

What a horrible thought. He wanted to kiss Natalie’s face in apology for such dark imaginings, but she couldn’t know what was going through his head. Instead, he carefully picked himself up and wandered deeper into the bluffs, into a crevice that came up to his ribs. He bent down and very, very gently placed Natalie upon the earth, in the narrow valley of dark soil and underbrush between the bluffs.

“You ready?” Her voice echoed up between the rough cliff faces.

He held his breath. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “Yes… I’m ready, Natalie.”

Pause. “What do you call me?”

He gasped and his eyes looked out over the distance, off into the nothingness. “Goddess. I’m ready, my goddess.”

“That’s better.” Far, far below his dreamy expression and shuddering chest, the tiny woman reached up and planted her bare foot upon the toe of his right Oxford. “That’s what you get, you wretched little bug!” She climbed upon his shoe and began stomping her little feet, making little slapping noises that Devin could only just make out above the whispering breeze and the roar of his own blood. “Goddamn, you’re so miserably tiny, aren’t you? You’re the smallest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Stomp, stomp. “I don’t know whether I should crush you beneath my heel… or just pop you into my mouth and eat you whole.” She canted her head back and screamed up at him. “Would you like that? Should I just eat you in one tiny, stupid bite?”

Devin’s fists clenched, clenched. A single tear ran down his cheek to the corner of his ecstatic grin.

Photo by Brandon Morgan on Unsplash

5 thoughts on “Corrective Partnerships

  1. For every jar, there is a lid.

    I’m bemused to note that in both cases, it is the men’s fantasies that are being explicitly accommodated while the women quietly indulge their own desires in stray moments.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I don’t see that the women are quietly indulging their fantasies. In the first one, Jackie’s fingers are unstoppable, no matter what Zahid says. He’s not getting off at all. He is obviously mentally disturbed, or at the very least traumatized in some way. He’s fortunate to find himself in a relationship with a woman that loves his size, so much that no matter how angry he gets, or that he “orders” her to stop, she won’t. Can’t. It’s too bad we didn’t get to read what happened next. Instead, we had to endure the clumsy tramplings of an icky giant. 😛

        As to Devin and Natalie, it’s clear who wears the pants in that relationship, and I very much enjoyed the way you wrote her. She reminds me of me when, many years ago I entertained fantasies of being tiny. Even then I was the boss, and my “giant” did my every bidding. Again, in this scenario, Natalie gets her wishes fulfilled, regardless of what her “mortal giant” wants.

        Again, fantastic writing.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. The fault is in my telling, and I could probably clear it up with a rewrite. I wanted to reflect that each of these guys were pursuing their fantasies: Zahid doesn’t really believe he’s huge, it’s just a running joke he has with his girlfriend. Jackie enjoys indulging him, and she thinks it’s hilarious to mess with him a little just to watch him get flustered, which in turn pours into their fantasy.

          As for Devin, he has a giantess fetish. I didn’t indicate this in the story but he frequents a couple singles websites and he’s found several women who want to be tended to by a giant, but none of them were interested in reciprocity, tending to his fantasy. He’s very fortunate to have found a woman who’s attracted to him and is willing to take time out and give him what he needs, as impossible as that is.

          One thing that cracks me up about humanity is how people rarely seem content with what they’ve been given. Tall women want to be short, women with curly hair want it straight, guys try on haircuts and outfits and social fronting that completely don’t suit them because they want to seem like someone else. So we have a Tiny who fetishizes having more agency and potence, and a giant who craves to be dominated.

          Maybe another story will cover the legal struggle to ensure the civic rights of someone who was born into the wrong body and wishes to become trans-sizist. Or maybe that’s asking for trouble.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. It is asking for trouble, but the good kind.

            There are plenty of people in our world who claim to suffer from size dysphoria, so I don’t see why you couldn’t have them in Riverside or Fairview. In Riverside, insurance companies would wrangle over what constitutes a valid diagnosis before paying for a transition, whereas in Fairview, transition would be impossible but size dysphorics might still insist that others treat them as their “true” size.

            But yes, anyone can be discontent. It’s just that some feel more entitled than others to voice that discontent.

            Liked by 1 person

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