Shaun worked at a potato chip.

It was a stout kettle chip, dense and hard, and it required some strategy. For the longest time Janine avoided buying these because she knew he couldn’t crack into them easily. She felt this was one of the many little sacrifices she made for a harmonious household with her palm-sized boyfriend, until one momentous grocery shopping trip when he demanded she buy a bag of Old World Kettle Chips.

“But then they’re all for me,” she said, reaching for a brand of flimsy artisanal chips with controversial flavor: Thai duck with caramel corn. Tom Cochrane’s “Life Is a Highway” was playing quietly on the PA system—the original, not a Muzak remix.

“No! Get the Old World chips!” He stirred fitfully in her chest pocket, which she enjoyed but which she also knew meant he was getting frothy about something.

“Don’t be silly! I’ll get the Thai duck chips. They’ll be mostly broken before we get home, you can have as many as you want.”

Yet her minuscule boyfriend insisted he didn’t want these. “First of all, yuck. Okay? And second of all? I know for a fact these are your favorite chips, and it makes me feel awful you’ve been skipping out on them out of deference to me.” Janine started to break in, but he reverse-kicked her nipple through her blouse and bra to disrupt her before she could get going. “And third, I fucking love kettle chips. Yes, they’re tough. Yes, they’re a pain in the ass to get anything out of. But I was getting really good at cracking them apart before you stopped buying them. I felt mighty! It’s like I was earning the food I ate, in a way. Do you get that?”

Janine licked her upper lip and gently stroked her boyfriend’s legs, through her shirt pocket, in the middle of the snack aisle. “Like that one comedian’s joke: I saw a guy on the side of the road with a sign that said, ‘Will Work for Food,’ so I gave him a coconut.” She couldn’t see Shaun’s eensy-little eyes rolling, as she reached for the Old World chips. She could hear him singing, erroneously, intentionally, to the overhead song.

If you’re going my way,
I want to ride you all night long

So Shaun stood on a purple linen napkin, not near the edge of their dining room table, wielding a walnut pick first like a club and then like a spear, attacking his hardy little chip. At last he used the pick like a walking staff, hugging it and panting, grinning triumphantly over the ruins of a dozen sundered triangles of potato chip. “And that’s how it’s done, ladies and gents,” he murmured. “A feast for a flock of tiny kings and the queens who own them. Janine!”

His gigantic girlfriend thumped in from the kitchen, not looking up from her smartphone. Before he could point her attention to the luxurious devastation he’d wrought, she said, “Hey, uh, you didn’t tell me what day this is, lover.”

He let the heavy steel nut pick drop to the table. “What, you mean Saturday? What’s up with Saturday? Oh, shit, are we missing live music in the park?” He took up a shard of Old World chip and began worrying it thoughtfully in his tiny jaws.

“Uh-uh, something else. Something important.” Janine pulled out a vintage wooden chair from their Canadian oak dining table. It groaned resonantly as it slid, creaked only minimally as she dropped her giantess bulk into the seat. Her forearms floated with consummate grace to either side of her boyfriend, her phone glowing in one hand.

Shaun turned to peer at it. “What are you on, Twitter? Hey!” He sprang up and grinned at her. “It’s Hug a Giant Day! Is there such a thing?”

Janine’s warm smile radiated upon him. “So, how about it? Can I have a hug?”

He flinched, laughing. “What are you talking about? I’m supposed to hug you, giant lady. In case you didn’t notice.” He placed his palm upon his scalp, then trotted over to show where it came up to mid-boob on her.

“Uh-uh, big guy.” She leaned over, her breasts creeping closer to where he stood, her button-up shirt flaring open in places, her long brown hair draping around him. “This is my day to hug you. You’re the largest thing in my life, Shaun. My whole life spins around you, the star in my galaxy. All my thoughts drift toward you, in your gravity. No matter how far I wander, I always come right back to you.” She set her phone down and fenced the little man in with her forearms. One hand’s fingertips ran gently up and down his spine, his legs, and his pert little butt. “You overwhelm me, Shaun. I curl up in your shadow. I love lying beneath you in bed. It makes me feel safe, loved, complete.” She sighed, casting warm, sweet air upon his face, ruffling his hair. “Please, my tiny little giant, may I be permitted to hug you on this auspicious day?”

Shaun stared up at her, eyes watering. His throat choked with emotion, he could only nod emphatically, holding up his arms for whatever she wanted to do with him. Her massive forearms swept up behind him and carried him into her chest. Her breasts swelled gently, warmly around him, thrumming her heartbeat into his entire body. She purred quietly, feeling the solid mass in her cleavage, how hotly he burned. She read every little twitch of his limbs with experience: here he was getting comfortable against an errant button; there he was spreading himself upon the gentle curve of her breast. Not wanting to smother him, she began to pull her arms away, peering down at him against her body.

“Did I say to stop?” he cried out.

Image: “I Don’t Think This Is a Yoga Position” by BoomGTS

Speculative fiction author within size fantasy, artist, musician.

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