Everyone’s heard the term “white elephant” before, right? Not “the white elephant in the room,” that’s wrong. My boss used to say that and it drove me nuts because it was obviously fucking wrong, but you cannot tell my boss anything. Not in a meeting, not in private. She doesn’t want to hear anything but “sounds great” and “yes I will, right away.” One of those.

Fuck, I’d like to shrink her down for a weekend, teach her some humility.

Oh, God. You can see my perspective’s starting to shift. I’ve been caretaking this tiny woman for about a week and it’s already starting to warp me, trying to prepare food for her, keep her clean, not break her legs, and goddamn it, trying to protect her from herself. She’d follow me around everywhere if she could, like a toy… Pekinese? Do those come in a toy breed? A toy Scottie? Teacup? I think “teacup” is a kind of breed of small dog…

I guess you could say my whole world’s gotten a lot smaller since coming into possession of a tiny woman. How does that work? How can someone who could curl up in my fist end up consuming my entire environment? Getting in my head, warping my brain. It’s not great, it’s hard to completely relax in my own apartment. That doesn’t seem fair. This should be the one place I can unwind and really be myself, but I’ve got this fragile little fucking horny-ass woman to protect.

I can work from home, thank God, so I tried keeping her on my desk while I was working. I shit you not, she tried to fuck herself with the tip of a sharpened pencil. I’m like, seriously? Are we not worried about lead poisoning anymore? And yeah, thanks, I know pencil lead isn’t made out of lead, but look up the effects of getting graphite into your lungs, idiot. Or! Worse! She wasn’t breathing it, but I’m betting getting a large dose of graphite up your hoo-hah isn’t something even Gwyneth Paltrow would recommend (so far).

She was just working at the pencil, trying to swing it around so it pointed at me, and I didn’t think anything of that. But I fucking swear she got down on all fours, backed up into it, nestled onto it, trying to make it work inside her, and she did not fucking take her eyes off me for a second. How fucked up is that? She’s staring up at me, her teeny-tiny little mouth half-open with effort, but she didn’t even blink while she’s gawking at me, fitting the tip of the pencil lead inside her.

What even was that? What the hell was she trying to do? I saved my spreadsheet and carefully, carefully, slid the pencil away from her fragile, naked body. She had the nerve to look disappointed. I couldn’t see the details, but it looked like her little brow furrowed and her little bottom lip pouted at me. Really, you tiny idiot? You’re going to get pissed at me for not letting you fuck yourself with a hazardous substance?

Meals are something else. I can buy myself a little time with meals. I mean, I don’t want to be cruel, but it’s so much easier to contain her under a large tumbler. I figured out quickly I had to rest it on a tea towel or a silicone hot pad or something, because otherwise the little idiot would shove it across the counter and pitch herself right over the edge. I’m like, do you not see what you’re doing? I’d catch her every time, of course, and I’d yell at her, but she’d just curl up in the bottom of the glass and laugh at me or lie on her back and fling her tiny little legs open and… I don’t know what’s wrong with her.

But even she got hungry, and I could literally pinch a pinch off of whatever I was eating and set it in front of her, and she’d gobble it down. Most of the time. Sometimes she’d make a big show of leering at my fingers, acting amazed to see me pull a bit of the food away, and then just… being obscene about eating it when I gave it to her. I don’t know how to describe it. Moaning, shit like that. Like, writhing her spine where she sat, rubbing greasy eggs over her tits, shoving a bit of hamburger against her crotch, then just locking my fucking gaze while she ate it slowly. I don’t know what that was supposed to represent, but she was definitely suggesting something with that.

It was surreal, it was nuts, looking at this tiny naked woman sitting on my placemat (I live alone, but I insist on things like placemats, napkins, a beverage on the right, all that, almost every time). She’s so naked and slender and unguarded, and I could’ve just speared her right in the stomach with my fork and flung her across the room or tossed her into my mouth, but I didn’t. I just stared at her, weak, frail, defenseless, and getting herself off on what little portions of food I gave her. Like, okay, I’ll be honest: like she was suggesting she could suck my dick. Taking those strands of ribs and folding them into a suggestive shape and, yeah, giving them a blowjob.

I’m like, sweetie, my cock would crush you. I couldn’t even get it in you to split you open. It would just come down and shatter your bones and hammer your muscles into a paste. You want that? I don’t think so.

…I’m sorry, I don’t usually talk like that. It’s like I was saying, being around her is like catching some kind of cognitive disease or something. These weird goddamn ideas pop into my head, and they’ve gotta come from her because I’ve never thought anything like them before in my entire life. I wasn’t one of those kids who burned ants with a magnifying glass or tore the wings off butterflies. I’m not cruel and I don’t get off on picking on people weaker or stupider than me. I don’t think that’s what makes a person powerful or effective, okay? People who can only validate themselves by being bullies or assholes to people—or animals—who can’t defend themselves are weak, terrified, pathetic little fucks who in any other society would’ve been devoured by wolves much earlier in their pathetic lives. That’s how I see it. I don’t need a gun to feel like a valid person, and I don’t need to push around helpless people to feel like I’m at all effectual in this world.

And good thing, too. If I was the kind of pathetic fuck who needed something helpless to feel potent, I’d be the worst kind of person to have a tiny little woman fall into my hands. God save that poor woman, if that were the case, though she’s probably thoroughly fucked and there’s nothing—

I don’t like to think about that. It makes me physically ill.

But this little woman doesn’t make a great argument for herself. It’s hard to work with her around, my productivity’s shot. She’s always, like, jumping off the desk to pounce on the crotch of my jeans, or she rolls herself around in maple syrup or jelly, whatever’s for breakfast, and she does that little ‘come hither’ gesture with her finger. She can’t talk with me, but she knows that gesture? Where the hell does she come from?

One night, I was completely losing my shit because I couldn’t find her anywhere. It’s bad enough to lose a tiny little woman, but then you can hardly go looking for her because you could step on her. She could be anywhere, hiding under a misplaced Kleenex, waiting around the corner to jump out and surprise you like a little suicidal idiot, or creeping in one of your shoes. I found her in my running shoes a couple times, just snuffling around like a bloodhound or something. No idea what that was about. But because of that, I shuffled up the hall (the trick is to never lift up your feet, so at worst you only kick her) and into my bedroom and around my bed to my laundry hamper. There was no way she could’ve gotten up into there, or it would’ve taken her a long time and a lot of effort. Instead, there was a pair of my tighty-whiteys lying on the floor. I tossed them at the hamper and missed, and they just lay there all night and all the next day and now I went up to them and carefully picked them up, and sure enough, she’s in the crotch of my damn underwear, finger-fucking herself. Really going at it, too: it looked like a mouse was trying to escape my underwear, the way she’s struggling and fidgeting. I brought it over to my bed and spread out the waistband until it’s just this tiny naked woman lying in the hammock of my underwear, and I swear she’s smiling like a pig in shit, like a dog that found a dead deer to roll around in. Could not be happier. I mean, it’s not like I left a skidmark in my shorts or anything, but still. It’s just fucking nasty, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

The sight of that never left my head. I boxed her up in my socks-and-underwear drawer with the corner of a power bar and tried to clear my head. I got a little busywork done, nothing meaningful, and I tidied up the living room, but then I fired up Netflix and got a beer and then another one, and I’m trying to watch Love Death + Robots, but I cannot stop thinking about that fucking little freak in my underwear drawer. I got up for my third beer when… I got this crazy idea in my head. I set up the TV to start downloading YouTube and went to the back of the apartment to get her.

Not proud of this. This isn’t something I’d brag about to anyone else, just recording it for my own thoughts. For posterity. I’ve gotta be honest about this, if only to myself.

So, I come back with a cold lager in one hand and a hot little naked chick in the other. I set them down on the table in front of my couch and tell the latter not to move a fucking inch; she plops down and starts fucking herself again, so, whatever. I load up some ASMR on YouTube, something I found by accident one night. This woman’s talking, she’s from Bulgaria or something like that, and her lips are naturally full, and the screen’s just her lips. She’s wearing lip gloss with, like, sparkles in it or something, and she’s talking to the camera like she’s in a scene: she’s talking to the viewer as if we’re her lover but we’re being shy and timid and she really wants sex with us but she’s getting frustrated that we might not want it too, so she’s trying to be encouraging but only up to a point, which I guess builds up sexual tension…

Ugh. That took too long. I don’t even care what she’s saying, just listening to that smoky, brutal accent in broken English and watching those huge lips pucker and push and bounce against each other, that’s what I’m into. I turned on the woofer and cranked it up, fuck anyone else who lives here (in my boozy mindset), and… I stuck the tiny woman in a box of Kleenex to buy a little time, long enough to unbuckle my belt and unzip my fly and shove my shorts down to my knees. I grabbed her with my left hand and massaged my balls with my right, studying the screen.

Not proud of this, like I said.

I stared at the picture of those huge, fat, glistening lips opening and closing, pushing out to make an O, pulling back to show a row or two of gleaming teeth, with that fat, pink tongue writhing and flickering behind them. I thought about how good my cock would feel in there, with that active tongue dancing around its underside. What it would look like to see those puffy lips sucking on the base of my cock. I closed my eyes briefly to focus on that heavy, breathy voice resounding in my ears. She urged me along to please cum and I was more than willing to follow her lead; I wasn’t a fraction as resistant as the person she thought she was talking to. The tip of her tongue kept poking out between her teeth, flashing between her moist lips, and I just wanted to grab the sides of her head and jam her onto my cock.

Instead, I massaged my cock until it stood out, and I draped the tiny woman upon it. Said “go to work” or “show me what you got,” something like that. I don’t remember, with two-and-a-half beers on an empty stomach. I deliberately planted my fists on my hips, unwilling to touch of squeeze or crush her, but I watched her. She wrapped her little arms and legs around a veiny salmon-and-peach shaft longer than her tiny body, and she just clung to it for a while. She adjusted herself to lie more perfectly upon it, like now she was suddenly afraid for her life. She hugged my cock and lay still. I couldn’t see her expression, as a wave of her long hair spread over her face. She just hugged it tightly and didn’t move. This wasn’t exciting. A little interesting, but not arousing.

I sat down and the harsh tweed upholstery of my couch scraped against my ass, but I slouched in my seat and spread my knees, and I pinched the head of my cock to hold it upright, and that held the little woman upright too, like she’s trying to climb a tree. It was some moments before she figured out which way was up: her legs extended like an insect’s, reaching out to read and feel the environment. Two tiny feet disappeared in the underbrush of my pubes, and with one arm wrapped around my cock she turned around to smile at me hysterically. It was a mad grin, lots of teeth, wild eyes, but undeniably happy. She wasn’t cursing me for messing with her or anything.

The tiny woman snapped around and hugged my cock, less out of desperation and more out of… being happy to be there, if I had to guess. I could see tiny lines of shadow as her shoulder blades stuck out, telling me how hard she was hugging me. I really couldn’t feel the pressure she exerted on me, just lightly brushing up against my sensitive skin. But holy fuck, I was hard now. I wanted to crush my own cock and strangle an orgasm outta me. The plump lips kept rasping their promises and threats, pleading with me to cum, and goddamn it if I didn’t want to blow a hole through my ceiling right about now.

But I also wanted to see what this tiny woman would get up to. I was curious, and she couldn’t say no. Hell, she was into it. But also… yeah, she couldn’t say no. She had to please my cock now, after days of being a fucking pest and scaring the shit out of me with her suicide missions to spy on me or get off on me or try to seduce me across whatever fucking cultural barrier it was that didn’t translate well. Now, however, there was no error in translation. She was hugging my cock, dancing around it, trying to hump it. With the eastern European woman’s voice booming in my living room, I relaxed and held the tip of my cock up and watched the shrunken woman go to town on it.

She kissed it a lot. I couldn’t feel it, but I did feel myself getting harder as she nuzzled her tiny face against it. And she’s not bad looking, either: she’s the plump side of curvy, which looked good on her at that size, and she had a nice enough face. I couldn’t make out the details most of the time, and most of the time it was stretched in some exaggerated rictus of ecstasy, moaning or leering or whatever, but in a moment like this when she was lost in her own experience and just being herself, she was really cute. A shy little half-grin, eyes rolling in excitement and anticipation, that’s when she was a little charmer. None of the pretense and theatrics, instead almost a girlish delight in being there. That’s when I loved… when I liked her. I didn’t know anything about her, I couldn’t say I loved her, but when she flashed me that unguarded look of real joy… sure, I could fall for her.

She dragged her little body to the side of my shaft and started humping it there. I knew she had proportionally big tits, but when she wrapped them around my cock, they looked larger than I recalled. I mean, tiny to me, but relatively larger. It was interesting to see them bulge and run down my own skin. I wondered why I had such a hard time feeling her, like, the details of her little actions. Everything blended into a hot nudge against my erection, but I watched what she was doing and I wished I could feel it all. Carefully I leaned over and reached for my beer, and I pulled a few slow sips while watching the diminutive woman do a kind of pole-dance on my cock. I mean, not really, it was more like a redwood to her than a fireman’s pole, but she really tried to make it work. Her little feet picked carefully through my scraggly pubes, and then I definitely felt her step onto my balls. I flinched strictly out of reflex, then forced myself to realize that she couldn’t even weigh a couple ounces and she was fine on my balls. They were very sensitive, I could feel each cautious footstep, but it didn’t hurt. I laughed quietly at that, had another pull at my beer.

Then I couldn’t see her at all except for her tiny hands peeking around either side of my cock. “What’re you doing back there,” I said, not expecting an answer. Just… between those thick lips begging me to cum and this full-bodied tiny woman sneaking around to the sensitive underside of my cock, I was starting to get in a mood. I clenched my thighs together for a moment, just a moment, trying to expend some of the tension building up. I was pretty sure I could’ve squashed her flat between my thighs, definitely my knees. Not that I ever would, but you know, she’s standing right there and I thought of it. You can’t help what you think of at times like this.

I watched her little hands sliding up and down my shaft, like they were looking for something… then no, like they were grabbing as much as they could. And then I felt her hot little face nuzzling into my cock, into the urethra, I guess. I could feel her rubbing her head over it, back and forth, making it roll out of the way. That was something special. And she buried her face in my foreskin—I’m circumsized, but there’s still a lot there—and one of her hands grabbed a handful of tan, wrinkled skin and tugged it back, really tugged it, and I couldn’t be sure but I think she wrapped it around her face. And just held it there for a long time. She buried her face in my foreskin, like I might’ve done with my face in some chick’s tits, just feeling it there, being very present and trying to soak it into my memory.

Was that accurate? Is that what she was really doing? I didn’t get how any woman would be that into a dude’s foreskin, but it takes all types, you know. I personally feel that everyone’s into something bizarre, some kind of kink, and maybe only 20% of us, max, ever admit it and act on it. Everyone else just swallows it and lives in repression. Which I personally feel is fucking sad. Life’s too short, etc.

So if the little lady wanted to bury her face in my foreskin and savor that moment, fuck it. Let her. I finished my beer, which was too bad, because now I had nothing to distract my hands, and I really, really needed to cum.

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Images by Kira auf der Heide and Jerzy Gorecki