Monday, July 2, 2012
The Shrunken D.A.
"Now?" Rob whispered into his wife's ear while suckling on her lobe.
Miranda moaned and replied, "Not yet."
She dug her fingernails into her husband's shoulder blades, pulling him into closer contact with her, if closer contact were at all possible. His muscular chest was pushing down on her soft breasts, generating great heat between the lovemaking couple. Down below, his penis was rock solid and fully extended inside her womanhood. She wanted deeper penetration, but not yet--not until she was almost over the edge. Rob had almost gotten her to that point, but not yet.
"Now?" asked Rob again in between planting kisses on Miranda's neck.
"Honey," she said, slightly dismayed. "If you keep asking, it won't ever be time."
To make up for his impatience, Rob slowly ran his hands down her sides. Along the way, he gently caressed the outer parts of her breasts, eliciting an aroused purr from his wife. He continued down past her hips and around to her firm buttocks, pulling them up towards him while he thrust his member forward.
"OH!" Miranda panted. "That feels...so good."
He kissed her, opening her mouth with his tongue and letting it slide along hers. She whimpered, feeling both the moist probing inside her mouth and the stiff probing inside her vagina. Hotter and wetter, Miranda reached up for his thick dark hair and coursed her fingers through it.
"Now!" she gasped, allowing her mouth to slip out of their kiss. "Do it now."
He took a quick calming breath and looked her straight in her eyes, which sparkled in the candlelight. Speaking clearly, he said, "Skreppa saman kona."
Miranda's body suddenly grew warmer, and she felt tingles all over. Her heels slowly glided along the satin bedsheet as she bent her knees upward and locked his legs in place between them.
Meanwhile, Rob felt the sensation of his cock pushing deeper within her, but he knew that wasn't the case. Without lingering on it, he grabbed onto the backs of her thighs and held them firmly in place while he started grinding himself into her.
"Oh...oh...OH!" she sighed in rhythm with his thrusts. Looking up at his upper lip, she pleaded. "Say it...again."
Again, he thought. Just the thought of what would happen next almost sent him to an early climax, but he pulled back a bit. His face clenched in withheld release, he uttered the magic words a second time. "Skreppa saman kona."
Miranda's body was awash with the familiar sensation of pins and needles. As she got hotter inside, she closed her eyes and arched her neck back, her mouth agape in pleasure.
As his dick stretched further inside her, Rob could feel his grip on her thighs loosen slightly, so he squeezed tighter. His fingers covered a greater percentage of their circumference now, a notion which excited him to no end.
"I'm gonna come," he muttered.
"OOOOH!" wailed Miranda, squinting up at his chin. "So am I! Say it again, Rob! Say it again!"
Again? In almost two years of marriage, Miranda had never asked him to say it a third time. He had asked her about it on occasion, but she always skirted the issue. Perhaps she was afraid he'd be too big for her after the third time and it would be too painful.
"YES!!!" she shrieked. "I'm coming! Say it, Rob!"
"Skreppa saman kona!" he shouted, trying to hold his floodgates closed until the process was occurring.
Miranda's body was on fire from the waves of pleasure that Rob provided and the extra arousal from her body changing itself. Her pussy closed tighter around Rob's shaft and she moaned, she wailed, she screamed in intense orgasm.
As soon as Rob felt Miranda constricting around him, he grunted and ejaculated within her. His body grew limp, but as soon as he felt her frizzy, slightly sweaty hair on his chin, he quickly balanced himself with his hands so he wouldn't put too much pressure on her face.
Miranda held her head up and planted a soft kiss on his strong, fuzzy chest directly above her. She could feel his heartbeat gradually relaxing. Just feeling its rhythm made her smile. She loved her husband deeply, enough to trust him with her secret. "I love you," she said.
"I love you too."
For safety reasons, Rob waited until he was flaccid before withdrawing. Then he rolled over onto his back slowly and allowed Miranda to climb onto his body. He watched the shortened silhouette of her body in the dim light of the bedroom. How surreal, he thought, that this was the same woman he went to bed with.
Miranda rested her head on his chest so she could fall asleep listening to his beating heart. Her bare feet wrapped around his shin. It felt awkward at first, she thought, having never let herself shrink that much with Rob. How many times had he said it? Three times? That meant she lost nine inches, bringing her down from her normal height of five-five to her current four-eight.
The words, as inscribed on the ugly ornate silver ring in her jewelry box, would cause her to shrink three inches every time they were spoken. Such was the curse placed upon one of her female ancestors hundreds of years ago. The exact reason the family had been cursed had been long forgotten generations ago; only the ring and the curse itself had been passed on from mothers to daughters.
Miranda's mother notified her of the curse the night before her twenty-seventh birthday, the eve of Miranda's "inheritance" of the curse. She remembered the image vividly, being freaked out when she spoke the words and watched her own mother shrink the three inches. How horrifying it was then that such a power could overtake her as soon as the very next day. Then someday in the future, Miranda would pass it on to her own daughter because the curse perpetuated itself by ensuring each cursed female would have only one child--a single daughter.
Miranda had tested the curse upon herself, but never allowed herself to lose more than a foot of height. It was too weird, and she hated looking at the world so grossly out of proportion, especially for so long. Each three-inch shrink lasted for three hours.
She had never intended to tell Rob, then her fiance. But after they were married, her mother had a woman-to-woman talk with her about the sexual possibilities of the curse. Miranda's mother was married when she was twenty-eight in 1970. During the sexual revolution of the decade, Miranda's parents had experimented with the curse, occasionally going on weekend getaways just so her mother could shrink down within a foot tall for new sensations without Miranda ever finding her that way. Just hearing about her parents having sex was enough to sicken Miranda, but envisioning the added height disparity was just plain bizarre.
Miranda was much more conservative. When she first told Rob, she only shrank once. The next night, he tried to initiate lovemaking by saying the words twice, but that only resulted in him spending a week on the sofa. Now they had a pact that only she would decide how small she'd get, especially when they made love on a weeknight.
Rob was already sleeping soundly when Miranda glanced at the alarm clock. It was almost midnight. About an hour had passed, so she wouldn't grow back to normal for another eight hours. "Damn it," she muttered to herself, wishing she hadn't asked for that third shrink for it meant she'd wake up small.
Fortunately, she didn't have to be in court until nine-thirty the next morning. Still, as an assistant district attorney, she liked to be there early, which meant she'd grow back during her commute. She only hoped she'd be able to see above the dashboard in her car.
She sighed, knowing that she had asked for it. She rubbed her large husband's chest. After all, she had never had such an orgasm with him. At least that was some consolation, she thought, slowly drifting to sleep.
Rob dried off the dish Miranda handed him and said, "I still think we could've saved a lot of money if..."
"If I was willing to shrink to child size for the flight?" Miranda rolled her eyes and looked away from her husband, turning her attention to the frying pan she was washing in the sink. "No way, honey. I won't go out in public that small. Do you know how silly I'd look?"
"We're only talking a foot or so."
"A foot or so?" She looked up at him, quivering at the thought of looking even higher up at his face. "Do you know how long it would take me to grow back? Each foot lasts twelve hours!"
"And it's a six-hour flight from here to The Virgin Islands. It takes thirty minutes to get to the airport, then add an hour spent in line at the airport. We arrive at like ten at night, and it's another hour before we get to the hotel. We're exhausted, so we crash, and you wake up good and new!"
Miranda simply groaned. She loved her husband dearly, but sometimes he could be really cheap. He once suggested she shrink down to child size to pay less money at the movie theater! She appreciated his efforts to save money, but the trip celebrating their second anniversary was already paid for. With her job as assistant D.A. and his as a mortgage banker, they had built up a nice savings account, so money really wasn't an issue. They didn't have any children yet, and Miranda knew that her family's curse would see to it that she only have a single daughter. No, Miranda knew Rob's real intentions--he just wanted to see her that small.
"Ain't gonna happen," she said, rinsing off the frying pan. "And if you decide to make it happen without my permission, this frying pan will meet the side of your head." She wielded the pan in the air to accentuate the threat.
Rob chuckled. "You're cute when you're angry." He kissed the blonde hair on the top of her head.
Then suddenly, Miranda could feel the sensations associated with shrinking overtaking her body. She watched as Rob's head slowly drifted upward. The left shoulder strap of the apron she always wore while doing dishes slipped off her frame and down her arm. The frying pan, still held high above her head, grew just a tinge awkward in her hand, so she quickly lowered it to put it on the counter.
"What the hell?" she asked, examining her body after the process stopped. Fortunately the three-inch loss didn't do too much to affect her clothing. She looked up at her husband furiously. "What was that for?"
"What was what for?" He eyed her, noticing that she was shorter and enjoying the view. "I didn't do a thing."
"You must have whispered the words or something!" Miranda fixed her left strap only to have the right one slide off. "Fess up now or the vacation's off."
"Honestly, Miranda, I didn't say the words."
"Then who did?"
The telephone rang. Miranda groaned, knowing quite well who was on the other end. She picked up the receiver and instantly said, "Hello, Mom."
"I'm sorry about that, dearie." She giggled. "Your father's memory ain't what it used to be. He said the words, but I stopped him before he could say 'em again. He was feelin' a little frisky tonight, and..."
Miranda shuddered. "Please, Mom. I don't want to know about you and Dad! That's sick!"
"Don't knock it till ya try it! Hey, when do you and Robbie leave for vacation?"
"Tomorrow night. You know that."
"How long will ya be gone?"
"Until a week from Sunday. Why?"
"Plenty of time to do some 'little' experimentation, if ya catch my drift!"
"I catch your drift, Mom. That's not going to happen."
"You need to loosen up, dearie! Good night. Skreppa saman kona!" Miranda's mother shouted the words and then hastily hung up.
The tingling returned to Miranda's body as she was cursing out her mother. Rob tried to console her by simply putting his arm around her, but she shrugged him off and stepped away. Though Miranda knew Rob wasn't at fault, she wasn't in the mood to be touched at all. She hated when people shrank her unexpectedly like that. Removing her apron, she walked toward the bedroom, already feeling her feet slipping in the slight extra room of her shoes.
All Rob could do was watch her walk away, knowing that she was quite upset. He wasn't getting any tonight, he thought as he quietly dried off the frying pan.
* * *
Miranda and Rob arrived at the hotel before midnight Friday and almost immediately fell asleep, as Rob had predicted in his unused plan to shrink Miranda to child-size. It would have been weird sleeping next to someone that size, he rationalized to himself. Besides, he still loved his wife at her original height--after all, it was the height he was most used to seeing.
And he saw her at her original height for an entire week. He didn't dare bring up the possibility of saying the words while lovemaking because she had been so enraged at her mother's behavior before they left.
It didn't matter much because they were having a wonderful vacation. They had gone sightseeing, sailing, snorkeling and sunbathing. As the week progressed, Miranda's skin had bronzed and Rob couldn't remember her looking more radiant.
Friday night came, and the happy couple started the evening at a popular outdoor bar/restaurant/dance club. Even as early as seven o'clock local time, the place was packed, so while Miranda and Rob were waiting for a table, they ordered a few drinks at the bar.
"Dulce de Leche?" asked Miranda after Rob ordered two of them. Never having much of an affinity for alcohol, Miranda hadn't heard of the beverage before.
Nevertheless, she thought, it was her vacation, so may as well enjoy it. After clinking glasses with her husband, she took a sip. Sweet tasting, so she sipped some more until the glass was empty and the bartender was bringing her a refill.
"Uh, honey?" Rob's eyes were practically bulging out of his sockets. His wife had never downed a drink like that before. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I feel wonderful! It feels great to be away from court and trial and criminals. I'm so happy we decided to go on vacation!" She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Rob on the lips. Then she started on the second drink.
"Are you sure you should be drinking so fast?" Rob was shouting to be heard over loud calypso music. "The night's still young."
"What are you worrying about? Afraid I might pass out early or something?"
"No, it's not that. I, uh..."
"You're hoping we can do a little 'skreppa saman kona' later, right?"
Miranda had read his mind, thought Rob, immediately doing a double take upon realizing that SHE had said the words. Then, right before his eyes, his wife was shrinking. The light blue bikini top and matching sarong she wore covered just a bit more of her golden skin, which glistened in the Caribbean sunset.
"Enjoying the show?" Miranda smirked while sipping her drink. "You know you've wanted to see that all week."
"Yeah, but I didn't expect it in public!" Rob looked around. "What if someone saw?"
"It's not like we're going to see these people ever again. Besides, they look like they're having too good a time to notice. And so am I! It's great to get away!"
"But why here? Why now?"
"Why not?" She finished off her drink. "Skreppa saman kona!"
Rob's eyes bulged as he watched his petite wife become even more so. Her bikini sagged a bit atop her breasts and her sarong, formerly above her knees, now covered them. "Again?" he asked, shocked.
"What's the matter, Robbie? You want a turn?" Miranda stood on her tiptoes and could only reach his neck to plant a kiss. "You try, and you sleep alone." She coyly winked at him and wiggled her index finger in a naughty-boy type of motion. "I make the rules tonight!" With that, she ordered another drink from the bar.
Why was she acting this way? Rob had never seen her like this, and then he figured it out when he saw her gulping down a third Dulce de Leche--the alcohol! Miranda had a pretty low tolerance and her inhibitions were becoming reduced as well.
Before he could protest, they were being escorted to a table for dinner. Sip by sip, Miranda walked ahead of her husband trying not to let her feet step out of her sandals. Arriving at a small circular table, the waiter, a true gentleman, pulled out a chair for Miranda and graciously took away her empty glass.
"Isn't it wonderful?" queried Miranda dreamily, scooting her chair closer to Rob. "The air, the water, the music, the two of us." While speaking, she was secretly sliding one foot out of her sandal and bringing it closer to Rob's crotch.
Rob simply responded with a "yeah" for everything on her "wonderful" list, squealing out after the last item when Miranda's toes suddenly found themselves inside one of the legs of his khaki shorts. Then her feet burrowed deeper and found his penis, already stiff from watching her shrink twice.
"Oooh!" She raised her eyebrows. "I wonder what caused this. Was it 'skreppa saman kona'?"
Slowly, her foot receded away from his member, gently brushing his inner thigh as it passed, finally coming to rest almost three inches away from where it started. "Can we...continue this back at the hotel room?" he asked, gasping for breath.
Grinning, Miranda shook her head. "I think I should tease you a little more first. Skreppa saman kona."
As her foot glided further away, chills shot up Rob's leg into his spine. Similar tingles were pervading Miranda's body as she dwindled once again; for the first time, the sensation was accompanied by some lightheadedness.
Miranda's bikini was precariously balanced on her breasts, significantly reduced from their original size. Had Rob seen them, he would be pleased they were proportionally there in their full glory, but he was quick to toss a napkin over her chest before his wife flashed the patrons of the restaurant.
"How chivalrous." Miranda rolled her eyes and turned her back to him. "You could just tie my top tighter. That is why I wore it."
While Rob obliged, Miranda held the bikini in place, amazed at how roomy it was on her. She crossed her legs, which had become engulfed by the sarong. Fascinating, she thought as the waiter returned with a refill of her drink.
Behind her, Rob was distracted by the looseness of her sarong. No longer snug around her waist and hips, it had sagged in the back, giving Rob a peek at her firm ass. He saw a thin tan line, narrower than any of the bathing suits she had worn thus far on their vacation. As he sat there mesmerized by her skin, he realized that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he gulped. This would be a night he wouldn't soon forget.
Then suddenly, her tan line seemed to move. Squinting his eyes, Rob watched her entire body shift ever so slightly. "Uh, Hon," said Miranda. "You might want to tighten it a little more."
Sure enough, when he looked up, the bikini was loose once again. Convinced he had tied it securely, he knew she must have said the words while he wasn't paying attention. What did that make it now, he wondered, counting in his head. Five times? Fifteen inches! Holy shit, he had never seen her that small!
When she turned to face him, he was alarmed to see her sipping another drink--one that was already half empty! "Miranda, what are you doing?"
"Having another drink," she replied, holding on to the glass with both hands. "These--what do you call thems--are so good, I couldn't resist. Besides, they keep making them bigger!"
"They're not making your drinks bigger! You're getting..." Rob paused to see if anyone was listening. He continued in a whisper, "Smaller."
"I'll drink to that!" She raised her glass, and before brining it to her lips, said, "Skreppa saman kona!"
Her shrinking was much more noticeable now. Rob watched as her head sank a few inches. Miranda's feet had long since lifted off the ground. Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about her wedding band slipping off her finger for she had left it in the hotel room as part of her plan. It was unusual for her to have even brought the ring since she rarely traveled with jewelry. She was too paranoid something so dear to her would get stolen.
"Whoa!" Miranda put the empty glass down on the table. "I think they're making my drinks stronger too!"
"Maybe you should call it quits for the night, Honey." Rob casually took the glass away from her. "It's probably not a good idea to drink and shrink."
Miranda giggled and then hiccuped. "That's funny! Don't drink and shrink!" She swung her body around toward the bar and waved her arms at the waiter.
"I'm serious. We should go back to the hotel and call it a night."
"Party pooper! It's our vacation! Don't you like me this small?"
Honestly, Rob had never been more turned on in his life. He loved his first time seeing her--what was the total now?--eighteen inches shorter. And she'd be that way for a long time--eighteen hours to be exact. Whether or not he liked her that way wasn't the issue. Would she really like herself that way when she sobered up?
"It's time to go, Miranda."
"I hope you realize there'll be no more 'skreppa saman kona' for you!" The pins and needles all over her body were more intense than ever before. "Oops, I said it again!" She watched in drunken fascination as her feet, dangling above the ground, slowly rose higher. "Wheeeee!"
Rob quickly scrambled around to tighten her bikini top once again, hoping she wouldn't utter the words any more. He had to get her out of there before she got too small and created too much of a scene. It would look weird enough that he was leaving with someone easily mistakable for a child!
But before he could leave, Rob had to pay for all the drinks. Doing some math in his head and fiddling through his wallet, he didn't notice the waiter return with a fifth drink for Miranda. She had already guzzled more than half of the oversized glass when Rob decided it was easiest to leave more than enough money on the table to cover it all. He hated wasting money that way, but it was the quickest way to get Miranda back to the hotel.
"We're leaving now," he announced as he stood up.
"Let me just finish my drink." Miranda tried to take the last few sips, but Rob swiped the glass from her hand. "What was that for?"
"I'm shutting you off. Now we go back to the hotel."
"You're no fun! You're treating me like a little girl!" She cocked one eyebrow. "I guess that is what I am now. Skreppa saman kona!"
Rob bent down to pick her up, figuring it was the only way to make her leave. He waited until her most recent reduction stopped so she wouldn't slip out of his grasp when he lifted her. When he finally did pick her up, he realized he was lifting her right out of the now extremely loose and large sarong.
"Better tighten that," chuckled Miranda.
She was light enough to hold with one arm, so with his other, Rob held the sarong in place around her behind and legs. Amazing, he thought, how the garment almost reached her ankles. His body, particularly his dick, could not deny that he wanted her right now. If only she wasn't so damn drunk!
Miranda kicked and screamed and laughed all the way to their hotel room. She even shrunk herself twice more along the way. Rob had already lost count, but he knew she couldn't be more than three feet tall.
When her feet finally touched down upon the thick carpet of the hotel room, Miranda almost lost her balance. The sarong and bikini top had instantly fallen off her tiny frame, exposing her naked body. The temperature of the room, chilly from the air conditioner, stiffened her nipples and gave her goosebumps all over. She stumbled and staggered out of the puddle of clothes around her ankles until she crashed into a tree trunk covered in khaki fabric.
Rob saw and felt the collision, so he looked down at his nude wife, half his height. She was gorgeous, he told himself, and even more so at her size. Funny, if you had asked him a few years ago what he thought about sex with a shrunken woman, he would have said it was sick. Now that he was married to one, the idea was utterly irresistible. He wanted her smaller, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. That would be taking advantage of her.
It took a moment for Miranda to orient herself. She looked up and realized it was Rob standing there, twice her height. God, he was enormous. Then she turned and noticed the bulge in his shorts right in front of her eyes. Was he enormous...everywhere?
"Drop your shorts," she said, unable to stand without swaying.
"My shorts?" Rob smiled. Who was he to argue with his wife?
His shorts and boxers dropped, and his member was finally free and at full salute. He couldn't believe how small her face looked in comparison, especially since it was at the same level as her face! Her mouth was at the perfect height...
Miranda couldn't take her eyes off of it; she was in awe by its immensity. She reached out and up a little to touch it, gingerly at first with her tiny fingers until she built up the courage to close her hand around it. Before she knew it, both of her hands were stroking it roughly, pulling it towards her. One hand behind the other, she alternated them--as soon as one reached the end, she returned it to the start. Her hands, barely large enough to surround the solid shaft, were small enough to detect the slightest growth. Her giant husband was definitely enjoying the experience for he was beginning to grunt in pleasure high above her ears.
Miranda was enjoying the experience as well, and she wanted his cock to get bigger, so she said the words again. As the tingling commenced, her elbows bent as she kept her grip on Rob's rising rod, which was slowly inflating within her widening clutches. Repeating the words, she watched it sail further upwards.
Rob watched her dwindle and couldn't help but get both aroused and concerned. How many times had she said the words now, he wondered. Nine or ten? Either way, she would now be stuck so small for at least twenty-four hours. Sure, he wouldn't mind it, but when the effects of the alcohol--probably multiplied by her decreased body mass--wore off, she'd be pissed and probably blame him, even though SHE kept saying the words! How could he stop her from doing that? He supposed he could cover her mouth, but her hands would now cover her entire face.
"Ah shit!" shouted Miranda from down below. Her arms were as stretched as possible and she stood on her tiptoes, trying to keep her hands where they were. She could no longer close them around the shaft! "Get on the bed, honey!"
Rob quickly jumped to the bed, waiting for his wife to join him. The mattress was as high as her chin, but that didn't stop her from climbing up. The giant lay there waiting and beckoning her. She crawled over to his crotch and saw the pole, bigger than ever before. While on her hands and knees, she leaned forward and tried to surround his dick with her mouth, but found she couldn't get the full helmet into her mouth without gagging.
"What's wrong?" Rob abruptly lifted his head upon hearing her choke. "Are you all right?"
"I made myself too small to suck it!" she sobbed and backed away. "Damn that skreppa saman kona!"
"Maybe we should just call it a night." Rob watched with trepidation as she shrank another three inches. Three more hours stuck like that, he dreaded.
"I'v'got abetter idea." Miranda's speech had grown increasingly slurred as the night progressed. "Skreppa saman kona!"
She repeated the words several times, until she got all tongue-tied and couldn't say them straight anymore. Thank goodness, thought Rob, grateful that she stopped shrinking around Barbie-doll size rather than out of existence all together. She was going to be upset in the morning.
But the night was still young, and Miranda was now smaller and hornier than ever before. She stood on the mattress, staggered over to her husband, and climbed aboard his crotch.
"What are you doing now?" asked Rob.
"Relaxand enjoy!" She sat with his upright penis between her legs, grinding her pussy against it and hugging it tightly.
The feel of her tiny firm breasts against the ridge of his penis drove him wild. He had never imagined such a sensation of having an entire female body wrapped around him! And she was trying to fuck him as best she could without true intercourse. After all, she was too tiny for that, but Rob didn't mind. He was already on the verge of explosion. "Don't stop!"
"OhRob, you'reso..." She moaned. "Huge!"
From where she was seated, she could kiss his tip. A second later, the fleshy volcano erupted and Miranda was doused with the cool white lava. She squealed in orgasm and fell backwards, her head landing on Rob's cushion of a belly. She had passed out.
CHAPTER 2 IS MISSING
"You want me to do what?" shouted Miranda, hands on her hips and her right foot tapping on the mattress below her.
"You wear the Barbie clothes, and climb in here." Rob held up the undamaged box, which he had so painstakingly opened the previously day and preserved overnight. "I put the box, with you inside, in my carry-on bag--carefully, of course. You're never spotted because you look more like a Barbie doll. Face it, who'd be on the lookout for someone smuggling aboard a foot-tall woman?"
As much as she wanted to reprimand him misstating her height--she was fourteen inches tall, damnit, not merely a foot tall!--she was too incensed by his covert master plan. "I thought you said you'd take care of this!"
"Bullshit you did! I thought you would book a different flight. That was what I asked!"
"Too expensive. But this way, you get home tonight, and you have all of tomorrow to get ready for court on Tuesday."
"I'm not doing this, Rob." She folded her arms in front of her bare chest. "I could get hurt, or end up on the wrong plane to Albuquerque or something."
Rob assured her that she would be snugly and safely stashed in his carry-on bag, which he would never let out of his sight. As Miranda raised more concerns, Rob presented an immediate reply for each one. Because they were in the U.S. Virgin Islands, they wouldn't have to go through Customs, so there'd be less of a chance of a hand search through the bag. Miranda hadn't received an X-ray in years, so the dosage from the airport baggage scanner wouldn't be harmful to her. Unless the flight was full and standby passengers filled all vacant seats, her original seat would be empty, so Rob wouldn't have to stuff the bag into the overhead compartment. With each of Rob's answers, Miranda grew more and more outraged that Rob had actually put so much thought into it without telling her.
"It all works out great." Rob was trying to maintain an optimistic attitude, but he could tell from the look on his wife's face that she wasn't buying it. "Our flight leaves at two, we'll land there at eight--well, it'll really be seven at home because of the time zones--and you grow back about two hours later. We'll probably be home by then. It's the quickest and easiest way."
"For you, maybe." Miranda furrowed her brow. "You're not the one traveling in a cardboard box!"
"So you'll do it?"
"What choice do I have? It's not like I can walk out on you, tempting as it may be at this moment!"
"Everything will be all right, Miranda. Trust me."
Miranda rolled her eyes, at least somewhat thankful that he hadn't intended to bring her home in his coat pocket.
* * *
Their departure time quickly approached. Miranda changed back into the coarse but revealing costume, while Rob packed both their suitcases. For the first time, Miranda slipped her feet into Barbie's plastic "high"-heeled shoes. They were extremely tight and offered virtually no support, which Miranda discovered as her knees wobbled and her legs gave way when she took even a single step on the mattress. If the shoes weren't necessary to complete the "illusion," as Rob was calling it, she'd throw them up at his face.
"You ready?" Rob held up the trademark pink box and removed the interior piece of cardboard from it.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Miranda nodded then looked away. How did she let him talk her into this mess, she asked herself. The whole situation was a disaster waiting to happen. Had her common sense shrunk too?
Still, she needed to be back in court on Tuesday, and having Monday to prepare was important as well, and getting a full night's sleep tonight was a plus, especially since Rob would be spending the night on the sofa instead of hogging all the blankets beside her.
Reluctantly, she crawled--her walking was too unsteady--to the spot on the bed where Rob had placed the cardboard. He showed her where to lie down, and then he bent over and reached for the plastic twist-tie near her.
"What the hell?" she asked, popping up to a sitting position, her ankles now restrained by the thick cord.
"This is how they keep Barbie standing." Rob was twisting the two ends together. "And if it's good enough for Barbie, then..."
"Go to Hell!" she shouted, lying back down on the cardboard.
Rob proceeded to her wrists, securing them in place. After a reprimand from Miranda about cutting of circulation to her hands, he loosened the restraints, but not enough to allow her to shake loose.
Finally, under her armpits and then across her waist. His fingers gently tickled her stomach, but she withheld any laughter. She didn't want him to think she was enjoying the situation, because overall, she abhorred it.
"There," he said, standing up straight and then bending backwards to get a crick out of his back. "All done."
Miranda looked up at him and wriggled a little. Sure enough, she was unable to escape. "This had better be enough to satisfy any bondage fantasies you have," she said. "Because you're never tying me up again!"
Rob cocked an eyebrow. He had never entertained the notion, being too preoccupied with getting her home. His dick was already stiffening. If only their flight were a little later, he could take advantage of the situation.
With some momentary discomfort in his pants, he shook off the thought and proceeded to the next phase: putting her in the box. He kept her horizontal and slowly and carefully slid her inside. Miranda's heart rate increased as she watched the container slowly slide towards her, as if she was receiving a CAT scan at the hospital.
Eventually, she stopped. Though she could still see Rob through the clear plastic, she knew she was encased within. The most primitive instincts of survival and escape started taking over, and she convulsed, trying to get herself free and at least touch the barrier before her. She couldn't move. It was as if she had been buried alive inside a coffin, especially after she heard Rob close the box top.
Miranda wanted to scream, but her hyperventilating prevented any sounds from escaping her mouth, at least any sounds Rob could hear on the outside. With her hands bound, there was no other way to signal him. She had to stay calm; she had to stop the feelings of helplessness from consuming her; she had to trust him. She closed her eyes, attempting to will herself to sleep through the odd adventure ahead.
Her eyes popped back open and her heart skipped a beat as her chamber suddenly and quickly ascended. She screamed again, and again, Rob didn't hear her. Closing her eyes and clenching her teeth to combat the vertigo, she held her breath until the motion ceased.
Now she was upright, and calming down, even though she was confined in a space about the size of an airplane restroom. Beyond the clear plastic barrier was dark fabric; she was inside Rob's carry-on bag, and before long, he'd close it up and she wouldn't see him again for hours, or see anything in the darkness for that matter!
Rob rolled up some clean clothes and carefully stuffed them around the bottom of his backpack, hoping to keep Miranda's box straight, steady and secure. Giving her a shrugging smirk and a quick wave goodbye, he zipped up the backpack and gingerly put it on his back. She's going to hate this, he thought, what the hell was I thinking?
It was too late for regrets, he told himself. Groaning, Rob picked up his and Miranda's suitcases--how much stuff had she brought with her, he wondered, since they were only away for a week! He tried to navigate out the narrow door of the hotel room, but the heavy luggage on one side of him banged into the doorframe, and then the heavy luggage on his other side followed suit. Each collision translated into an unexpected jolt for Miranda, whose head--the only part of her body not tied down--thrashed around inside the box.
"What the hell?!?" she shouted. "You trying to give me whiplash in here?!?"
Though Rob couldn't hear her muffled shouts, he could sense she was mad at him. Must be that husband-wife telepathy.
After waiting seemingly forever for an elevator, Rob had significantly less difficulty going about his business: checking out, hailing a cab, and checking his luggage at the airport. He even had the good sense to make sure he gave his ticket and not Miranda's to the woman at the check-in counter. It wasn't until he approached the security checkpoint the airport when his pulse rate rose and his breathing quickened. What if he was wrong about the harmlessness of the X-ray dosage Miranda would receive going through the scanner? Worse, what if by some strange twist of fate, the officials discovered Miranda wasn't a Barbie doll but a living, breathing, shrunken woman?
Inside the backpack, Miranda was sound asleep, lulled there by the motion of the cab ride. Her head hung forward such that she'd have a painful crick in her neck upon awakening. As Rob carefully and hesitantly placed the backpack on the conveyor belt, Miranda's head fell back and banged on the thick piece of cardboard behind her, knocking her into consciousness. She cursed out Rob once again, but sensing the motion of her world, she quickly tensed every muscle in her body. This was the test, she told herself, I have to act convincingly like Barbie.
Rob had passed quickly through the metal detector without setting it off. Waiting for his backpack, he was able to catch a glimpse of it and its contents on the video monitor. His wife looked so precious, and had he not known the truth, he believed he would have been fooled.
The flight boarded as scheduled, and their seats were about halfway back, so Rob was let on relatively quickly. Though the seat number printed on his ticket was a window seat, Rob sat in the adjacent seat originally intended for Miranda, placing the backpack on his empty seat. That way, if anyone tried to take his bag--and thus, his wife!--they'd have to get through him first.
The plane filled up, with only a few scattered seats throughout. Then the departure time came and went, but the plane stayed where it was. After fifteen minutes without motion, the pilot's voice finally came over the intercom to apologize for the delay. Due to inclement weather at their destination, flights ahead of them had been delayed landing, so they were trying to alleviate later congestion by leaving a little later.
Rob sighed and glanced at his watch. A fifteen or twenty minute delay wouldn't cause too much trouble, he thought. But fifteen minutes became thirty minutes, and then an hour. Rob was growing impatient and concerned. As it now stood, Miranda would return to normal before they got home and most likely before they even left the airport. If the delay grew any longer, she could grow back while they were still on the plane! What a sight that would be--a naked woman bursting out of a backpack!
He supposed that if they were still on the plane as that moment approached, he could utter the magic words, giving them an extra three hours. But it would mean Miranda would shrink another three inches, thus dwindling below the twelve-inch mark. She'd be pissed off, even more so than she already was. Besides, shrinking her while she was still in the Barbie box would cause her to slide loose from the twist-ties, and Rob didn't want to endanger her further.
During the flight delay, a few more passengers had trickled onto the plane, some of them flying "standby." He nervously looked around as one by one, the number of empty seats became fewer and far between. Then a man boarded, walked up the aisle, stopped at Rob's row, and opened the overhead compartment. Rob glanced at his backpack and then up at the man, who was staring at Miranda's empty seat.
A flight attendant approached, and Rob's heart sank. This was it, he thought. The woman was going to ask him to put the backpack in the overhead compartment. Rob would have to refuse. How could he stash his wife up there, especially with the typical airline warning that objects inside could shift? She could get crushed to death. But if he made a scene about it, they could confiscate his backpack with Miranda in it. What would happen to her then?
"May I help you?" asked the tall, slender brunette with the sparkling white teeth.
The man showed her his ticket while Rob reached for the backpack. As it turned out, the man was seated behind Miranda, so Rob sighed in relief, especially when the pilot announced they were ready to leave.
Sleeping silently and somewhat stiffly and sorely inside, Miranda had been oblivious to what was going on outside. Her pleasant dream centered around a new open-walled house in Malibu and a handsome well-sculpted neighbor named Ken...
* * *
Miranda stayed asleep for the entire flight, while Rob stayed awake, alert and paranoid, keeping his eyes on the backpack, which he had buckled in before take-off. They hadn't made up any time in the air, and unfortunate news came as they descended. The plane had to circle the airport a few times, waiting for permission to land. Then, when it finally did land, they had to wait until another plane left the gate where they were scheduled to dock.
Rob nervously watched the seconds tick away on his watch. Neither he nor Miranda knew the precise moment she had first uttered the words, so it was impossible to know the precise moment she'd start growing. All Rob knew was that it soon. He had to get her off that plane immediately.
Ignoring the lighted signs, Rob had already unfastened his seat belt and clutched the backpack against his chest. The plane came to a stop, and Rob's continued forward just a bit, but he used this inertia to rise to his feet.
Quickly, and somewhat rudely, he climbed over the old lady sitting in the aisle seat. People were already starting to stand before the pilot had announced it safe to do so, and Rob was already making his way to the front of the plane. "Coming through, coming through," he announced, weaving through the crowd and holding the backpack above his head. "Got a connecting flight to make."
Inside the bag, Miranda could feel herself being jiggled around. What the hell is he doing out there, she wondered, and what time is it? She could tell from the darkness she was still playing Barbie, but having been asleep for the flight and its delays, she had no idea her growth would commence any moment.
Once off the plane, Rob sprinted up the jetway. Running in an airport wouldn't be too suspicious, he hoped, especially if he stayed with the connecting flight excuse. He stumbled a bit, almost sending the backpack airborne. Close call as he bobbled it and caught it by its shoulder straps, praying Miranda was still safely inside.
She was starting to feel a little queasy--a sensation usually accompanying her return to normal height--but she wasn't sure why. Her stomach was empty from not eating since they left the hotel, so that was one possibility. Also, the trip while Rob was obviously hurrying was extremely bumpy, so that could cause the feeling. Hurrying? Why would he be hurrying, she wondered, unless it really was time for her to grow back. "Rob!" she screamed. "Get me out of here now!"
Unable to hear her, Rob was already in the airport concourse. Now the difficulty was in trying to find a private place for the transformation. Holding the backpack over his shoulder with one hand, Rob checked his free wrist to see the time. Though the precise moment was unknown, he could tell it was any second, so he veered into a nearby mens' restroom.
Rob locked himself in a stall, closed the toilet lid to lay his backpack down, and unzipped it. Gently, he slid the box out into the open, and inside he could see Miranda squinting her eyes and trying to look away from the sudden influx of bright light.
When he opened the box top, he could already hear her reprimanding him for running so fast, putting her in the Barbie box in the first place, and letting her shrink herself so small while drunk.
Rob remained quiet, diligently trying to free her from her restraints. First her chest, then her wrists. As he untied her waist, Miranda pushed herself up into a sitting position, and then she groaned and reached for her stomach.
"What's wrong?" Rob stopped what he was doing to look at Miranda's pale face.
"I don't kn..." Her voice trailed off as she heard something faintly crackling behind her. What was it?
She looked down at her chest and could see it ever-so-slowly expanding within Barbie's already short tight top. The crackles grew louder and Miranda realized they were from the shirt's Velcro clasp pulling apart. "I'm growing!" she screamed. "Get me out of this!"
Quickly, Rob went to work on untying her ankles, which he could now see were tightly bound by the twist-tie. Once the Velcro down the back of her top split apart, Miranda had no difficulty removing it and baring her breasts. Because the shoes were backless, she was able to kick them off with ease. The skirt, slowly creeping up her thigh and chafing it, was constricting around her widening hips. To remove that, she had to wait for Rob.
He freed her second ankle and announced, "Done!"
"Not yet." Miranda was wincing in pain and trying to clench the waistband of the skirt, but it was now so tight on her, she couldn't wedge her fingers inside. "The skirt, Rob!" She panted. "Pull it off!"
She must have grown about two inches or so, and the skirt barely covered her private parts. With his thumb and forefinger, Rob grabbed the hem of her skirt, accidentally pressing against her almost-exposed bush in the process. Though he was completely aware of what he did, the look of anguish on her face hinted that she hadn't noticed.
There was some resistance, but Rob was able to tug the skirt from her hips. Releasing a deep breath of relief, Miranda helped her own cause by bringing her legs close together. A second later, she was completely naked and watching the stall shrinking around her.
It wasn't long until she was back to normal. Standing steady was a chore, since her legs had fallen asleep from the combination of spending several hours tied down in a cardboard box and the recent lack of circulation there from the tight skirt. Either way, she was thrilled to be back at her own height, glancing up at her husband instead of craning her neck up at him.
And he was glancing down at her, in her full glory. My wife's a blonde bombshell, he told himself, having forgotten the fact slightly while she was so small. A part of him had enjoyed the experience of her being doll-sized, but she was much more attractive at full-size. And much more huggable too.
Miranda didn't want anything to do with his attempt to hug her. A part of her was still fuming over being treated like a toy. All she wanted to do was get dressed, get home and get to bed.
When she discovered that the only pieces of clothing packed in the backpack were Rob's, she was furious. Had he expected her to grow back to normal fully clothed?
With no other choice, Miranda slipped into his socks, shorts and shirt, the latter two being a few sizes too big for her. When the hell was she going to wear clothes that fit her once again?
After they picked up their luggage, Miranda changed into some of her own clothes and felt wonderful about it. Riding home in the taxicab and not speaking to Rob, she was already imagining herself at home in her nice warm bed, with a pillow under her head instead of under her entire body.
But when they finally arrived home, they were shocked and concerned about seeing two police cars, with their blue lights flashing around the neighborhood, parked outside their house
"Is this your house?" asked one of the police officers.
"Yes," answered Rob. He could hear the burglar alarm inside his home wailing loudly. "What's wrong?"
"About a half hour ago, something triggered your alarm. There's a broken window in the back. We believe the perpetrator has already fled the scene."
"Someone broke into our house?" Miranda was on the verge of tears. With everything she had been through that weekend--being fourteen inches tall, an uncomfortable plane ride inside a cardboard box, and almost not being undressed in time for her return to normal--all she wanted to do when she got home was collapse on her bed and sleep. Now it appeared that wouldn't happen any time soon.
"Do you know if anything was taken?" asked Rob.
"It is possible," replied the officer. "There've been a string of burglaries in this neighborhood all week. Haven't you heard?"
"We were on vacation." Miranda was hugging herself to stave off the shivers of the cold night air. "Why did this have to happen to us?"
"We'd like to search the house," said the cop.
Rob let the police inside, and when they had confirmed the coast was clear, they allowed Rob and Miranda to enter. It appeared that the burglar had only been in their bedroom, but he had trashed the room. Shards of broken glass lay on the floor below the window, which was fully opened. Dresser drawers were opened and their contents rummaged through and tossed on the floor, the bed sheets and mattress were all overturned, the closet doors slid open, and everything in every little box and container on Miranda's dresser had been dumped onto the floor.
"This is going to take forever to go through and figure out what's missing." Miranda rubbed tears away from her tired, red eyes.
"And I'm afraid we're going to have to do some fingerprinting first," said a deep voice from the doorway. "With all the burglaries and all."
Miranda thought she recognized the voice, so she turned around. Sure enough it was an officer from the crime lab who had often supplied evidence to the district attorney's office. "I'm glad you're here, Frank," she said to him.
"Nice to see you, A.D.A. Wright!" He smiled broadly. "Sorry it’s under these circumstances. I hadn't realized this was your house."
Miranda introduced Rob and Frank to each other, and then gave the police free reign over the room. In an isolated case, the police mightn't have made as much a detailed effort, but with so many break-ins in the neighborhood, it was standard procedure. And with Miranda working on the side of law and order, Frank was going to take extra special care to find any shred of evidence to bring the guilty party or parties to justice.
Rob and Miranda tried to get some sleep in the guest room, but Miranda kept tossing and turning all night, even after the police had left. The next night was the same for her. Even though she was back in her own bed, she couldn't help but feel violated and vulnerable knowing a crime occurred in the room.
* * *
When Miranda awoke Tuesday morning from a restless sleep, even a tall cup of strong black coffee couldn't offset her grogginess. In her gray business suit, she left the house hoping her day in court would preoccupy her mind enough to keep out thoughts of the robbery.
The case itself was pretty straightforward--a first time drug possession charge on some stupid 19-year-old kid who would rather face a jury than plead guilty. The arraignment had been about a week before her vacation, and Miranda wished the kid's lawyer had gotten him to cop a plea while she was away so she could stay at home instead. As it stood, Rob was at home trying to itemize everything that was missing, of which they estimated most of it was hers.
At nine-thirty, court was in session, and first they had to wade through the jury pool to get six people in the box. Hopefully, as Miranda had seen many times with first-time offenders, the process itself would scare them into a plea.
The judge asked his litany of questions to eliminate people from the jury pool. It took its usual hour, and then both sides had to opportunity to strike any of the potential jurors. One man caught Miranda's eye. She hated to stereotype, but his multiple facial piercings, unkempt spiked hair, and arms completely covered by tattoos suggested he might be a little sympathetic to the defendant. As she stood to make her motion to strike this guy, her body was overtaken with tingles.
Horrified, she froze, hoping no one would notice her slight loss of height. Her clothes shifted, not enough for anything embarrassing such as panties or nylons slipping off, but enough for her to feel uncomfortable. Her business skirt now covered her knees, and the sleeves of her barely roomier jacket just covered her wrists. The differences in her clothing were probably imperceptible to onlookers' naked eyes, but her smaller stature wasn't. She looked around, and it appeared no one noticed she was now five-foot-two.
Damn it, she thought, wondering who on Earth would say the words while she was in court. It had better not be Rob, though she couldn't imagine him having the guts to do so after the vacation incident. Her parents? They had done it before, but never during the daytime, let alone while she was in court. She could conceal the one-time shrink, but if it suddenly happened again, she wouldn't be able to hide it. She had to find out who did this to her and stop them from doing it again.
"Is there a problem, Ms. Wright?" asked the judge.
Snapping out of her bewilderment, Miranda looked up and around. Apparently, she had caused a momentary pause in the flow of events. She wanted to forsake propriety and blurt out that something was indeed wrong and that she needed to tend to it, but that wouldn't help her case. Instead, she behaved correctly: "Your Honor, may I please approach the bench?"
The judge, a white-haired older gentleman in bifocals approved. The defense attorney, a tall, thin, balding man about Miranda's age, joined her in front of the judge.
"Your Honor, may I have a quick recess to tend to a..." Miranda whispered, searching for a reasonable explanation. "A personal problem?"
"A personal problem?" asked the judge, his glasses now resting on the tip of his nose.
Placing her hands on the front of the judge's bench, Miranda leaned forward. To her dismay, she was chin-level with the surface, even on tiptoes in her one-inch pumps. Whispering, she replied, "A...a female problem?" Sure it was a little white lie, but Miranda figured a man wouldn't question her.
Straining to hear her whisper, the judge also leaned forward. "A female problem?"
Just then, as unexpected as the first time, the sensation returned. She mouthed a swear or two, but withheld the air to make her cursing audible. The second shrink was usually when her clothing started to slide. Sure enough, she felt one bra strap off her shoulder and her nylons starting to bunch up. She quickly glanced down and grabbed onto the waistline of her skirt, holding it and garments underneath it in place.
"Oh!" gasped the judge in comprehension. "A female problem! Yes you may." He sat back in his chair to address the whole courtroom as Miranda looked back up at him. "We will break for a short..." Quizzically, he glanced at Miranda, now only seeing her from her eyes up over the bench's edge. Had she gotten shorter, he wondered. "...fifteen-minute recess."
As soon as the gavel banged, Miranda dashed out of the room with her briefcase, leaving one of her shoes behind as her foot stepped out of it.
In the ladies' restroom, after making sure it was empty, she was impatiently talking to her cell phone, waiting for Rob to answer. "Come on, honey, pick up."
He wasn't home. Vaguely recollecting him saying something about going to the hardware store to fix the broken bedroom window, Miranda left a quick call-me-immediately message and then frantically dialed the only other person who could've "accidentally" said the words.
"Nope," said her mother. "Not us this time."
"Well if it's not you, and it's not Rob, then..."
"How do you know it ain't Robbie? You've been tense since you got back. He might be trying to relax you a bit. You know those tingles can be quite a turn-on!"
Miranda groaned and rolled her eyes. "Mom, Rob knows better. Is there anyone else who knows the words?"
"Not that I know of. Heck, those words are gibberish. I doubt anyone would just say them. Must've been Robbie. Heck, he has balls..."
Miranda tried to convince her mother of her husband's innocence, but her mother continued babbling. "Mom, I gotta go. I'm due back in court."
She hung up on her mother and rolled up her sleeve to check her loose watch. Eight more minutes. While adjusting the watchband around her thin wrist, she took a closer look at the time to determine she'd return to her normal height a little before five in the afternoon, smack dab in the middle of her commute home. How was she supposed to get through the trial--hell, how was she supposed to get through the rest of the day--half a foot shorter than usual?
The obvious impediments had to go. Off with her jacket, and then out of her blouse sleeve came her bra. Her panties and nylons were off and buried in her briefcase. Hiking up her skirt so it hung right above her knees, she strategically safety-pinned it to her tucked in blouse. A glimpse at herself in the mirror showed that apart from her blouse's minor bagginess, she looked at least semi-presentable in her new petite form.
With two minutes to spare, she composed herself and walked back into the corridor towards the courtroom, all the while keeping her chin up and her back straight. Maybe this way she'd give the illusion of height through good posture and a confident walk. Or maybe she was kidding herself. She felt a little naughty about returning to court without any underwear, but she let the common joke about what judges wore beneath their robes allay her feelings somewhat.
The defense lawyer met her outside the courtroom. "I've been looking for you. Do you have a moment?" he asked, furtively sizing her up. Something was different about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
"We have to be inside." Miranda was straining her neck looking up at him.
"This concerns the case. Is your offer still good? My client is having second thoughts about facing the jury."
Under normal circumstances, Miranda would have simply said no, letting the moron suffer the consequences, but this was no ordinary day. She didn't want to be at the courthouse. All she wanted was to get away and hide for the next six hours.
It didn't take long to get everything settled. The defendant got off with the minimum punishment--community service and a mandatory drug rehabilitation program. Then, Miranda left the courthouse and headed back for her office to stay locked inside until it was time to go home.
When Rob eventually returned her phone call, he declared his innocence, suggesting it was probably her mother that said the words. After explaining the whole story to him, she vowed that when she found out who was responsible, there'd be hell to pay.
The hours slowly ticked by, and Miranda couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. Never mind the sensation of her bare thighs rubbing her private parts when she sat. Concentrating as hard as she could on her work, Miranda couldn't block out the reminders of her shrunken state: shoes slipping off feet that didn't touch the floor when she sat back in her slightly oversized chair, objects like pens and pencils feeling a tad awkward in her hands.
Eventually, she couldn't take it anymore, so she left work a little early. How aggravating it was to adjust the seat of her car to compensate for her six-inch loss, knowing that at some point during the drive, she'd grow back and her legs would become too cramped. She really didn't care, as long as she didn't get pulled over before she grew back because the 5'5" as printed on her license wouldn't be believed.
* * *
Despite how long her drive seemed to be in her condition, traffic mustn't have been as bad as Miranda thought. She must have traveled quickly since she arrived home before returning to normal. That meant at any minute she'd be her full size again.
As she walked to her front door, she looked at her watch, only to stop dead in her tracks. It read half past five. She should have grown already, but she hadn't. There was a definite physiological symptom to growing back; her stomach should've felt queasy.
But it hadn't. Something was wrong.
She ran into the house and straight for the telephone to call her mother. Hearing her enter, Rob appeared. "Honey, I think I know who..."
"Not yet." Miranda frantically dialed and then broke into hysterics over the phone. "Mom, I haven't grown back yet. What happened? Why didn't I grow back?"
"Calm down!" shouted her mother. "There's a simple explanation. It happened to me before."
"What happened to you before?" asked Miranda sternly.
"Oh, when you were four or five years old, I was stuck at three feet tall for about a week."
"No you weren't, Mom. I would've remembered my mother being my height back then."
"Remember that week you spent at your grandparents because I was sick with a bad case of the flu and we didn't want you to get it?"
"We lied. We didn't want you to see me three feet tall. We thought it would be traumatic for you back then."
"Not as traumatic as it is right now wondering why the hell I'm still four-eleven! Are you telling me I'm stuck like this for a week?"
"Oh no, it could only be a few more hours."
Miranda sighed in relief.
"Or a few months. It all depends."
"Depends on what? Is this some part of the curse you neglected to tell me about?"
"Well, with your organization--and let's face it, dear, you can be pretty anal at times--I thought this would never happen to you."
"You thought WHAT would never happen to me? What aren't you telling me?"
"Once, your father shrunk me a few times while I was washing dishes, in preparation for a game of half-size-wife that weekend. I was wearing the ring and unbeknownst to me, it slid off my finger and down the drain. I didn't grow back when I was supposed to, and we spent most of the week searching for the ring. Obviously we found it, because..."
"I did not misplace the ring, Mother. I keep it in a safe place..."
"Forgive the interruption," said Rob meekly. "But I have some bad news, Honey. I think the ring was stolen the other night."
"Stolen?" echoed Miranda, the color draining from her face. Slowly, she turned to her husband. "What do you mean stolen?"
"Did he say stolen?" asked Miranda's mother. "Oh Heck, that explains a lot. That's why you haven't grown back, and I'll bet that's why you shrank in the first place! Your burglar must've read the inscription..."
While her mother babbled on about solving the mystery, Miranda dropped the receiver and started to laugh. Then the laugh became a cackle. Then the cackle became a scream. Then Miranda broke into tears and collapsed on the floor.
Rob ran to her and hugged her tightly. "It's alright, Honey," he said, caressing her blonde hair.
"No it's not alright! Don't you understand, Rob? I'm gonna be this tall until we find the ring? And what if that asshole who robbed us says the words again? Do you want me permanently reduced?" For a moment, there was silence until Miranda looked up at Rob. "For God's sake, please don't answer that!"
"Honey, we'll find the ring." Rob kissed his wife on the forehead. "I promise."
First, Miranda tried to calm herself down. When that didn't work, she tore apart the bedroom hoping and praying that Rob was wrong--that the burglar had seen how ugly the ring was and dropped it somewhere. After two hours of searching and crying a river of tears, she demanded Rob take her to the mall.
"Uh...okay, Honey." Somewhat puzzled, Rob shook his head. He knew that some women tried to relieve depression by shopping, but he never knew Miranda to act that way. "If you think it will help..."
"What do you mean if I think it will help?" Miranda stood up straight, the top of her head a few inches below her husband's chin. "If I'm stuck this way, I'm gonna need clothes that fit better than this!" She pulled on her blouse to accentuate its bagginess.
Rob's forehead crinkled. "Exactly how much stuff are we talking here?"
"I may be four-eleven for the rest of my life, Rob. I might need a brand new wardrobe." By this time, Miranda had put on a pair of sneakers, tied extra tightly. "Shoes too."
"Do you have any idea how much that's going to cost?"
Already out of the bedroom, Miranda was paying no attention to him. He just didn't get it. Money didn't matter to her at this moment; only her stature did. Her colleagues, the judges, the police all knew her as an average-sized woman, yet a professional and skilled assistant district attorney. How could she command that same respect being six inches shorter? And more importantly, how could she explain the loss in height to them?
"You're driving." Miranda handed Rob his car keys when he finally caught up to her in the kitchen. "And we're not going anywhere nearby. I don't even want to risk running into anyone we know."
The drive lasted almost an hour, and Rob was at least grateful that Miranda let him stop at a fast food drive-thru to get something to eat. After all, they had been too preoccupied at home to think about making dinner.
Rob spent most of his time at the faraway mall outside the fitting room in the ladies' petites department. He knew from occasional shopping expeditions with Miranda that she would normally wear misses regular clothing, a point she reminded him of several times as she went in and out with a variety of pricey outfits. Silently, Rob prayed they found the ring before she wore them all so at least some of them could be returned.
When she closed out a shoe store, Miranda had enough three- and four-inch-heeled shoes to match every piece of clothing she had bought. Rob was dozing on a bench outside the store when she nudged him. "Wake up, Honey," she whispered.
He mumbled something, yawned, rubbed his eyes and stood. As things slowly came back in to focus, he could swear he saw his wife standing before him like nothing had ever happened to her. Groggily, he asked, "Miranda? You found the ring? Everything's all right?"
"You're sweet." Miranda stretched just a tad more than she was accustomed to and planted a kiss on Rob's cheek. "But I'm still four-eleven, dear."
Rob looked down, noticed the added height provided by the shoes, but spent more time fixating on her legs. Even though they were, he guessed, about three inches shorter than they should be, he never remembered them looking so good. Maybe it was the shoes, or maybe it was the shorter than usual (for Miranda) business skirt. Together, the illusion she created was succeeding, making her appear tall. But there was more. Her legs were more slender than usual.
The ride home was quiet. Miranda was calm, with a small grin on her face. The shock of her predicament worn off, she actually felt secure in the smaller clothing, fitting so snugly on her body, and making her feel a little sexy too. She knew Rob was furtively eyeing her legs, purposely crossed so he could see as much as possible. He probably thinks he's going to get lucky tonight, she thought with a smirk.
* * *
The next day, Miranda cautiously walked into the office, wearing a pale yellow blazer and skirt ensemble, with matching three-inch pumps. As long as no one looked down at her feet, the charade would work.
"Good morning Miranda," said a tall, thin, brunette colleague of hers. "Haven't seen you since you left for vacation. How are you?"
"I'm doing fine, Judy." Miranda spoke through somewhat clenched teeth.
Judy Meyers was also an assistant district attorney. She went to law school with Miranda, so they were well familiar with one another. There was a silent competition and dislike between them, but at work they kept their mutual feelings under wraps. As much as Miranda would claim to everyone else she didn't care, she knew exactly how many more convictions Judy had under her belt. Judy knew it too, and would only flaunt it in private. If Miranda could fool Judy's scrutiny of her, she'd fool everyone.
"Something's different about you." Judy tapped her finger to her chin. "But I can't quite figure out what it is."
Stop looking for what it is, Miranda prayed to herself, hoping Judy could read her thoughts. Since Judy stood about five-foot-ten, she always was looking down at Miranda, so hopefully the slight difference from Miranda's original height the heels provided wouldn't be noticeable from Judy's vantage point.
Just then, a man carrying a briefcase in one hand and reading an open legal folder held in his other hand walked by. "Morning, ladies," he said, not really looking at them.
"Hey Paul," said Judy, grabbing the man by the shoulder and turning him around. "Doesn't Miranda look different to you?"
Paul took a step back and looked down into Miranda's eyes. Since he was the same height as Judy, Miranda wasn't too worried about him noticing the height difference. She was more concerned about Paul probably undressing her in his head. After all, he did have a reputation of being a little bit of a player, but being in the legal profession, he purposely stayed away from secretaries, paralegals, and especially interns in the D.A.'s office.
His eyes surveyed Miranda's body down to her legs, and when he made eye contact again with her, he was smiling. "Nice tan," he said.
Miranda sighed and smirked. "Thanks, Paul."
"No, no, no." Judy shook her head. "It's not that. The tan was to be expected. She went to the Virgin Islands, after all."
"Well all I see," Paul turned to Miranda. "Is that you look great, Miranda."
He walked away, but Judy kept her eyes focused and squinted on Miranda. "I don't know what it is," she said. "But I'm going to figure it out."
With that, she turned and strutted away, leaving the scent of her perfume in the air behind her. Miranda sighed in relief and wiped her brow, noticing some beads of sweat had formed there. This one had been a close call, she thought, heading off to her office.
Miranda avoided Judy by spending most of the day in the law library, looking up laws, statutes and previous rulings that may be pertinent for her next case--a simple armed robbery that would probably be settled long before making it to trial. The evidence against the defendant, including a clear security video showing his face, was incriminating and pretty cut and dry. Still, it didn't hurt to be well-prepared.
While scanning the shelves for a particular law book, Miranda's cell phone rang. "A.D.A. Wright," she answered.
"Hey, Hon, how're you holding up?" asked Rob's warm voice.
"So far, so good. No one seems to notice." Then she groaned. The reference book she needed was just out of her outstretched reach. Normally, she would have been just tall enough on tip-toes to pull the book out of its place. "No one except me, that is."
"But how are you doing?"
"On the one hand, I'm relieved that no one seems to notice." Miranda pulled a chair over to the shelves and stood on it to retrieve the book. "On the other hand, I'm frustrated that I'm less than five feet tall." She sat down in the chair and ran her hand through her hair. "And on the other hand, I'm terrified. What if whoever said the words says them again? And again? I don't want to be stuck any smaller than this."
"You've got to try not to think about it."
"That's easy for you to say! You're not the one who might unexpectedly..." Miranda glanced around and continued with a whisper, "shrink...at any moment without warning."
"Just do your best, Hon, and when you get home, I’ll wrap my big, strong arms around you to protect you. Will that help any?"
Miranda chuckled as she wiped her eyes. Rob could be so adorable at times. "It can't hurt."
* * *
Over two weeks passed, and not only was there no news from the police, but there was also no change in Miranda's height...in either direction. Whoever had read the inscription on the stolen ring probably dismissed the words as gibberish. As far as Miranda was concerned, the words were lethal gibberish, and she was relieved they were yet to be repeated.
Not that she was enjoying being only four-foot-eleven--far from it--she was merely tolerating it, but reluctantly growing more and more accustomed to it. Having a career in criminal law, she knew the statistics on home burglaries, so the inevitable truth was slowly sinking in. The likelihood of their recovering the ring was dwindling.
But Rob was reassuring, though a tad overprotective. She loved the oversized oaf, especially the way he was helping more around the house: putting away dishes--mainly ones on higher shelves, going food shopping--to reach items on higher shelves, and doing laundry--carrying baskets of clothes that would be much too heavy for Miranda. He had even offered to drive her to work if, for no other reason, to cease her frustration with sitting closer and higher than usual.
Miranda was going to work as usual, and with the exception of Judy, no one had caught on to her height charade. Judy hadn't figured out the truth yet, but given her legal expertise, it would only be a matter of time.
"I've got it!" exclaimed Judy, pointing at Miranda returning from lunch that Thursday afternoon. "I know what's different about you."
Miranda froze and cautiously looked around. Fortunately, everyone else in the office had lost interest in Judy's daily rant about Miranda's mysterious new appearance. But if Judy were to mention Miranda were shorter, all ears would perk up. Quickly, Miranda looked down at her feet, thinking maybe she had accidentally put on flats instead of her heels, thus making her condition too obvious. Nope, that wasn't it, she thought, looking back up at Judy.
Judy clapped her hands together. "You've lost weight!"
"You've caught me," replied Miranda, sighing in relief. Miranda knew that her weight loss was a direct result of the six-inch height loss, so she hoped Judy was satisfied with the weight explanation.
"You look fabulous. I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier," Judy lightly took hold of the lapel of Miranda's lavender business suit. "And you've got a brand new wardrobe to go with the new look. Second time you've worn this one."
Miranda had no idea Judy had paid that close attention to her the past two weeks, so she tried to slither away. But it was Paul who saved her. "Miranda," he said as he approached. "The boss wants you as my second on a new case. We're off to the police station."
"What's the case?" Miranda, now free from Judy's clutches, was following. She had just wrapped up the armed robbery trial a few days earlier, and this seemed too quick for her to get onto a new one.
"I'll explain on the way. Police have the guy in custody and are ready to interrogate."
At the police station, Paul and Miranda stood in the dark room behind the two-way mirror, unseen by the two police officers, the seated public defender, and the alleged criminal--an unshaven, scrawny man with greased-back dark hair.
"So, Willy, why were you bringing the VCR to the pawn shop?" asked the taller cop.
"To sell it," replied Willy, the shady character. "Whadda ya think I was doin' with it?"
"Why'd you want to sell it?"
"Needed the money."
"Can you explain why the serial number on the VCR matches one registered to an Alex Maston?"
Miranda furrowed her brow. Alex Maston? Why did that name sound so familiar?
"Me and Alex go way back." Willy looked at the public defender, who was shaking his head. Ignoring the signal, Willy added, "He sold it to me a few months ago."
"Oh, HE did?" The first cop nodded and turned to his partner, a stocky, balding man. "Interesting, isn't that."
"You bet." The second cop finally spoke and stepped towards the table in the room. "But Alex Maston is a SHE." He slammed his fist down on the table.
Miranda rolled her eyes. Any minute she knew this would digress into a classic good-cop/bad-cop routine.
"And SHE reported it stolen last week." The second cop was hunched over, his face directly in front of Willy, who was looking away.
"Alexandra Maston," read the first cop from a manila folder. "Lives in the Highlands neighborhood of Beaconsfield. That's quite a ways from the pawn shop you were going into."
Miranda did a double take. Beaconsfield? The Highlands? That was Miranda's neighborhood! Then she remembered where she knew the name Alex Maston! She lived down the street from her!
"We think either you stole her VCR," said the second cop. "Or you know who did."
If this guy robbed Alex's house, reasoned Miranda, then maybe he also robbed her house as well. The police on the scene when Miranda and Rob returned from vacation said there had been a string of burglaries in the neighborhood. And if this guy robbed Miranda's house, then he may have been the one who read the inscription on the ring! More importantly, he might know where the ring was! Miranda had to speak to him!
"You know something?" asked the first cop. "There's been a lot of houses broken into in that area lately."
"Well, I ain't talkin' no more," said Willy.
"You might want to talk to someone from the D.A.'s office and cut a deal," said the second cop. "'Cause sellin' stolen goods is a serious crime. And if you're the one robbin' the houses in the first place, that's even worse."
That was their cue. While Paul was there to ascertain information to make the appropriate jail bargain, Miranda was more concerned about the ring. Her heart was beating rapidly as she realized there was only one way to do it without asking this guy to incriminate himself, thus violating his rights. She had to say the words and watch his reaction.
Her throat was dry as she sat at the table. She couldn't focus on the task at hand, instead carefully thinking out her risky plan. What if he had some partners, and he wasn't the one who had the ring? Then she would say the words, shrink another three inches to four-foot-eight and potentially be stuck there for good. She was barely getting away with hiding the six-inch loss, so any more would be impossible to cover up.
Then, she perked up. She didn't have to say the exact words. What if she said something that was close enough? Rob had told her that in the Virgin Islands, she eventually became so intoxicated she slurred her words, unable to say them straight, and this inability stopped herself from getting smaller than the fourteen inches. As long as what she said wasn't "skreppa saman kona" but similar to it, she figured she was safe.
At a pause in the conversation, Miranda looked Willy right in the eye and slowly said, "SKEPPA SAMAN KOONA."
The room fell silent, all its occupants staring blankly at Miranda trying to figure out what she said and why she said it. Miranda was the only one watching Willy, and she saw the color in his face draining away. Quickly, he turned away, and Miranda knew he knew! And more importantly, she wasn't shrinking!
"What the hell?" asked the second cop.
"Excuse me, A.D.A. Wright," said the first cop. "But was that skreppa..."
Before he could even possibly get the correct pronunciation, Miranda hopped up and turned to her partner. "Paul, we need to talk outside!"
The first cop knocked on the door, giving officers outside the signal to open it. Miranda pulled Paul outside and waited for the door to close.
"What was that all about?" asked Paul, slightly upset. "I think he was going to rat out his partner, but you blew it with your...your whatever the hell you said! What was it? Skeptic Santa...?"
Miranda covered his mouth, just in case. "Never mind what I said! Just listen." She removed her hand. "I have to step down from this case."
"That woman lives in my neighborhood. This could be the guy that robbed my house."
At that moment, the first officer cleared his throat. He had been standing there with the door to the interrogation room open. "I think he's still willing to cut a deal."
"Paul, I can't be here," said Miranda. "I'll go back to the office and explain. You'll get a new second chair. See you later."
She left the police station as quickly as possible and called Rob, but he was out of the office and not answering his cell phone. No matter, she thought, knowing she could tell him the news when he got home. After talking to her boss, who had no new assignments for her, Miranda was quickly in her car, leaving early from work. Heck, she could surprise Rob with the new with a candlelight dinner.
The meal was almost ready, and Miranda checked her watch. Rob would be due home any minute. Candles were kept in a cabinet above the sink, which under normal circumstances, she could reach on tiptoes. Fortunately, they owned a step stool. As Miranda stood on it and reached up, her body felt all warm and tingly.
To her horror, the cabinet slowly rose three inches away from her.
Posted at Monday, July 02, 2012