I'd accepted a date with Scott tonight. (The cop who told me about Keith disappearing.) I wasn't interested in Scott as a man, but I was interested in him as a source of information. Keith sulked for a little while before building up the courage to ask me not to go. We both knew he couldn't stop me, but I was impressed he'd had the balls to mention his displeasure. I picked him up and dropped him in the 1 gallon aquarium I'd decorated for him. Seeing him with his tiny hands pressed against the glass, totally my prisoner, totally my possession, made my heart race with desire. I leaned down and pressed my lips against the glass where he stood, leaving a lip print bigger than his whole body, then stood and finished getting dressed.
We went to Applebee's for dinner. Scott was boring and about as deep as a Jell-O shot. He was too dull to pick up on my subtle questions about what the police department was doing about Keith, so I finally gave up all coquettishness and blatantly asked him what he knew. He tried to sound evasive, like he was in the midst of some top secret investigation, but James Bond he wasn't, not even the lame Roger Moore one. He didn't know shit. Instead of feigning interest at his weak attempts a conversation, I let my mind wander the extents of my power. It's probably not good for me to get bored, because I decided to experiment. Our waiter was walking toward us and I tried tossing a long distance shrink on him. The drinks he was carrying hit the floor with a room-silencing, glass-shattering crash. People's heads snapped around, some looked at each other questioningly, trying to determine exactly who had dropped the cocktails. Nobody seemed to notice the two-inch man standing there frozen with disbelief. Before the staff had a chance to clean up the mess, I stood and mumbled that I had to go to the bathroom. I walked very carefully, I tried to time my steps perfectly. The slight crunching noise as I erased his existence under the toe of my brown leather boot might have been mistaken for an ice cube. He didn't stand a chance, he was nothing to me... nothing but a tiny second of bliss at my unrestrained control of his destiny. It was unbelievably, voyeuristically erotic to feel the slight resistance then sudden popping of his tiny body with dozens of oblivious people around me. If they only realized. As a matter of fact, the most erogenous aspect was nobody fathomed that I controlled their destinies too, that they only lived because I allowed them to. They sat and ate their babyback, babyback, babyback ribs and drank their grasshoppers, heedless that they were in the midst of the most ungovernable force they could conceive. A plethora of emotions tore at me, a springtime thunderstorm in my chest and belly. My power and strength put a fire in my eyes and an exotic tilt to my chin, but somehow I managed to continue to the bathroom without orgasming. I leaned against the sink, giving myself some time to enjoy my churning feelings. I turned on the water and examined my reflection in the soft light. My eyes glinted wickedly and the corners of my mouth curled in a satisfied and sanguine smile. A blonde walked into the bathroom and gave me a look only another woman would understand. It was almost a glance of challenge, a sizing-me-up look, comparing herself to me - and all in a matter of a few seconds she decided she was better than I was. Or maybe she just smiled hello - who cares? She continued into the stall and I turned my back on myself in the mirror. The more I flexed my power, the stronger I seemed to get and the stronger I wanted to be. I don't like blondes anyway. I could barely see the toes of her sandals peeking under the stall door (with unpainted toenails-tsk tsk) and I concentrated on them - well, until I couldn't see them anymore. She'd locked the door behind her, so I went in the next stall and climbed on the toilet. I peered over the divider and there she was, thrashing and splashing in the cold, ceramic bowl. I laughed down at her as she tried to tread water, she looked like a wild animal caught in a lake. She twisted her head at the sound of my mirth and panicked even more when she saw my happy countenance looming above her. My choices were either climb over or climb under, and climbing over seemed nearly impossible. I dropped off the toilet and scooted into her stall. I looked down at her as she tried to keep her head afloat - perhaps more time spent in the pool swimming instead of beside it tanning would have been a better life decision for her because she was a terrible swimmer. I didn't tell her what I was doing, I let her come to her own conclusions as I slid my linen slacks and beige silk panties down my hips. I lowered myself onto the toilet, my ass and thighs completely blocked off all light and threw her into a pitch black watery dungeon. I sat there and relished her utter disgust with what I was going to do. Her powerlessness against me was intoxicating. I was Queen of the commode, I was goddess of her entire world. I finally released my bladder, urine splashed into the toilet and I think I actually heard her shrieks of terror and dismay. I wiped and stood to peruse my superiority over her. She was frantically trying to climb the slippery ceramic, each breath a shrill scream of disgust. "Piss on you, blondie," I giggled and reached for the lever to flush the toilet. She circled and circled, caught in a yellow whirlpool-and then she was gone, just like dozens of goldfish and one small lizard who came to a similar watery final resting place while I was growing up. I decided that my evil streak could be quite obstreperous at times. Good for me, bad for blondes.
I was so elated with my power that I don't think my feet even touched the floor as I walked back to Capt. Boredom. I guess it's too much to ask for my life to model a Jerry Bruckheimer movie (although I am sorta making it into a Stephen King theme), but I was close to convinced that my date spent too many hours watching soap operas or Danielle Steel miniseries. My quick trip to the ladies room did nothing but whet my appetite for action even more, I was unsatiable. He asked me something like, "Everything come out all right?" The wit, can you stand the wit? I leaned towards him a little, abandoning etiquette in favor of swirling a piece of steak with my fingers, deliberately toying with him, before lifting it to my mouth. A stream of juice dribbled down my chin… I used my pinky finger to wipe it back into my mouth. I left my pinkie hidden, letting him imagine what was going through my mind, my eyes bored into him with an unwavering intensity. I pulled my finger out of my mouth with a moist kissing sound and chewed my steak with a delightful abandon. I swallowed, leaned even closer and whispered, "I'm going to eat you." I grinned a grin of evil mixed with a dollop of seductiveness, winked at him and continued to eat my dinner sans silverware. I'm positive he didn't take my revealing statement literally, but judging by the look of surprised and unbridled lust on his face it was easy to discern the he was at least bright enough to catch the not-so-subtle double entendre. He either couldn't or wouldn't reply, but he did manage to clear his throat and finally start eating again. I imagined his growing desire and the dumb jock in him hi-fiving himself because I was such an easy score, and inwardly rolled my eyes at his ignorance. I left him to his thoughts and conclusions, he'd learn the truth in good time.
Scott drove an older model Camaro and I'm sure there were plenty of women who thought his car was hot shit, but I found it loud and typical. He was torn between my place or his and I was torn between eating and crushing him. I drifted more towards crushing because with every word he spoke I became even more convinced that the only thing I'd possibly gain from consuming him would be an extra-strength Maalox case of indigestion. He ran his hand up my inner thigh, I smiled and caught it in mine. I kept a sweet smile as I squeezed his fingers tighter and tighter in my fist. He laughed at first, he thought I was playing some version of a thumb war. The more tightly I squeezed the more he became convinced it was a game of Uncle - he even laughed a tad more nervously and told me I had a pretty strong grip for a girl. A girl? I squeezed even harder. At least he didn't call me `gal.' I squeezed harder. He wasn't joking anymore when he said "OK, I get the point - your strong - now let go." I replied, talking so softly my voice was a hair above a whisper, "I've changed my mind… I'm not going to eat you. Instead, I'm going to crush you like an ant." Then I smiled at him - a smiled that belied the look of desire and hunger in my eyes. He looked at me and I saw the first flicker of fear dance across his face, his cop instincts telling him that something was definitely amiss here. He pulled his car to the side of the road and jerkily slammed on the brakes. He yanked on the fingers captured in my surprisingly strong hand. I let them go, I still had a quiet, confident smile turned onto him. He told me to get the hell out of his car. All things considered, that's a decision he would like to have reconsidered. I'm sure the lack of logicality of actually being crushed by me boosted his courage, but if logic was all there was in the world then surely all men would ride horses sidesaddle. The total lack of logic severed me from a life of ease and complacency, something he was about to experience. I laughed, shrugged and stepped out. He leaned over to say something else - another mistake because it gave me the few seconds I needed to gather my strength and forces. I still giggled as the car started compacting. The almost familiar fingers of power tickled me deliciously as the car and its driver succumbed to me. Headlights cut into my field of vision and I diverted my attention down the street. A gorgeous 1965 candy apple red Mustang fastback was slowly cruising towards us. Scott and his Camaro were at approximately one-half their original size. I was torn. The Mustang slowed and the passengers, two teenage girls and one boy, gaped at us. I thought quickly, weighing my options. If I didn't handle the teenagers, what were the chances they would run and tell everyone what they'd seen? But, damn, I had a weakness for 65 `Stangs, I had gotten one for my 17th birthday-and it would break my heart to destroy one. I stepped into the street and stopped the car. I glanced at Scott, he was bewilderedly looking around and had apparently forgotten his Camaro could still run. He watched, his whole concept of logic completely fucked, as the Mustang shrank. The amazing thing was his car resumed shrinking at the same time. It was a wonderful revelation that I was so powerful that I could shrink multiple things at once. The two tiny faces of the teenage girls were pressed against the side window's closest to the Camaro, disbelief and shock paling their juvenile faces. I reached down and picked the `Stang up, welding the doors shut with my fingers. I looked down at the Camaro, I couldn't see Scott, but it was easy for me to imagine the terror on his face as I placed the sole of my barefoot on the roof of the car and rocked it just a bit. I curled my toes and pressed the pad of my big toe against the windshield. The totality of my power flooded through me with every pound of my heart. I sensed Scott's confusion, his trepidation, his terror at what I could do. The metal ping of the A - posts of the car buckling pummeled my senses, drove me insane with the urge to do more, push harder. The roof flattened, the windshield cracked into millions of prisms, but thanks to technology, didn't explode like the side windows. I slipped my foot back in my boot, giving Scott time to wonder what I was going to do next. I held my foot above the damaged car, teasing myself with the finale, letting the anticipation build, the sexual tension inside me was a building crescendo of raw lust. I brought my foot crashing down on the helpless man trapped in the minuscule car. It crumpled like an aluminum can under the strength of my foot and leg. I closed my eyes and relentlessly drove my foot into the pavement. I looked down at the oblong metal pancake… tiny splinters of glass sparkled light the Northern Lights, the tires were flat black washers lying amongst virginal metal that shone through the mutilated paint. A pool of thick, dark red liquid spread from what used to be the driver's side door. I carelessly kicked the heap towards a storm drain with the toe of my boot, smiling as it teetered momentarily before tilting and sliding out of sight. Bye bye Scott… I win.
It dawned on me that I'd just killed my ride home. I rolled my eyes in a that-figures gesture and started walking. It was a gorgeous fall night, the moon hung in the sky and the stars were motionless sentries guarding my route and keeping me safe. My breath preceded me in short plumes, I swung my new model car in time with my brisk stride. I felt like I was walking on air, the world was mine for the taking. A silly grin of pure delight lit up my face and I broke into a happy skip for a few steps. I was omnipotent, unstoppable. I could do whatever I wanted and there was nobody powerful enough to compete with me. It crossed my mind that the local community would not be thrilled about three teens disappearing, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. Nothing could steal my joy right now.
"Honey, I'm home," I yelled as I walked into my apartment. I still held the Mustang in my left hand, keeping the doors shut and it's passengers prisoner. I walked to the bedroom and looked at Keith as he peacefully slept in the aquarium. I reached in and scooped him up in my palm. I kissed him gently before setting him on the dresser. I used the tip of my finger to push in the door release and tilted the car over the aquarium. The teens tumbled out and fell onto the towel covering the bottom. I sat the pretty car on my nightstand, my trophy for the evening. Keith had awakened and was trying to get my attention from the dresser top, but I ignored him and climbed into bed. I was coming down from my travails of the evening and all I wanted to do was drift off to sleep. I would figure out what to do with all the tiny people tomorrow.