Each move of Patty sent an 8.4 earthquake through the bed. I was awakened every time she shifted her lovely, immense body.
When she finally woke up around ten, I was wide awake and starving. I hitched a ride in her hair as she threw on a robe and headed to breakfast, via the shower.
Julie was making pancakes and bacon--I could tell because I could smell them clearly. My stomach growled. I'd have to get some of the food. Next time I did this, I'd pack supplies.
Patty sat down at the table. I'd taken the opportunity to drop to her red satin robe, and I was making my way slowly down her arm to the table below.
I hopped down onto the table and strode confindently away from Patty's position. I surveyed the landscape in awe. Gretchen was sitting to my left, wearing a tank top that left little to the imagination. Behind me, Patty's robe hung loosely enough to give me a great shot of her cleavage. And just when I thought the beauty couldn't get more stunning, Julie set a couple of plates down and joined us, her long hair tied back in a pony tail, and her robe mirroring her youngest daughter's.
I didn't have to wait long for food. There was the occasional crumb that strayed, more than enough for me to eat. Not that bacon is good for you, but it was enough. I sat back in the shadow of the pepper shaker and enjoyed the view of three lovely women sitting, talking, laughing. Voyeur heaven.
After a while, I decided to head for Julie. She was the last woman in the house for me to see, and I was intrigued to see what an older woman looked like at close range.
I didn't have to wait long for my chance. Julie made the girls do the dishes while she lingered over coffee and read the paper. She rested her arm on the table, and I quickly found my way inside the sleeve.
I pulled myself along her arm to her shoulder, then crossed to daylight by her necklace. I grasped the chain, and slowly began to lower myself to her breasts.
I didn't get any farther, as Julie rose, and headed off to get dressed and ready for her Saturday.
I bounced around slightly on her sweet-smelling skin. She smelled vaguely soapy, which was good--she'd already showered. I was a little surprised when we reached the bathroom, but only a little--women always need some primping time when they go out.
Julie leaned over the counter, assembling make-up and lipstick and whatnot. She began applying make-up, and just finished the base when the chain swung precipitously and violently. I wasn't prepared for the sudden jerk, and found myself falling like a rock until I fell into a well of some sort.
I hit the water and--wait, that wasn't right, it didn't seem to be water. It was liquid, but not water. The world around me was black. Suddenly, I saw an immense brush dropping towards me.
It pushed me under with a violent force before it started to retreat. Instinctively, I grabbed the thing as it rose into the sky towards God-knows-where. Suddenly, I saw Julie's beautiful brown eyes. She saw me!
I held my breath as we drew near her eyes. No, she didn't see me. Instead, she brushed me and the thing I was on over her top eyelashes, before withdrawing the brush and dipping it back into the mascara below.
The makeup had the consistency of shellac. I was quickly and irrevocably welded to her upper eyelash. She blinked, and I felt my stomach drop and rise again. I could see her in the mirror, titanic and gorgeous, but I couldn't see myself.
She blinked again.
* * *
Once I got used to it, it wasn't so bad. I got to see the world through Julie's eyes as she went shopping and out to lunch with a drop-dead gorgeous friend from work. If not for the constant blinking, it would have been a perfect vantage point.
When she finally got home and went to bed, I must admit I felt a little gypped. Compared to my experience with Julie's daughters, this was so...proper.
Then, Julie began to cry.
The water behind me started as a wave and ended a tsunami, washing away the bonds that held me. Julie rubbed at her eyes, catching me under her right fingernail as she poured out a little bit of the grief in her heart.
Then, something altogether unexpected happened.
Julie dropped her hand towards her jeans, unbuttoned them and slid her finger--and me--inside.
I fell smack dab onto Julie's clitoris as she began to stroke herself lower. I was remined of Lazarus Long's admonition that there's only one way to comfort a widow--but remember the risks.
I began to stroke her.
I knew damn well that it might attract her attention, but I didn't care. She needed this, and I could help her. Not exactly the voyeur's code, but what the Hell. As she began working herself, I pushed her buttons as hard as I could at my infintesimal size. Our collective efforts paid off presently as Julie came with an overwhelming force, knocking me into the panties below.
I stayed there all night, resting in her panties as she read. I was already planning what I'd do with this device. I was going to have fun, that was for sure. And I'd come back to visit my neighbors again--this time with a base camp's worth of provisions. But this was a good teaser--enough to whet my appetite for what lay ahead.
Late that night, as Julie slept, I carefully extricated myself, climbed down fro m the bed, and made my way to the door. I unshrunk myself and quickly left, knowing that I was going to be spending about ten thousand dollars a year on this thing--and loving the idea. * * *
"So I take it the device met your standards, sir?"
The woman who said this--Sarah Kensington-Chelgren, her nameplate said--was phenomenally attractive in a very subtle way. She was married, which wouldn't have stopped me, but she was married to the other sales guy, which did.
"More than met my standards. It was perfect. I'd like to get onto some sort of contract, see if there's a way I can lock in for a certain amount of uses."
Of course there was. I signed a twenty use contract--at $300 a shot--with a ten additional use option. I limited myself--a couple times a month. The Andersons remained a favorite target. After all, the location was perfect. But I branched out. The weekend I spent in the Gap Women changing room had been fun, as had the four days in the women's locker room at the club. And there were other times--but I'll tell those stories, some day.
They say that we're not meant to achieve our dearest wish, that when we do, we're bound to face some dire consequence. We can't have true happiness, ever.
Well, I still have to work, and I still see my friends, and I still live my life as I did before. Except now, when I see a group of bachelorettes across a bar and wonder what they're up to, I can find out--as long as I'm careful.
It's a gift. The greatest gift I could ever have been given.
And I am living happily ever after.