Shrinking husband stories, Filipina baby picking Shrinking husband stories to slappers
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My age: I am 19
Where am I from: French
Tint of my iris: Big hazel green
Languages: I can speak English and Thai
What I like to drink: I prefer to drink ale
Other hobbies: Surfing the net
My piercing: None
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I finally knew how small to trim a short stack of quilted, two-ply TP for him. Everyone laughs at his jokes: you have to laugh when a tiny man jokes. For all intents and purposes, my husband is now just an First person erotic stories tiny man. Then the creeping loss went exponential. We held hands until I had no choice but to hold his hand, suddenly child-sized, in my own.
He never looked like a birthday balloon slowly losing air. Even now, we still enjoy a morning grope on Sundays with regular, if now routine, care. Pillowing the midlife insulation I still call my hip bone with his doll-sized chicken legs, he soon rolls off, founders, rests. A gut-wrenching caloric uptick for Morris. A man who had the Bdsm mummification stories face at two hundred pounds that he did at one hundred twenty. His favorite food is still soft-boiled eggs.
I stare at him. Morris says all kinds of things while he rides at my hip. But, for the first time in a year, my learning curve was set to pause. One day, Morris Pig tf stories awakened in our Adults diapers stories by a tingle in his fingers, a mild electric buzzing in his earlobes and the tips of his toes, which, after soaking in our newly tiled bath, he decided had nothing to do with Date Night the prior evening.
Playing around (shrinking story)
We dodged and banked and took curves too tightly. As for his kid-sized, baby-sized, then doll-sized clothes? Knees clenched, my tiny husband rockets off my leg in the miniature swing I deed for him—arcing out, rappelling hip to hind—spelunking my Mother daughter dog sex stories sensitive hollows. That he might return to his old self. Barometric shifts. He appreciates how long it takes to turn the of a book and so re every word closely; how long to eat a piece of cheese, so he savors every crumb.
Even time seems to pass more slowly. For the first time in a year, I cautiously considered an incautious idea: was it possible that, though Morris said otherwise, he was happy living as an undersized man?
A pop tune, maybe? Dew point fluctuations. All of them arranged by size in neat rows. For the time being, Morris was an unusually tiny ant. Every leg spasm. We became blistered and worn from Anr erotic stories to outpace the inevitable.
Even his history of radiation is normal for a middle-aged man from Denver with two long-healed childhood fractures and average tooth decay. Drives and flights to specialists out of state. At first, I thought that his pants—the hems curtained his ankles—were simply Daddy rape stories low at the waist.
But the smile is new or, more precisely, sits anew on his now-reduced face.
And, letting my logic play out, if Morris knew he was singing—which is to say, if my once transparent husband was now skilled at pretense—was it also possible that he knew what caused the onset of his condition? Gestures are amplified—my subtlest movements Women flashing stories enormous meaning.
Even for the record books.
Or atomic. Try to make the list of symptoms add up.
Of course I feel him down there, all his obstinate wriggling. Strange spider bites. A tiny man? He was just a new man each day. Like an unwanted dog that wanders out an open gate, might the universe propel Morris to his Best foot fetish stories conclusion? Sure, his size was unprecedented. We played it fierce. At your age I meanshe said. Especially from toddlers on the loose.
No disease or toxin. His preferred sport: baseball. There were pills and infusions.
At the tiny vacant smile on School feet story face. Sometimes, he wonders, if his inexplicable change is the Male exhibitionist stories of an intervention by nature: if everyone were as tiny as he, Bestiality pregnant stories all, the human impact on the planet would be diminished at once.
Did his altered size represent a much-needed environmental shift? Much tinier even than he was as a boy. He has the oversized confidence of a miniature man. I laugh at his joke. Instead, he watches from inside the house in the comfort of our window seat as I take my time cutting down the grass—row by row, inch by inch—a pattern that now marks my life. My husband is squirming again. She drew a sample of blood, and after a brief consultation with the doctor, Morris was referred to a neurologist.
Our hands pancake-stacked. They review the notes in his file.
Playing around with the babysitter
Spiritual and alien visitations. A year later, the array of specialists remains stumped. Poor Morris. Soon, it was ten. And yet, proportionately, still how large. We cursed. Oddly apart. A smaller man. He considered his mild hangover. Once Morris stopped shrinking, there was hope, for a time, that the process might reverse itself. I tucked my sewing machine back under its cover with a sigh of relief. His monologue never wavers. The paths of stars. Two weeks later, the tests with the neurologist came back inconclusive, and Morris and I both noticed that his clothes, Proctoscope exam stories tight around his ripening middle-aged edges, had grown visibly baggy.
Minus the buff plasticized muscles or the full head of hair. But my husband recalls nothing odd worth sharing. What shocked me every morning? He now Poop plug story his tiny place in the universe: how small it is. The frame beneath: sinewy, knobby-kneed, Shrinking husband stories. Each feeble twitch. More tests than I can remember or name. We all shrink eventually. What size morsels to Female expansion stories on our newly purchased toy store plates.
Get it? An abrupt, sewery end.
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His every gesture, once familiar, has become strange to me. Cosmic rays. I no longer had to alter hems and seams. A reduced man. Having fun.
Within a week, the loss was five inches. He now notes, for instance, that his size is an unexpected gift: he can see things he never saw before.