INCH WORM      A certain English stockbroker

INCH WORM      A certain English stockbroker

INCH WORM

A certain English stockbroker, who we shall discreetly refer to as L., having

recently arrived in New York, woke up after a series of harrowing nightmares to

find himself in a very odd bed. As he propped himself up on his elbows and gazed

past his toes, he could see that the strange cottony mattress went on for at

least four times his own length!

"Well this is a bit of a lark isn't it," he murmured. "I know these Americans

like their conveniences but this is ridiculous why this bed must be eight meters

long!"

His right arm seemed to roll over the side of the bed, and L. Remembered then

how he had to continuously stop himself from rolling off during the night. Or

was it the night?

"What in blazes is going on here? Why I don't have the foggiest notion of where

I am another one of my tiresome blackouts I suppose...."

His alcoholism had taken him to many strange places. He had woken up in an ivy

patch in Hyde Park, then on a bench outside of Madame Tussaud's in London, where

a shy young tourist couple had actually touched his hand to see if it was wax,

and then in his very own woody, stuffy office where he had just been hired as a

fledgling stockbroker. The sudden glare of the fluorescent lights and the

clamoring for morning tea had totally disoriented him, when he jumped up from a

vinyl sofa in the secretaries lounge.

He couldn't very well tell them that he had stumbled in there the night before

blind drunk could he? So he'd had to brace up and wear a cheerful smile and tell

them that he'd come in early to get a good start on the day. But this... this

was entirely different! For one, he didn't have that awful taste in his mouth,

and then of course he didn't have that mind-warping lethargy that usually

accompanied his nocturnal gallivants either did he? But more that that he simply

knew that he hadn't had a drink, not even one drop since Guy Fawkes Day in 1996.

L. warily tilted his head upwards and saw a skylight that seemed to have no

glass. Why this is altogether fantastic, he thought the sky was blue all right,

but why did it have corners? A ceiling? Could that be a ceiling? Turning to his

left he saw a giant lipstick laying across a pack of gargantuan matches. He

tried to believe in his cavalier laugh.

"Yes...well whoever this woman is that I came home with, she certainly has a

sense of the absurd, I must say she probably got those props at that shop I

heard about down in Soho that has cyclopean pencils and all that. New York's

Soho is quite different from London's now, isn't it...but that lipstick actually

looks...like it's been used...well that's rather silly, isn't it? Going to all

that trouble just for a... my word! Look at that! Why that must be one of those

mammoth liquor bottles I remember seeing those in the duty-free store in the

Panama airport why there's enough Scotch in there to fill a bathtub... but

wait... no, no, something is wrong here. I know that scent it's Rive Gauche

Maude used to wear it why that's a confounded perfume bottle! Good Lord, what's

going on here; look at the size of this false fingernail why you could cross the

channel in that!"

But L.'s bravado was beginning to fade. As a matter of fact he felt something

akin to panic. He turned around, looking front and back for something, anything

that would give him some kind of security. There was nothing in that bizarre

environment, not one territorial clue that would give him a sense of proportion

or give him a fix on his space. A huge 7, a huge 9, a huge cent sign on a yellow

poster affixed to a slanted mirror. His reflection was insane and he began to

lose his breath. Terror was seeping in slowly now and he desperately tried to

say it was a nightmare, but he knew very well that it wasn't. He pinched his

cheek and knew, yes, that this was much too real. He leaned forward to blow his

breath upon the glass, and yes, it clouded.

"Don't worry, old man," he shuddered, "We'll get through this one too...."

But he felt a large cold metal hoop slipping across the back of his neck... why

it's a blasted earring! He leaped to his feet and scampered back only to lose

his balance on that medicinal-smelling cotton log. He slid precariously to the

edge, and then looking cautiously over he saw a long twisting cord at the end of

his cylindrical bed.

"Good Lord," he hissed, shaking with dread. "I've spent the night on a giant

tampon! But more importantly than that... it's been used!"

Both of his hands flew to his mouth, and when he curled all his fingertips over

his bottom teeth, he realized that he had never made quite such a fearsome move

in his life before. He had no time to reflect, he had no time to gather his

wits, for he fell screaming backwards into a condom trampoline that bounced him

onto a black leather, spiral-bound pocket organizer, where he lay panting next

to a giant orange tab that said GOALS.

But this in fact, actually gave L. Some solace. He was after all a practical

man, a man secure with his facts. This organizer was something he could relate

to. It was after all, an everything-in-its-proper-place sort of thing, wasn't

it. "Now I'll find out what's going on around here!" he said in a burst of

renewed vigor, but just as he was crawling up the side to TODAY, he heard a

booming female voice high above in the miasma: "WHERE THE FUCK DID I PUT THEM?"

He was suddenly buffeted about from wall to wall.

There was no doubt about it now he had to admit what he had expected. He was in

a woman's handbag, and her sudden rummaging had the same effect on him as if he

were being pushed around by ten bulldozers at the town dump. He backed up

against the rubbery, rouge-covered walls, terrified by the frightening

scratching that led to a match explosion. He watched her hair swirling high

above the skylight, like a wrathful Hera storming at Zeus. Enormous wheels

creaked outside... he threw his hands up to his ears the water thundered like

Niagra. Yes! She must be in the bathroom! This was no nightmare. This was real

and L. knew that he couldn't cope with it. He couldn't process this bizarre

information. He saw a familiar light-blue color near the bottom of the organizer

a Valium the size of a manhole cover! Yes, that's what he would do he needed

help all right he would nibble off a piece, He artfully wound his way down

through the spirals of the organizer. It was like going through a sewage

drainpipe. The spray of her hair was storming down into the purse. He finally

reached the bottom and gnawed desperately on the corner of the Valium.

"I'll be calm," he said. "Yes, that's it...panicking never did anyone any good,

did it. I'll use my stockbroker's acumen, that's all. There simply has to be

some scientific explanation for all this. I can't let this dismantle me, not

me... haven't I my famous sixth sense? Don't I have uncanny foresight and an

unusually keen knowledge of the world? I mustn't let this get to me if anyone

can figure this out I can. I know all the latest advances, don't I? I know of

all the new conveniences damn it all, what's happening here is impossible!

Steady now...steady...logic shall prevail.

"But I must have numbers, yes, that's it, I need my computer wait! The

organizer! Why those little pocket glance-a-days always have a calculator... of

course, why didn' t I think of it? I must hurry before that female Polyphemus

comes back!

L. Rolled over and peered around the bottom spiral. The leather cover was open,

and yes... there it was! And not only was there a calculator, but right on top

of it was spiralled in a perfect plastic ruler. He hauled a coffee stick over

and raced up to the buttons of the calculator. It was easy for him on that

thirty-degree angle to slide over to the ruler, and then lay down next to the

markings. He looked carefully to see that his hair was on the 3" line, and then

looking down at his bare feet he saw that they were exactly on the 4" line.

"Do you want to know any more then?" he asked himself in self-derision; "Or is

this quite enough for you? According to this you are exactly one inch tall...."

L. Began to perspire profusely. He grew intensely hot and was tormented even

more with fire-needles of prickly heat. He edged his way across 7, 8, and 9,

like a little nude bug, and then climbed up to the red ON button.

"I can't think straight," he breathed. "I'll have to do this on the calculator.

What is the equation? Don' t do it in feet... do it in inches: I'm normally six

feet tall and now it seems I've gone down to an inch. Well that's a bit of a

nuisance, isn't it? Nothing to worry about old chap happens everyday HELP!

SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME! Stop that... what are you doing... get a hold of

yourself... what sort of a man are you? Oh, yes... a one-inch man, that's what I

am. All right then, let's get on with it: 72:1=9:X. What am I thinking of? One

can't work out equations on this blasted thing! I'll have to do it with

percentages. Yes, that's it... let's get a percent of reduction."

L. found that he had to literally jump onto the buttons to make the calculator

work. They were in fact as big as the pedals on the pressing machines in his

uncle's shop in Manchester. And then the light! The big green digital zero came

up! L. knew his way around a calculator all right, and in no time at all, after

bounding back and forth between the buttons, he glanced up to get his answer on

the screen. He had figured that if he had been 72" tall and his penis was 9",

that now upon reduction when he was only an inch, his penis would now be 1/16".

Upon erection it wouldn't even reach a pica... it would be 1/8" at most!

"I must be mad!" he thought. "Calculating the size of my sex organs while

there's a cyclops outside gargling like the Victoria Falls! Well this is a good

indication of my priorities isn't it? Not once did I even think of my brain. But

my brain is all right, isn't it? Or is it? I may very well be having

hallucinations... yes! Like that time I saw those wet human eyes in the daisies

on my comforter... but that was because of that strange cigarette that awful

woman gave me last week, when I first arrived at Port Authority. I haven't

smoked anything this time, that's for sure... but what about this colossal

harridan's handbag? All this rouge, powder, cold cream, nail polish; I daresay

any normal man would have been paralyzed by this cloying cosmetic effluvia long

ago. But not I. Indeed all women smells to me are instant aphrodisiacs.

Sometimes I amaze myself: here I am veritably quaking with fear, and I'm still

rummaging around in here with a whopping erection."

"Time to go to work, Looper!"

She was back! L. shrivelled back into the creases of the rouged tarpaulin. Her

face was the size of his loft in London! He saw himself cowering in the pupils

of her gamine eyes. An evil smirk line on the side of her enormous, lascivious

lips was actually quivering in malicious expectation. It was her! The lady on

the elevator! But now she was 72 times her normal size and grinning at him like

a depraved delinquent! There was no doubt about that light of triumph in her

eyes... she was up to no good. There was moisture on her upper lip. He was

appalled by the way her great tongue came out and lolled it off. Her movements

terrified him. When she shook her hair back, he ran to get more Valium. Her

voice was low and predatory.

"Where are you, Inchworm? Ah... there you are! Trying to sneak behind my blush

brush; huh? Don't you try to get away from me... hey! Drop that bobby pin!

What've I got here... Sir Launcelot? More like Sir Dance-a lot, ha ha ha! You're

gonna need more than a bobby pin to joust with me, baby. Crawl over

here...c'mon...that's it...right on to my thumb, Inchworm."

L. Had no choice. He found himself crawling around the concentric ridges of her

thumbprint, hypnotized again by those spirals that went around and round,

drawing him to the middle, and then it came back to him... yes! It was on the

lift... it happened on the way down. It all came back to him: She got on at the

thirtieth floor, yes, and he was talking to that charming fellow from the

penthouse, yes....

"And all about women," thought L. "We were talking all about women and in

retrospect, I'd say it was making her very angry. The more I think about it, it

must have absolutely enraged her... why I was an absolute brute! Oh I was

feeling my male chauvinism all right... going on about how women were getting

out of hand in New York, getting too big for their britches, I said, yes, and

taking all the jobs in the bargain. They should be at home taking care of the

young ones coming up, I'd said. What's wrong with being in the kitchen I'd like

to know... and babies... why after all isn't that the whole idea? Hasn't it been

since the advent of homo erectus? The propagation of the species? And if women

don't do it, who will may I ask. Oh she was seething all right... I must have

been absolutely overbearing. But then she reminded me of one of those sadism and

masochism types, didn't she... yes, that you see staring at you with menacing

eyes and brandishing whips and canes and what have you from the pages of those

extraordinary tabloids. Well I wasn't having any thank you. And then when I

said, 'The girl that I marry will have to be (as that wise old American melody

puts it) as soft and as pink as a nursery' there was absolute fury in her eyes.

After that..."

But it was too late for L. to think of the lift ride and what ensued... he had

been whisked through the air and set down upon a record player! He was going

around and around and on every revolution, (She was playing Hit The Road, Jack)

he was blasted with "Don'tcha come here no more no more," every time he careened

past her devilish eyes. She blasted it so loud that there was knocking on her

walls. L. Fell flat on his belly to keep from slipping off and still she

tormented him each time he came around.

"Propagation of the species, huh?"

(Her eyes appeared again.)

"What are you gonna do about that, Inchworm?"

(Gone again.)

"With your millimeter peter?"

(Appeared again)

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

(Gone again.)

"I'm gonna convert you, needle-dick."

(Appeared again.)

"From now on you're on our side...."

(Gone again.)

The needle was getting closer and closer. She was laughing like Renfield, that

spider connoisseur from Dracula. "I used to do this when I was a little girl,"

she said. "I used to make little paper men...and when they got close to the

needle...ohhhhh. I just loved that...."

L. was gasping but couldn't cry out. The revolutions were coming closer and it

took his breath away. Her mischievous gray eyes whizzed by again and again,

faster and faster. He was tormented yet mesmerized by their demonic gleam, and

then... OFF! He was rushed through the air in her fist then and coming down next

to a 20-story aluminum wall. Just as he turned around to see his wired

reflection... JONG! JONG! The toast was up and L. was on his belly.

"Crawl, Inchworm," she teased. "Get those crumbs under there. There's butter on

them. It's pita bread... it's good." He looked up at her rolling cyclopean

cheeks and two crumbs the size of boulders fell out of the side of her mouth.

Every noise was an assault: the slamming of the refrigerator, the wickedly

piercing beeper, the ripping of the perforations of her 'Women Power' stamps.

She put Gloria Steinham on his front and Susan B. Anthony on his back.

"What a trip," she said to her friend on the phone. "I have a friend here who's

wearing a sandwich board he's marching for the women's movement, ha ha ha ha

ha... only thing is I think it's a little heavy for him... c'mere mighty mite."

She fell back on her unmade bed and flung apart her gargantuan thighs. Two

fleshy Himalayan mountains fell apart and he was thrust into the steaming

divide, immediately entangled by a maze of curling hairs. He could feel the heat

of her great muff beneath his naked feet and he slipped and slid as he tried to

trek across the steaming mons veneris. To him, her pubic hair was like elephant

grass, her flesh like the landscape of Venus. L. could hear her moaning above.

"Oh but she sounds like an angel now." It was then that he slipped into that

velvety, rubbery-slick, flowing crevice, hanging just by a handful of hair that

he managed to wrap around one wrist, desperately trying to get a toehold, but it

was in that very bicycle movement of his bare feet that made his ground shake

even more. The more he kicked to get back up, the more the sticky rapids came he

was caught in a deluge of come! "Good heavens!" he gasped. "I must be treading

on her very clitoris!" But he continued on, because he knew that the only way to

make the land subside was to bring on a volcanic eruption. "One thing' s far

sure... I've got to keep this up at all cost... I must keep this gigantic woman

happy... no telling what she'd do if she were frustrated!" He clenched his

sticky eyes and pedaled for all he was worth. The whole pubic mound shook and

shuddered in a giant fleshquake. He managed to bind more hair about his waist

and like a soap-covered window-washer stuck it out to the last.

Her orgasm was so cataclysmic that it rocked him back to the lift and made him

remember... made him remember... Yes, he remembered how they were going down,

after that man got off at 10. How was it then that they continued going down,

past the lobby, past the basement, past the deepest recesses of...where? Where?

It was as if the lift descended into the very bowels of the earth!

"It must have been her eyes," he thought. "Never have I seen such eyes! It's

much different looking into a lovely face that's the size of your own, instead

of a countenance fifty feet tall, I had never seen such a rare combination of

fineness and vulgarity, a lustful classic beauty as it were. She had that rare

quality that I'd always looked for in women, that ageless sort of thing you

know...so mysterious, so bohemian. Why it would have been just as natural to

find her in Monte Carlo as it would in ancient Babylon. She could have been in

Thebes, or Rome, or even Timbuktu. Those full sensual lips, those concave

cheeks; something about her mouth hanging open like that... she fired the

imagination! She wore very little makeup and had her hair brought up in a very

fetching kind of free chignon. "But it was her eyes...those long lashes that

never blinked. Her face seemed in a state of constant expectation... and yes! I

remember my strength being sapped away... she drew me in... 'Go down,' she said.

I'm amazed that I lost my guard; I let myself be caught in those enthralling,

maelstrom eyes. They were like two deep, devouring whirlpools. I was caught in a

spin, a spin, and right there on the lift, she said: 'Go down...just let go...it

will be so much easier for you...I'll take care of you...just go down...just get

smaller for me...that's it...get down on your knees. You're only three feet tall

now... aren't you...and when I raise these up you'll get even smaller...think of

that... do you see? I'm drawing my skirts up slowly...inch by inch, and inch by

inch you are going, down...because you want to go down, don't you...don't worry,

you won't do anything that you don't want to do....' It was uncanny! As she oh

so painfully slowly raised her black skirts up, exposing those long creamy

thighs, (For she wore nothing at all beneath that long Morticia dress) I

struggled to reach her pubic mound with my face. She brazenly leaned against the

wall of the lift and thrust her pelvis forward, as I descended past her knees,

yes... and then that evil laugh...I found myself clawing desperately on the

buttons of those granny shoes; I kept on going down, and then I don't remember

anything... no, not until I woke up on that infernal tampon! And now I'm feeling

it again... that same feeling...I'm blacking out again; I don't know where I am

anymore...or whether I'm big...or whether I'm...."

L. Woke up in a Bambu rolling-paper packet As he pushed the lid up, the whole of

his harrowing workday came back to him then. He had a fleeting moment of that

terrible clarity that comes on one in the morning sometimes and then vanishes

because of one's fears. He reached down to a pain in his leg. He ached from head

to foot. He remembered her snapping, "WORK!" and then pushing the gigantic

cardboard tube as hard as he possibly could, and slipping along the vulva.

Splattered from head to foot with her hot juices, he had finally descended by

letting the long rope roll through his feet like a schoolboy coming down from

the ceiling in a gymnasium. She called him her tamponeer. And then that horrible

clamp-cage, something she had devised to latch on and run around the rim of her

toilet so that he could clean all 32 holes under the rim with a pink cue-tip

with cotton on both ends, the same cue-tip in fact, that she had him use the

night before as a balancing pole to tightrope across her nipple rings!

"I know that I did those things," he thought. "And those rubber gloves that I

used... why look... they're right over there! And they're life-size! And... and

how is it that my feet are large and oh, oh... my dick! It's large again! But

what is it doing dangling over my face? What's this? Women all around me? Is

this some kind of a party? What is going on they're all nicely dressed and

having drinks, and I... I am naked... with my body spotlighted as it were...is

this an exhibition? And there she is! What a remarkable beauty... and in her

Morticia dress... she's bringing a tray...why it's probably for me...."

Then came the familiar voice, but now in a normal range: "Looper is an

inchworm., He belongs to me, don't you, Looper? Inchworms are also called

measuring worms, did you know that? Oh this one measures things all right last

night I caught him trying to measure his penis...." The sounds of laughter, the

clinking of ice cubes. The fascinated women leaned back imperiously, obviously

enjoying the spectacle. "Measuring worms walk by moving these feet up to these

feet so that the body forms a large loop, giving the insect the appearance of

measuring the surface upon which it is walking. Right, Looper? Now you can see

why he is called Looper." There were many sighs of admiration then, for L.'s

member had fully enlarged and was signalling around his protruding lips. He was

so ecstatic at seeing his penis full size again that he wasn't about to go

against anything that she wished. "You know what to do, Looper...roll yourself

up in your auto-fellationist ball...sort of like yin and yang, isn't it? The

male meeting the female...." L. Sucked greedily, his eyes darting from woman to

woman. "That's it...do your thing, Looper...very good...yes...that's what we

want to see...we want more inchworms like you, don't we, ladies? Un huh...we're

all very interested in the propagation of your species, ha ha ha ha ha...so

don't get too frisky over there...thinking you're out of trouble. You can enjoy

yourself during this little friendly respite, but at 10 tonight you're going

down again...get those jaw muscles working, baby... ha ha ha ha ha! Tonight it's

the Anal Canal."

THE END

INCH WORM      A certain English stockbroker

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