RealisVere (Chapter 7)

Halim couldn’t even bring himself to address Rayda again, knowing everything she said and did indeed only derived from his own horrible subconscious wants. Rapidly reimagining clothes for himself, he turned and re-grew to normal by the time he’d leapt from the table, then sprinted out of the room. No thought was paid to finding Chaima again. He still could have quit from the program any time, but his embarrassment-riddled fight-or-flight response overrode that, and so he fled downstairs, heading for the front door. There would be nothing but blank space outside the house, of course, since he hadn’t arranged for anything to be there, but still Halim felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his own despairing sexually-charged remorse. The only way he could get air now – and leave all this insanity behind him – was to simulate physically busting out of here.

Racing onward, he was only two rooms away from imagined liberty when something else went wrong. Though it came as less of a shock this time, now that Halim had already accepted his control was slipping away like sand grains from the bottom of a fist. Stumbling into the kitchen, the room vacant now but still redolent of the scrumptious dinner that Ghalia was in the process of preparing when he’d arrived home, he nearly tripped in this state of mind-fogged panic. Halim fell, or at least he thought he had, yet the floor didn’t come rushing up to meet him. Instead, coated in a swirling puff of white smoke, he coughed and rubbed his eyes as he shakily stood again. Looking around, Halim thought for a moment that he’d inadvertently willed himself into a new virtual construct altogether, but that wasn’t the case. He was still in the kitchen. He’d just shrunk again: this time down to a single inch, and then landed on the central countertop, where his now-absent mother had been in middle of rolling out more ghriba dough. Even being double his previous downsized stature, though, Halim felt greater self-loathing and so accordingly smaller than ever before in his life, and only more so because his clothes had disappeared again. Flour and vanilla, now blown over his tiny naked body like powdered snow, diluted some of that lingering essence gooily stamped into him while below Rayda’s sweaty foot, though he doubted anything short of a lobotomy could fully purge his memory of that horrific and entirely-wanted disaster. And it seemed his creation wasn’t yet through manifesting his most perverted subconscious hunger into hyper-realistic living 3D.

“Oh, look at my little Halim…” a familiar maternally-doting voice boomed suddenly from above and out of nowhere. “The light of my life, making a little mess of things, just as you did when you were still small. Well, when you were younger, at least. Come to me.”

Startled, Halim was still thrown off after his unscheduled shrink, and couldn’t see well through the cookie ingredients in his eyes. But apparently he himself was easily spotted, as a set of soft-padded fingers languidly combed through the heaps of dough and scooped the inch-tall man up into her massive gently-clamped fist. Not that Halim needed to see the towering digital incarnation of his mother’s face to know it was she who’d just plucked his miniature unbalanced self out of her baking mess. His pulse, already stampeding from nerves and regret, felt like its pace somehow doubled again when those thick dough-scented digits unfurled again, now with Ghalia’s lovely maturer countenance looming from close enough just overhead that the little fellow could feel each exhale gusting from her nostrils and lips, bordering on a low-throated chuckle. Halim silently sprawled in her comforting palm, so sickeningly conflicted by this digital macrophilic daydream with his own mother as the star now that he entirely forgot about running out of the house – or that he could (in theory) still force-quit from the program at any moment. He'd never felt so disturbed or magnetized by anything at once.

“Now, what sort of trouble are you up to this time, my little one?” Ghalim asked with an uncharacteristically impish twinkle in her eyes. Her billboard-immense face reared even closer, until her chin rested at the edge of her cupped hand, and her lips spread into a broad smile. “Oh, don’t tell me. I think I can guess. Testing out the cookies before they’re even finished, just like when you were a boy. My little boy. I suppose some things never change. And maybe they shouldn’t ever change. Well, now, how does it taste?”

“It…” he squeaked. “…t-tastes wonderful.”

“I knew you would say that,” she replied with a wink, then licked her lips in a showy fashion that seriously unsettled Halim while also generating another twinge of need inside him. What the hell was wrong with him? “But then again, I know a LOT about you.”

“Y-You… do?”

“Of course. A mother should know everything of her little boy, from the great works he spreads across the world, to the innermost ambitions of his heart. Chaima was kind enough to share some of them with me. But, there’s no need to speak of that now. I know how it tires you when I prattle on about your achievements, or about… anything else that urges you forward. So I won’t do it, at least not for now. Still, there is something else that needs satisfying, before the day is done.”

“Mama, you d-don’t have to… I promise, this… and w-with Rayda… this is n-not… NOT what I-”

“Now, now. It’s only fair. You’ve just had a taste of what I’ve been making for you,” Ghalia interrupted, bold and knowing. Again her breath steamed over her quivering inch-tall son. “All I ask is that you return the favor. Besides, someone’s got to clean all of that mess off you. And who better than me to see you’re taken care of?”

Watching his behemoth parent’s saliva-glossed lips abruptly part wide-open while her gleaming pink tongue rolled out like a runway, Halim felt Ghalia’s palm tipping beneath him. She was going drop him into her mouth and, from the sound of it, “clean” the unbaked cookie muck right off his miniscule nude figure. Feeling gravity beginning to tug him closer toward that sweltering drool-slogged darkness, and hearing a gurgly rumble echo up from his Ghalia’s throat, he froze up. Not in total dread, though that was certainly present, but primarily indecision. Even now, after everything that had happened in the rsVR today and everything that plainly still could happen if he allowed it, Halim was sensuously entranced by the dangling strands of ropy spit inside his giant mother’s maw. He tremored at the pulsating appearance of her budded tongue just itching to plaster his floured nakedness upon its beefy slab so she could suck every particle clear, and found he couldn’t wait to voluntarily fling himself there like a sacrificial altar, letting nature take its course again.

Only then – openly realizing exactly what he wanted, and had wanted all along – did Halim find the strength, or simply the panic, required to stop himself. A breath away from being slurped into Ghalia’s giant near-irresistible mouth like a man-shaped pastry, he made his mournful emergency exit from the virtual realm – but certainly not from the storm of complicated feelings he’d accidentally unleashed on himself today. Even in the privacy of his own office, dead-silent and free of all imaginary sin, the genie was out of the bottle, and there was no stuffing it back in. What’s more, even safe now from all that subconscious indulgence coming to virtual life all around him, Halim was already tempted to re-enter his created realm. It was just a matter of time.

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THE END (for now)