Favorite Macro Tropes: Shrinking Out of Clothes

[Playing around with shorter form stuff. Share your thoughts!]

Mac, the team’s other equipment manager, looked exasperated by the sight of Benny’s complete uniform, pads and all, in a pile right in the middle of the locker room. I did my best to match his expression.

“You fucking kidding me?” he said, clapping a hand over his head. “These guys smash men into the ground but they don’t have the strength to put their own dirty uniforms in the hamper?”

I rolled my eyes as he started to gather up Benny’s stuff. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I caught a glimpse of something in the helmet. Thinking quickly, I kicked it aside. “Benny’s a real diva nowadays,” I told Mac as he rolled his laundry cart over. “If you ask me I think he’s doing PEDs or something. He’s been looking bigger and beefier than usual!”

“I dunno how you can tell,” old Mac said. “These gorillas get up over 300 pounds and they all look the same to me.” He leaned in to more closely examine the pile. “...the hell? The shoes are still tied. Socks are still in the shoes!”

I scooped Benny’s helmet up in one hand and his pads in the other. “Better get this stuff washed and ready. You don’t want Princess Benny bitching that you’re not doing a good enough job taking care of his messes.”

Mac chuckled. “Careful, buddy. You don’t want that big ape catching you talking about him like that! I’ll be finding a you-shaped hole in the wall.”

I laughed and walked around the corner, tossing the pads aside. Inside the helmet was my prize, as I figured: one hulking NFL lineman, shrunk down to six inches tall and cowering in his own sweaty helmet.

“What do you think, big fella?” I taunted. “You want to put me through the wall for calling you a princess?” I reached in to grab him and laughed as he dodged my hand. “You’re lucky you ended up in the helmet. You could have ended up on your way to the washing machine with the rest of your filth!” I heard someone coming and held the helmet close to me, clapping a hand over my little prize to pin him down. The little shit actually screamed for help as the coach’s assistant walked by me, but he was too small for them to hear.

Earlier that day he’d grunted for me to shine his cleats for him. I knelt down in his huge shadow while he talked to some bimbo on the phone about a post-game sex date. It was degrading but I the idea that the syringe I’d switched out would take effect soon dulled the sting. He played the whole game with that stuff in his system before it finally took effect and now I got to claim my reward: my hand curling around his thick brawny body, no bigger than my dick now. Knowing that all that manly strength fit helplessly in the palm of my hand got me instantly hard.

*

Luckily nobody heard Kyle’s shriek as the oil took effect. It only lasted for a second, anyway, before it was inaudible. I looked at the glistening oil still on my fingers, amazed at its effectiveness. Just a minute ago a 260 pound bodybuilder was asking me to oil up his back before he went on stage. Now there was nothing left but his shiny red poser laying empty on the floor. Had it worked too well? Had Kyle shrunk into nothing?

Looking around to make sure the back hallway we were in was still unoccupied, I leaned over and inspected his trunks. Sure enough there was Kyle, probably still in shock. I wondered if his puny brain could put together that the shimmery tent all around him was the poser he’d squeezed his junk into earlier.

Grabbing the trunks by the strings I hoisted up my catch. He lay in the pouch of the poser like it was a giant hammock, just swinging there. I couldn’t believe how little space he took up there. “Look at you! Lying in your own posers, still warm and sweaty from your own cock, with plenty of room to spare!” I figured he had to be about an inch tall.

I hustled to the bathrooms past a few other competitors who just assumed these were my posers and I was going to change. Kyle didn’t move a fucking muscle; he probably knew he had about a mile drop below him if he wiggled too damned much. I bet nobody would even notice the tiny splatter he would make. I washed the oil off my hand (we didn’t need Kyle going microscopic on me--not yet, anyway) and turned back to the spot on the sink where I’d set the poser. He had come out of it now and was taking a look at the terrifying new world all around him. He was barely insect-sized now. I could squash him with a thumb and practically no effort at all if I wanted to--and I didn’t. I just had to bask for a moment in the idea that the man who was picked to beat me in the superheavyweight class was now a fraction of a fraction of the man he was before.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” I said. “You’re still going onstage. Just a last minute wardrobe change for you.” I licked my index finger and came at him with it. I’m sure he thought I was going to squish him right then and there. The shock on his face when I just pressed him down until he stuck to my finger was priceless. “What do you think, ‘big man’? Over the lips, through the gums?” I raised the finger he was trapped against to my mouth and made a big show about dangling him over my throat.

“Naw, just foolin’ ‘big fella,’” I said, pulling out my own green posing trunks just enough to get my finger in there. “You’ll be safe in here buddy. And this way you won’t miss the show!” I just pressed him to the ridge underneath my cockhead and he just stuck there--no doubt because of all the precum my dick had been burping up since this all had started. It was going to be tough as hell strutting out there on stage and dominating my weight class, and the show, without getting rock hard just knowing that I had a tiny speck of a man pressed between my cock and my posers, hearing all the fanfare for me without being able to do a thing about it.

***

I wasn’t snooping around Kevin’s stuff. He left his laptop open, I saw his email on the screen, so I just clicked the sent folder. All I did was click one thing! The e-mail about breaking up with me was right at the top. I mean since he hadn’t done it yet, I was technically still his boyfriend, so it was kind of my property too, right? I don’t care if you agree with me.

Anyway, I figured, “Why put it off?” So I marched right into the bathroom right there so we could have it out. The shower curtain was open, shower on, steam hazing the ceiling. Where the fuck was Kevin?

I hustled out to the kitchen, checked the hallway, saw the front door still chain locked, and came went back to the bathroom, confused. “What, were you so afraid to confront me that you bailed out the window?” I turned the shower off with a squeak and noticed the towel discarded on the bathroom floor. Neat-freak Kevin would never tolerate a towel out of place--not in his uber-orderly home. But when I went to pick it up, I noticed a little lump just underneath it. My first thought: “RAT?” I hopped up on the side of the tub, expecting a rodent to poke out, when I saw my boyfriend’s beautiful (but suddenly very very small) face peek out from under the edge of the towel.

“Are you… fucking serious?” Of course tiny Kevin crawled right back under the towel, but I hopped down and just watching the lump travel between the towel’s edges, stomping my foot down to interrupt his path and make him change directions. As fun as that was, I was itching to see every inch of my sexy man--all five of them.

I yanked up the towel and just watched him collapse to his knees with nowhere to hide. He eyed the bathroom door but I kicked it shut. The little shit still gave it a shot, running at it full speed and trying to crawl under it. He was tiny, but not that tiny.

I still had no idea why this had happened, but what a great development: Kevin breaking up with me was bound to get violent (I may be a shorty but I had a temper and a tendency to lead with my fists) and one of the drawbacks of dating big beefy studs was the fact that they could easily overpower me if I got out of hand. Luckily, fate did me a huge favor!

“You still thinking about breaking up with me?” I asked, picking up my stud by the waist. He kicked and wriggled at first until he started to slide from my grip. I didn’t even try to catch him. One good look at that drop below and my little man learned his lesson and grabbed on to my hand tightly.

“I… I… what are you talking about?”

“So you don’t want to break up with me?” I asked, setting him on the sink while I started pulling off my clothes.

“Babe, I’m… something happened to me! You have to call someone!” He backed away from me until he got to the edge of the basin, looked over the edge fearfully and then curled up into the fetal position.

“First, you need to wash up. And I could use a bath. Bubble bath sounds nice, right baby?” Turns out Kevin wasn’t as serious as breaking up with me as he thought--at least, that’s what he said as he rode a rubber ducky around the scalding bath water as I batted him around.