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stevebasiclovestheworld · 4 months ago

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Growing into the Job, Post 406: Babysitting, p1

“Now, isn’t that adorable,” Randi said, in her typically acerbic tone, in her typically smoky voice, as I came around the corner downstairs in my typically reticent way.

Let's back up a bit. Melissa had gone to work hours ago, leaving me swaddled in her bedsheets,. We’d ‘agreed’ that I was too exhausted and would stay home today. It was a little hard to remember honestly. After my time with ‘Mr. Sock’, everything was a blur. I just remember nodding as she wrapped me carefully in her sheets. Either way, my RNs would be able to cover my patients while I was gone. It really seemed like I didn't have much to do these days. I figured, after all the stress I’d been through, I deserved a break. It was good that there were people on which I could rely.

Melissa, on the other hand, was working hard. It was one of our last days before the new wings opened (I hadn’t even set foot in them yet) and there was a lot to do for her and the other girls: new staff to prepare for, press to deal with, all the final preparations. I got the feeling they didn’t want me in the way.

Anyway, I was peeled myself out of bed just before noon, and immediately I could feel it. As soon as I’d dropped the bra Melissa had left me to cuddle in my sleep, my stomach took a turn. A few more steps away from it and the headache started. Only by picking it back up and taking a breath from one of its enormous cups of firm white satin allowed me to feel better. Jesus! What was in that perfume she wore?? I actually needed to keep the bra near me, hanging it close by the shower as I rinsed myself off. I guess I’d be breathing through it today.

Thus, the snide ‘adorable’ comment. I’d needed the bra over my mouth and nose to come downstairs, dressed in sweats and a new collared shirt after my shower, and when I turned into the great room I found Randi curled up on the couch with her laptop, looking right at me. I froze, flushing in embarrassment. I was probably quite the sight.

“You realize you don’t need that, right? Not with me here,” Randi continued, eyeing me with an amused glint that made me feel even smaller than my - man, I didn’t even know how short I was at that point. “But if you want to keep wearing Missy’s bra over your face all day, be my guest.”

I could feel how I wasn’t quite willing to let it go, and I found myself taking another deep breath. I knew this was ridiculous though, so after an awkward moment of staring at Randi with Melissa’s bra covering my face, I tentatively peeled it away and set it down. I took took a new breath. Yes, the familiar perfume that filled the air at the office and followed Melissa in a cloud wherever she went was here, too. Randi must be wearing it. Great, I guess.

“Thanks,” I muttered, now awkwardly looking for a place to deposit my girlfriend's industrial-grade brassiere.

“Here, bring it,” Randi bid me, waving me over towards her. Being her typical self, she seemed impatient with me already.

In little steps I approached, handed it to her. I took note of her outfit: casual lounge wear, ¾ length pants of soft gray cotton, and a black tank. Her long, racehorse legs were curled beneath her, her feet bare.

She took the bra and put it aside herself on a side table, next to some paperwork and a glass coffee mug. “Missy wanted me to run a load of laundry, I’ll throw this in.” She looked at me again, up and down, regarding me with a snide smirk on her lips as I stood, saying nothing. “You can help with that later.”

“s-sure,” I agreed.

She looked at me, and I at her. Randi really was a gorgeous girl: tall, darkly lean, elegant composure…and now quite busty herself, to which she drew attention by casually adjusting one of the straps of her top .

Finally she spoke again. “So, it’s you and me today,” Randi began, a curl coming to her smile and dimpling her high cheeks, dark eyes sparkling, “I was here all night making sure the morons fixed everything. Which they did, finally. Did you hear them last night?”

Finally called to communicate, I rallied myself. “Uh…uh, no, not really.” I looked around: yeah, the table was back in place, the walls patched with the smell of fresh paint sharing the air with Randi’s perfume. A light fixture or two were missing, but otherwise the place looked normal. “I must have slept through it.”

“Yeah I heard she gave you quite the evening, quite the night,” Randi quipped, “nine times, huh, stud?” Her eyes glittered again at my obvious discomfort as I recalled it all. “I felt each one, down here. You made me finally bust through my old sandals,” she added, “thanks a lot.”

A pair of gray plastic flip-flops sat off to the side, straps popped.

This can’t be real.

She saw me looking at them.

“Anyway,” Randi continued, “between all those nuts of yours and Katarina’s breastmilk I heard you slept like a baby. Not me I-”

“Sh-she told you that?” I sputtered, feeling a new wave of ignominy wash over me, my face flushing anew.

“Haha yeah she did,” she chuckled, tickled by my discomfort, “she said you sucked it all down and then spent the rest of the night on the nipple.”

“Wh-what?!?” I exclaimed. I have to talk to her! I immediately thought, I don’t want all this sh-

“Hey, relax, at least one of us got some sleep,” Randi added, obviously a bit irritated. “Actually, seeing you sleep so much makes Missy more reluctant to give you more of Katarina’s milk. She used the last one in the fridge last night, but it really knocks you out.”

“Yeah,” I answered, not knowing what to say but skin squirming as I pictured the two of these women talking about me like this, making decisions for me, trying to adjust my behavior. Discussing my diet of breastmilk, for god’s sake.

“I thought maybe I’d be able to sleep but I have all this social media stuff to handle,” Randi lamented, using outstretched hands to demonstrate the laptop, the tablet and the piles of paper she had surrounding her. It looked like a lot, I guess. “Your girlfriend’s made quite the stir, with her tv interview last night. I’m trying to handle all the new attention she’s getting today. Her accounts, the office’s - even mine and the other girls’. They’re all suddenly very popular. Yours too.“

“Wait, what? Mine?” Without a phone since this past weekend, I really hadn’t seen my accounts for days. Not that I ever really paid them much attention.

“Yeah, even yours,” Randi answered, “Missy asked me to start running your IG too, handling all the attention since Amelia’s video dropped. So, I’ve been replying to all your new ‘fans’, posting a few things for you and-”

“B-b-b-but that’s..that’s-“ Gah! That’s private! What could these girls find out about me if..if…? “How’d you get my passwords??”

“Hey you should be happy,” Randi said - obviously ignoring my question - “you’ve got like more than twelve thousand followers now. Everyone wants a piece of Mr. Vulni, of Melissssy’s scrawny little boyfriend.”

“Jeez,” I offered, running a hand through my hair, scratching my scalp and aware of the dark little thrill of narcissistic pride that gave me Am I popular now? (and why am I not bothered by the ‘scrawny’ jab?). Plus, despite the invasion of privacy - was she actually pretending to be me online? - this was Randi’s job, I guess, handling our social media. I realize now that I was trying to rationalize. I used to do that a lot. “The news thing, Melissa’s interview was good? For getting some, uh, followers? For, y’know, the office. I haven’t see-“

“‘Good?’” Randi snorted, “It’s insane. Another part of it’s coming tonight at 6:30. And - they’re talking about broadcasting the whole profile piece nationally on MSIT. Fuck. I think I’m busy with these accounts after last night? If that happens, she’s gonna be huge. I’m going to need fifteen of me.”

I had the feeling that, despite her tone, Randi maybe didn’t mind her new responsibilities as much as she let on. “Wow,” was all I could manage, “Huge, huh..?” Was my girlfriend actually getting famous? Big, tall girls are in, I guess, and for that Melissa definitely qualifies. How many men were out there following her? Should I haha be jealous? I didn’t really know what I was feeling, aside from a weird, sudden buildup of pressure in my balls. “...Th-that’s great I guess.”

“Yeah, just more work for me. Plus, I now have you to babysit,” she finished, picking her laptop up off her lap and setting it aside. She took a deep breath, sitting up straight, and looked at me. “So, what do you want to do? Are you hungry?”

Babysit? I’d barely heard her question, still shocked by and stuck on that word. Melissa had used ‘babysit’ this morning, before she left me to sleep. She was, of course, joking (right?) but with my condition making me sensitive I bristled at it then, and I did it again now. “Hey Randi I know Melissa left you here t-“

“Oh shut it, I’m babysitting you,” she said, as she prepared to stand, “Just count yourself lucky she didn’t ask little Jenny from down the street to do it.”

“Who’s ’Jenny’?”

“Omigod you’re sooo clueless. C’mere-“

At that, Randi stood from the couch, hand outstretched toward me. She smiled, her lips taking on an extra curl and eyes sparking as she saw me take in her height, and then she took a step back allowing me to appreciate the scale of us.

I was, oh my god, barely up to her breasts.

“WOW you’re short,” she exclaimed, “Shorter than yesterday for sure.” She cocked her head at me, obviously enjoying this. “What are things like for you down there,” she chuckled, “having to look up at us ladies all the time?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Now, you missed breakfast, it’s already lunchtime, and she wanted me to make sure you ate. But first I want to check something.” She took a step toward the kitchen and waggled her hand at me, beckoning me to her. “Come.”

I didn’t move, still astounded. I did feel shorter.

“Come. Here.”

At that, Randi grabbed my hand and yanked me toward her. Dragging me with strides longer than my own, she started marching me towards the kitchen, where there was milk in the fridge and - fuck me - a measuring tape in the drawer.

“I want to check this out,” she said, voice alive with excitement as she stood me against the wall and pulled open the tape, ”Let’s see just how much you’ve lost...”

…

Twenty minutes later I was sitting, sullen in front of the tv, on the opposite end of the couch from where Randi was working with her laptop. My lunch was on the coffee table in front of me: PB&J on toast, a glass of whole milk that I made sure to watch Randi pour from a regular milk carton, thank you very much, and some veggie chips. I was leaning forward with my chin in my hands, ignoring my lunch and half-watching this show Randi had put on for me to keep me occupied while she worked.

I really wasn’t hungry, and every bite was bland and tasteless. Likewise, I could barely concentrate on the tv as those numbers just kept going through my head:

Fifty-five inches. I was 4’7”. I’d shrunk five inches in less than a week! I should be freaking out, I should be terrified. I was diminishing, in so many ways, more than just vertically, and I should’ve been putting every ounce of my energy into figuring out what was going on. But, instead, there I was, with a little-kid’s lunch I’d picked over, watching some daytime tv while one of my new employees babysat me and did all the work. I was at a complete loss of what to do. Five inches! In less than a week! I couldn’t stop lamenting it. At least Melissa will be happy to hear this. She likes me short.

I took a bite of my sandwich, sweet and chewy. Yuck.

Randi had plunked me down in front of the television so she could get back to work. She’d run through a few options with the remote and settled on MSIT, this new men’s network, which was running a marathon of some apparently popular retro sitcom. The first season released just recently, but done in a style from yesteryear. The special effects (they had to be special effects, right?) were pretty impressive...

I don’t know how it was lost on me, the similarities between “Harry”, the hapless breadwinner main character and myself. His wife - all wives, all women in fact, had grown two feet - and of course the male population of suburban 1964 was just trying to keep up appearances, living in various stages of denial. Hilarity, of course, ensues. Like in this episode where Harry starts to realize his business suits are all seeming a little too big on him. “Did you put this in the wash, honey?” he asked his towering wife. He’d interrupted her morning coffee with the girls from the neighborhood.

“Darling, you know that would shrink your suit,” she replied patiently, looking down at her blunderbuss husband, “if anything you should be asking if I threw you in there…”

I hate sitcoms with laugh tracks.

Anyway, once that episode was over, and then six more, I’d reached to grab the remote and - under Randi’s watchful eye - started flipping around the channels. I hadn’t seen a lot of midafternoon TV recently, but it certainly hadn’t improved in quality. Talk shows, mainly. ‘The View’, ‘Judge Judy’, stuff like that. It wasn’t too different from normal as long as you didn’t pay attention to the details. For a moment, I settled on ‘The Kathleen O’Connor Show’, a talk show which had several female executives from some big company in the studio. Nexifem, it looked like.

“Welcome back!” announced the pretty blonde host in a smooth and cheerful voice, “Today we’re talking about exciting radical futures and just how far the fempowerment movement can take us toward a better world. What is the next level? Where can women make helpful changes to push toward a better future? We’ve got some big surprises for you today, including something that may shock many of you.”

The host’s smile was ebullient, inviting me to keep watching, but there was something ominously disturbing about the applause that rose from the all-woman audience in response to her words.

“How many of you have wondered or speculated just what might happen if the vulni-chic movement went even further?” she continued, the camera pulling back to reveal that she was standing behind a table upon which lay a large metal platter, covered by a large metal dome with a handle.

The sound of clapping and voiced affirmations rose like a wave. There was definitely excitement in the audience. They wanted to see what was under that dome, on that platter.

“And how many of you have noticed just how many young men are choosing supplements and lifestyles that seem to limit their size, so they can appeal to potential girlfriends, their wives, or just fit in more with the trends - even to get jobs?”

Again, the applause rose in response to the host’s question.

“Well ladies, let me show you something that will blow your minds!” the host continued, big hoop earrings jangling as her right hand came to the handle of the shiny metal dome, “Today we have some special guests, incl-“

Suddenly, the channel changed. Randi had grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

Did she not want me to see that?

“One of the girls just texted me,” she said, pointing it at the television, “Channel 5’s replaying Missy’s interview from last night, for the afternoon news.”

“Cool.” I hadn’t seen this yet. I’d wanted to-

Yikes.

Onscreen: Melissa. Melissa in an oh-my-god plunging pink top and a camera angle that put her biggest assets front and center. Jesus christ look at her! She was in the backseat of some car, maybe a limo, and the reporter was interviewing her.

“What is she wearing…?” I muttered.

“She chose that pink top to flex on all the little men watching,” Randi commented, as I stared wide-eyed at the screen. The news piece was supposed to be a story about FHMA, our grand re-opening/expansion, but this seemed more like a study in idolatry, a fetishistic focus on our amazonic Office Manager…and my girlfriend. “Meager male minds are melting everywhere, I’m sure,” Randi finished. There was a strange tone to her voice, but that was entirely lost on me. Rather, I was getting more consumed by a strange, unusual feeling for me.

She chose to wear that? On tv? I silently seethed, imagining all the men plastered to their sets at home leering at her. Even with me, feeling this - let’s face it - jealousy, I found there was no way to take my eyes off her. I became immediately hard just watching. I felt hypnotized and another sudden swelling in my balls. I had a load, ready, pent up, growing. I wanted to show her. I needed to release for her.

All the others do too, don’t they?

Randi, to my side, was watching me more than she was watching the screen. She saw me enraptured, and my brow furrowing. Slowly, she inched over towards me on the couch, and - remote still in hand - rewound the interview to the beginning as it came near its conclusion. The whole thing ran maybe three minutes and we were going to watch it again, from the beginning.

Staring at the screen, watching Melissa’s breasts jiggle and sway as she laughed and joked with the reporter, I was barely aware of Randi getting down in front of me where I sat and kneeling. “Look at her, dude, look at how amazing Missy is,” I only half-heard what she said, my eyes glued to the screen. She slowly and gently pushed my knees apart and - looking up at me to make sure I was still watching, she pulled the waistband of my sweatpants down over my steel pole of an erection that had sprung in my pants without me even noticing.

She gave me the remote, told me to pause and rewind whenever I wanted. When she placed it in my hand I felt my small fingers curl around it as I continued to watch the jiggly display in front of me, becoming glassy eyed.

I didn’t see Randi flex her jaw, opening her mouth up much wider than should be humanly possible.

“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” she then purred in a voice thick with portent, watching how my eyes had completely glazed over.

She’d begun to lightly stroke me, as I stared.

“Look at her,” Randi purred, “You can’t help it, she’s fucking magnetic. Everyone wants to look at her, to watch her, to listen to what she says.” <Stroke, stroke, stroke> came her attentions on my cock, though still I don’t think I was barely registering it, or what she was saying to me. “And this is just the beginning, buddy. I was on social media all night, and that’s what I’ve been doing today. Pushing her out everywhere. This interview is going to explode and she’s going to get huge. Are you ready for that? Are you ready to live completely in your girlfriend's shadow?”

Into the otherwise empty house, to the replay of Melissa giggling and smiling on the big screen tv, I groaned aloud.

“Because this interview, the piece they’re doing on the grand opening?” Randi continued, as precum had begun to drool out of me, “It’s not really about the practice, or some new women’s health center, no. It’s all about her. She’s going to be a bigger deal than “Far Horizons” ever could be.”

“Oh god…yes…” I moaned to Melissa when she casually shifted her enormous breasts toward the camera, nearly filling the screen. Randi was right. Melissa had said it to me last night - hadn’t she? - that she was going to be the biggest. Had she said it out loud? Had I just imagined it? But that's what she wanted, and Melissa tends to get what Melissa wants. And not just big and famous. But, like, big and BIG. Taller, stronger, bigger than anyone else, ever. Some impossible goal that you'd hear on a playground. Something fantastical that would need the laws of biology and physics to be bent out of shape, which, by god, had already begun to happen.

I hadn't taken her seriously, thinking it to be hyperbole, but, watching her on television I was starting to realize that she might just turn that ridiculous goal into a reality. She was getting exactly what she'd said she would, but what I didn’t know then was that the seeds for this were all planted long, long before I even knew her.

“You know it, don’t you?” Randi continued, “It’s all about her.”

Once again, with Melissa’s tits on the tv I was barely listening to Randi. I did feel it, though, and moaned in assent when finally she put her lips onto me, over me, sliding me head, shaft and -oh my god - balls into her huge, warm mouth. My entire manhood, tip-to-root, was inside Randi and - with just a little shift forward - fully between her teeth. It didn’t even cross my mind at the time: how is she doing that? I was too enraptured in watching Melissa on screen, laughing and posing and broadcasting her magnificence to the world…

=====================================================================================

Big thanks to longtime reader Jack for some dialogue help, and also thanks again to Horuvex for allowing the universe of GITJ overlap his, in this chapter with ‘The Kathleen O’Connor Show’. Want to - spoiler alert - know what was on that platter? Read his “Nexifem”.

#growingintothejob

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