As I fall back into the recliner I can feel it slowly receding beneath me. The leather groans as my dry skin slides haltingly along the seat, my legs extending ever outward. As I sit back and close my eyes I can feel the seat back press lower and lower along my spine, the leg rest drag further and further up my calves until I am twice the recliner’s size, the top of the chair hitting halfway up my back, my knees folded over the edge of the leg rest, my feet planted firmly on the floor.
A moment to savor the change: I wiggle my four-inch toes and lift my 22-inch-long feet into the air, noticing how my two feet put together extend longer than the 42-inch diagonal for the flat screen TV hanging on the wall.
I take a deep breath and slide out of the chair and move aside so that I can sit on the floor, my back against the wall. I complete the change by leaning back and resting my head against the wall so I can feel it rise, finishing my growth as my head hits the top of the 9-foot ceiling, resting there like a balloon released by a child’s hand.
My now three-feet-long feet reach more than three-quarters of the way across the room, framing my flat screen TV perfectly with my toes extending almost to the bottom of the TV as it hangs above the floor. My feet are taller than the screen itself by several inches, a pleasant reminder of my size as I sit back and enjoy the show. Every now and then I hold my foot up next to the screen to see how it compares, sometimes nudging the TV set to the right angle if it slips with my big toe.
Sometimes, for fun, I lay on the floor and raise my feet up to touch the ceiling and rest them there, just to get the circulation going. I try to be gentle so as not to disturb the neighbors, but every now and then when I make a mistake I just tell them I was moving my furniture. I “redecorate” about every three months.
This is how I spend my evenings after a long day at work. I am at my most relaxed, my “normal” size. I don’t remember exactly how it started. My parents thought it was a growth spurt—even I did at first. I grew three inches in one day, then another three. Finally, when I was about to hit seven feet I panicked—I didn’t want to be a freak. “No, no, no” I told myself. And that was it, I willed myself smaller. I looked at myself in the mirror, my mind slipped for a moment, and I began to grow. “No!” I said louder, and I shrank more.
Over time I learned to refine my thinking so that I can stay normal size in public—as normal as six-foot-nine can be. I have to make sure my thoughts don’t wander so that I don’t grow a few inches by mistake. It’s good that my knees come up so close to most desks so that I can catch myself during work or school.
It’s like holding in an erection, or no, holding your breath. Take a small, shallow breath—that’s what it feels like for me when I hold my height down. It’s like water is reaching halfway up my head and I have to hold my head above water just to breathe, only that far away from drowning. The taller I become, the more relaxed the feeling becomes—up to a certain point.
If I grow too much (or take in too much air), my “lungs” expand until they hurt. This is why I don’t grow beyond my “evening body,” about three times my normal size. Any further and it starts to hurt. So I just relax and enjoy my closet-sized living room, sometimes only staying twice my size if I want some extra room.
Being this size can cause problems when friends come to call. It can take some work to get back down to normal size when I’m feeling totally relaxed. The one good thing about “being six-nine” is that if I miss a few inches and end up at seven feet, no one can really tell the difference anyway.
Using the computer is out of the question at this size. I wouldn’t want to raise suspicion by getting a giant keyboard—maybe I could tell people it was a gag gift, who knows. I also have to shrink back down to normal size to use the telephone, to press the buttons. It will be nice to have a computer someday that can voice-dial. I wonder if I have to train it to both my voices, large and small.
“Holding my breath” to stay small has had some interesting bedroom situations, too. One time on a day I didn’t feel the need to be six-nine, I decided to see what it would be like to be short, so I “held my breath” and made myself five-six. Took home a normal sized guy, and by the time we were done making out my feet extended outward beyond the bed.
“This is my talent,” I said, as we stood up and compared sizes, his mouth agape in awe. He came up to my chest.
We kissed passionately. I grew.