Soothing as it is to watch your sweet ol’ grandma savor her dreams while happily snoring away; you still need to wake her up in order to ask for her help; if only so that someone at least knows that you’re now less than thumb-tall. Knowing that you’ll be the one to pull her out of her sweet treat nirvana brings no shortage of grief to your heart, especially as she seems to enjoy her imaginary treats more than you’ve seen her like some real candies, but it will no doubt save her double the sourness of turning the house upside down in a fruitless search after her favorite grandson.
So you settled to collect your footing and resume your trek across the mighty, rotund titan that was grandma Anne. Gathering your step over her belly wasn’t as hard as you’d think it would’ve been, since as soft her tummy looked at a glance, under your minimized footprint her flesh was taut as a drum (which she could coincidentally play on if she wanted), and her nightgown didn’t snag that much over your feet either. That said, the journey across her belly wasn’t a walk through the park either, unless that park was a national park that spanned whole states; which wasn’t all that surprising, considering grAnne’s sizable pot belly, you were just thankful that after a couple minutes the plateau sloped down and cut you down some travel time.
But that just placed you at the gates of the next uphill battle to reach Anne’s ears. Now, usually you didn’t pay mind to your grandmother’s assets, for reasons as obvious as said assets were under most clothes/circumstances. However, there was no denying the facts as they were quite literally all up in your face: grandma was absolutely stacked. Even under the guise of her nightwear, her swollen chest peaked out towards her belly in two separate fronts that faced opposing sides on her abdomen each; and each one being easily the size of a massive chapel dome each. It didn’t help much that her sleepwear was breathable enough to allow some room for either mound to steer somewhat freely as she adjusted herself in her sleep, yet it hugged her shape close enough to tether either creamy orb to its sagging twin; bridging either with a steep overpass of her pajamas stretching to leash both straying puppies to her.
You sigh and grunt in advance for the upcoming climb, sizing up the height from the bottom of the cliff. Well, nowhere to go but up, so you better steed up and get it over with; and do it fast too, sleepy as Anne is, the last thing you want is for her to wake up and find her tiny grandson trying to become a master alpinist by practicing with her twin peaks first, or worse, fail to notice you and get up, wearing you like a pin on her shirt until either someone else noticed you or you fell off her.
Taking hold of the knits in her gown, you begin to ascend the mighty mountains of your grandma’s milkers; while also performing an even greater feat of mental athleticism by hurling your thoughts as far away from that last part as if you were aiming to break all records set. By keeping yourself centered on the climb you can at least ignore your placement on her chest somewhat, summoning some wall-climbing memories from last summer to coax your eyes to follow; but it becomes harder as you rise and find that cloth on the gap in between gets harder to hold on to the broader it gets. Which in turn steers your climb closer to her right breast starting halfway up.
Obviously wanting to avoid scoring second base with your grandma, you try to correct your course by strengthening your grip to compensate, but after a couple of near-slips almost undo your progress, you sight in defeat and cling close to Anne’s right breast. Immediately you wince and focus yourself on the necessity of your trip, trying to make up a dozen thousand excuses to distract yourself from your actions; although it’s never easy to commit your thoughts to the task at hand when each handful of progress feels as soft and warm as a cloud from heaven yet makes you feel as dirty as a weaseling salesman. Not even the veil of her nightwear helps to hide the gentle plush of her breast as much as you’d like to, and you’re very much screaming internally for that to be the case.
Finally, after the longest ten minutes of your life next to last term’s finals, you scurry up the leveling slope of her breast and get back on your feet as soon as you feel the ground stable enough. Your hands are burning for holy sanitation at this point, but that’ll have to wait until you’re large enough again that the basin won’t ask you to wait an hour before getting in first.
Now the final leg of your journey presents itself, in the shape of grandma Anne’s monumental face, thankfully resting close to her chest thanks to her pose being stepped up by a stack of pillows behind her. With her chin just a few inches shy from the base of her neck, you could easily close the gap with a well-placed jump. Then it’ll be some tricky maneuvering to circle her face all the way to her ear, but once you do, you’re well home free. Might as well floor it now that you’re so close to your goal, especially as you’re still racing against a random, invisible clock.
Eager to leave the zone around grandma Anne’s chest and absolutely never talk about it ever again (only keep it to yourself at the darkest reaches of your head, you hopeless teenage hot-mutt), you climb the tamer slope all the way to her face and once there you position yourself under your grandma’s chin. Surely enough, with some extra kick from your part, you’re well able to spring yourself so that your waist levels with the bottom of her chin.
It takes some tries after you fail the first, but once you gather your bearings you're not stopping until you get it right. One, two, three tries and then some. Until one time, your hand manages to grasp and clutch around some tiny hairs at her chin, which you fiercely hold on to as you balance your weight on her. Once you do, you throw your hand towards a similar clump of fine snow-whites upper still, making your way towards her lower lip as you tag every new handle with surgical caution; making sure to time your swings to match the sway of her jaw as she snores.
Reaching her lips presents you with a chance for a break as the first milestone across her face. Plopping your hands down the wrinkly sill, you hoist yourself up and are greeted with a warm blast of her morning breath from the abyss beyond. And you thought your grandma was sloppy enough with her kisses, well, now you see that she also boasts a splash zone worthy of a water park each time she rips a snore. The next thing that you notice after your grandma’s diesel-grade lung engine and exhaust is that Anne’s mouth remains nearly fully agape in her sleep. You saw this back from atop her belly, where her roaring bellows didn’t match a cave dragon; but now that you’re actually there, it’s… it’s certainly awesome.
You can’t help but find it fascinating in fact; despite the overwhelming warmth and the misty haze permeating the air in and around it, this was some interesting sight that you wouldn’t get from most textbooks. From the arch of Anne’s lips you gathered a very thorough mapping of her maw, starting from the rows of pearly formations that were nearly as tall as you, most of them gleaming off their shiny coat from the room’s lighting, with very few if any showing off any blemishes, other than those that were seemingly sinking into her gum line perhaps. No wonder Anne never had to resort to a glass on the bedstand other than for drinking. The walls and ceiling of her mouth beamed back a healthy, strong pink color as well, each side rising and falling like a see-saw with every raspy breath your granny took. Much like her tongue, also painted a bright pink that quivered in waves back and forth across its length.
And of course, you couldn’t leave out the feature that also denied an exit to anything that befell your grandma’s appetite. Right by the end of the uneasy track of her tongue lie the pit of her throat, a sharp drop past the point of no return where anything that fit inside it would be banished into her stomach, to become little but fuel to her beastly engine. You feel yourself enthralled by the sight, oddly fascinated at the par of frightened by the gaping horizon. Granny Anne lingered on the heavier side for a reason after all, but it’s just now that her gullet beckons you across the red carpet leading into oblivion when the realization strikes you. Things bigger, longer, and far more noticeable than you, have vanished into that hole never to return; if you were to approach the back of her mouth, all it would take was for you to slip on the slithering floor and you’d be piped down the same way, not to be seen as your granny’s beloved grandson but rather as another tasty morsel for her to indulge in, to forsake your trace as filler for her form.
It’s then while musing over her utter power to end you without a thought that your train is derailed by a storming gale. Namely, a long-winded breath; Anne was yawning! Your heart plummets to your undies as the breeze pulls you from your safe perch and sweeps you across the slimy surface of her tongue. It’s disgusting enough that the firm, spongy muscle has no qualms in lubing you up with enough slobber to polish an army of boots, but the worst part is that you realize where you’re headed to: the very bottomless pit that you were gazing on not a second ago!
Anne’s throat flexes open as it devours the gust that ferried you towards the chasm, looming ever closer to spell your end!
With mere moments and just a few yards between grandma’s throat and you…
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