All for Nona - Chapter 4

4. The Horny Rabbit

“Crazy, fat, little soccer mom hair stylist!” Porter angrily grumbled to himself as he stormed out of the salon. “First I’m gonna give this place one star, than I’m gonna make sure she loses her job!”

Porter turned around and looked up to read its big, glowing sign.

“333 Design? Never heard of it,” he said.

Porter’s thumbs rapidly tapped out the name on his phone’s search engine. A second later a service error popped up.

“Huh? What the actual fuck? I’ve got unlimited service!” he said, making a face that he thought was righteous disgust, but with his bouncy blond doll curls, smooth face, and eye makeup, looked more like a bratty, pouting teen girl.

“Screw this!” Porter said to himself as he put away his phone. “Maybe I’ll look for Nona. She can give me a buzz and I’ll give her a bone!”

Porter smiled and started down the sidewalk. After a few steps he stopped in his tracks. He looked down at the concrete sidewalk, and then up at the rainbow starred night sky. His eyes widened as he noticed all the brightly lit stores and strange, neon-colored cars driving on the street. His jaw slackened.

“Where the fuck am I?” he said. Nona’s apartment building was in the heart of the city, and she lived in the penthouse – Porter went one floor down which should have put him at least twenty stories up. Instead, he was outside at street level in some kind of glam-forward night-life neighborhood! Granted, he did go down a magic hole. That fact slowly began to carry more weight as Porter considered what he saw.

None of the store names were familiar. Even the street signs and traffic lights looked odd. Everything was brighter, more vibrant than anyplace he had ever been. Even the sounds were strange: there were hardly any car noises, and absolutely no emergency vehicle sirens. However, Porter did hear club music, and it sounded near. After just a few thump, thump, thumps reached his ears he felt drawn towards the sound. A minute later, he spotted a short line of people waiting to enter a club with a pink neon sign that read “The Horny Rabbit.” Porter strolled up behind the two chatting girls at the end.

The girls looked about his age. One was curvaceous, tall, and black, with flickering colored beads in her long hair and a skin tight dress shimmering purple and green. The other, a skinny, Latina girl, would have been shorter, but she wore bright green plastic pumps that made her at least as tall as Porter. Combined with her low-cut leather pants and fuzzy tank top, she reminded Porter of his favorite stripper.

The brawny (but baby-skinned) beefcake decided to listen to their conversation before turning on his charm. A couple of air-headed club rats had nothing on Nona, but they were hot enough to go home with. He just needed to wait until they finished their inane gossip so he could get started.

“I know what you’re saying,” the curvy girl said, “I would call it more of a Hausdorff problem. I mean, if you start with a non-integer dimension and then work with a scale factor of three—”

“—There you go again with Hausdorff!” the leggy Latina cut in. “I’m talking about an orthonormal basis, not a simple fractal! It’s all about dot vectors and transformation statistics!”

“Well, you don’t have to be a bitch about it,” her friend answered.

Porter had no idea what the two girls were talking about, but he saw his chance to break in.

“Hey, ladies!” he said. “I can’t believe this place still has a line at four a.m. You know, if they’re closing soon maybe we could find another party?”

The girls looked at Porter with disdain. The Latina girl examined his toned, muscular legs, thick, strong arms, and broad shoulders, and then glanced at his ridiculously girly blond hair and smooth, soft cheeks. When she finished, she looked him in the eyes with a sneer that the former jock thought was an approving smile.

“Yeah, so, you’re new, right?” she said.

“New?  Oh, yeah, not one of my usual hangs,” said Porter.

“Not the club,” the girl continued, “The Nonagon.”

“The what now?” said Porter.

“The city, the country, the world,” said the tall, curvy girl. “It’s called the Nonagon. It’s—Oh,that’s us! See you later, boi!”

The girls turned around, sauntered past the waving bouncer, and disappeared into the club. The bouncer, a short, muscular, bearded man wearing sunglasses and a gold suit, held open the velvet rope and gave Porter a wave as well.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” said Porter.

He got the feeling that the bouncer was staring at his butt as Porter entered the dark entrance.

Black drapes hung along the vestibule walls, with only a slit of light to guide him inside. When he finally stepped through Porter felt the full sound and light of the club hit him like a kick in the chest. Colored spotlights and disco balls flashed in the air, temporarily blinding him. He blinked until he only had floating spots in his eyes. When he finished he saw hundreds of men and women dancing, drinking and flirting – and in some dark corners they were even more intimate.

Once Porter got his bearings, he headed over to a bar in the back. On the way he passed a menagerie of clubbers. Tall and short, thin and bulky, hairy, bald or just smooth, there were people of every size, shape, and color. There was no common style, either. Some people were dressed in the latest rave fashions, while some looked like they just came off a catwalk. Bondage leather and frilly petticoat wearers walked hand-in-hand. Preppy conservatives danced with people wearing furry costumes. Porter did a double take—he was not positive that the fluffy ears, tails and fur on some of the patrons really were costumes at all.

Mostly women were at the back bar. Not a single stool was empty, and there was little room to stand, but Porter managed to squeeze in-between two groups of hot girls. To his left was a bachelorette party in progress, with a bride-to-be wearing a flower crown as friends of various colors, shapes, and levels of inebriation fed her drinks. On his right was a trio of Asian girls dressed as Anime characters. At least, he thought their school girl uniforms were costumes. Their bare midriffs and short skirts did not look like they met any school’s regulations.

Porter started with the party on his left.

“Hey, congratulations!” he said to the bachelorette. “Can I buy a toast for the bride-to-be?”

The bachelorette smiled vacantly at him. The friend nearest to Porter, a flat-chested black girl with bright pink pigtails rolled her eyes at him. She wore purple and white striped leggings, a white top and an ultra-short pink skirt. Overall, she appeared more like a middle-schooler than someone who should be drinking in a club, but she looked at Porter like he was the child.

“Oh, look!” she said, “What an adorable dolly-do!”

With so many strange people around him Porter hoped his hair might get ignored. Fortunately, he was no stranger to bar-side banter.

“Like it?” he said, smiling. “My buddies bet me I wouldn’t get my hair done like this and then go out. Guess who won?”

Porter felt pretty proud of coming up with a good lie on the spot. However, the girl’s expression told him that she was not drunk enough to be amused.

“So, uh, how about that toast?” he said.

The pink-haired girl leaned over to the bachelorette to whisper in her ear. Both girls laughed, and then the pink-haired girl turned to the bartender.

“Hey, Hump!” she called, “Mr. Muscle Man wants to make a toast!”

The whole crowd of girls heard the announcement and burst out laughing. Porter failed to see what was so funny, but he laughed anyway.

“Here you go, Camilla,” said the bartender called Hump, who set two full champagne glasses down on the counter near Porter. He turned to get them, but was frozen at the sight of the bartender, who was a tall, muscular, dark-haired rabbit. With antlers. The fact that he was dressed like a pirate and wore a sword actually freaked out Porter less than anything else.

“Oh, uh…hey, thanks…man?” he stammered as he pulled out his wallet.

The tall, blue-gray furred bartender put up his hands to ward off the approaching payment.

“No, no, you don’t pay for a lady’s toast at the H.R. with money, buddy,” said Hump. Then he leaned in towards Porter with a serious, concerned expression on his face. “You, uh, you sure you want to do this?”

“What? Psh! Of course!” said Porter, “A pretty lady deserves to get pampered on her last night as a free agent!”

He picked up one drink and handed the other to the bachelorette, who squeezed Porter’s arm while she took it.

“Ooh! So hard!” she cooed.

Porter smiled, thinking his chances of being the hot floozy’s last fling just tripled. He decided to turn up his southern accent along with some more charm.

“So, ‘lil lady,” he drawled, “What do y’all want to toast to?”

The lovely brunette bachelorette stroked Porter’s bicep with her free hand. It was obvious to him what she was thinking about.

“We could toast your health, but you look pretty fit to me,” he said.  “Maybe we can go somewhere to—”

“—you sure are big and strong, aren’t you curly?” said the bachelorette, as she rubbed her toes along his calf.

“I suppose I am, ‘lil lady,” said Porter. He smiled from ear-to-ear, completely confident that he was going to give tomorrow’s bride one last thrill tonight.

“My fiancée isn’t,” she pouted.

“Isn’t what?”

“He isn’t big and strong!” she said, batting her eyes like a bad softcore porn actress. Then her eyes lit up with an idea. “Not like you.”

Porter began to count the ways he was soon going to fuck her.

“Let’s toast to that!” said the bachelorette.

“Sure,” said Porter, snapping back to the present. “Uh, to what exactly?”

“To being big and strong,” she said. “Let’s toast to my fiancée, so he’ll be as big and strong as you someday.”

She emphasized her request by wrapping her leg around Porter’s butt while her hand jerked off his bicep. The jock knew when he was about to score, so he raised his glass and said what he thought she wanted to hear.

“May your fiancée be big and strong,”

“As big and strong as you?” said the bachelorette.

“Yeah, sure, as big and strong as me,” said Porter.

“And tough, too?” asked Camilla, the pink-haired girl.

“Ha-ha! The groom ain’t all that butch?” said Porter.  “Well, maybe I can show you how a real man acts and you can pass it along.”

“Good enough for me,” said the bachelorette.

Their glasses clinked. They each took a sip. The bachelorette leaned in and blew into Porter’s ear, her warm, soft breath sent a tingle down his neck, and sent blood pumping to his cock. He turned to kiss her, but somehow he lost his balance and pitched forward. Fortunately, his flirtatious friend caught him before he fell. He was amazed by her surprising strength.

“Wow, thanks,” he said. His voice sounded a little odd, but right now his clumsiness worried him more. “Whoa, did the rabbit put a rufie in our drinks? I feel kind of tipsy.”

The bachelorette sat on her barstool smiling down at Porter.

Down at? He was standing next to her, how could she be looking down at him?

“Uh, whoa, lemme stand up here,” he said. He straightened up. He even hopped, but he was still an inch or two shorter than his would-be hookup. Porter looked around in confusion while her friends started to laugh behind their hands.

“Aw, how precious!” one dark-skinned lady teased. “Such a little sweetie!”

The rest of the girls giggled and snorted.

“I’d say curly-cue gave you the perfect wedding surprise!” Camilla said. “Looks like you’ll be consummating it a lot longer!”

“Longer, stronger, and manlier!” said another partier.

Porter looked around as the women erupted in laughter and catcalls. He began to panic as he realized they were all taller than him. They looked so mean and so much more powerful all of a sudden. In contrast, he felt so weak now that even his own clothes weighed him down. He grew even more frantic when he saw how loosely everything hung on him. His sleeves flopped over his hands and his pants slid down to his knees.

He swooned into the bachelorette’s arms, on the verge of fainting. A mocking sneer curled her lips as she laughed in his face. Porter suddenly felt his dick swell, so hard it hurt every time his heart beat. The dark-skinned lady pulled down his scrunched boxers to point at his erection while the whole party began to applaud and laugh again. The world began to spin, but this time Camilla – the tiniest girl in the room – scooped him up before he could stumble.

“Aw, careful, dolly-do!” she said. “Don’t fall down and go boom!”

Porter was scared and angry now. He felt tears well up in his eyes. He timidly tried to break away, but the girl was too strong. Then, when he tried to push free, he realized that his hands and arms were small, like some skinny weakling! He looked down at his body; his jersey hung to his knees, and his legs were naked. A wet drop of precum was visible where his jersey hung over his crotch. Now in a total panic, he slipped his hand out of the girl’s grip only to trip, falling hard.

He passed out on the sticky bar floor.

When he awoke, Porter was on a couch in a small room with a closed door. The only things around were a desk, a chair, a computer, and a bottle of whiskey. He wore his stained jersey and socks, but nothing else. Even though he felt light-headed he decided to try to stand. It took a few moments before he could keep his balance. Managing to stay on his feet did not make him feel better – not when everything seemed taller than it should be.

The truth began to sink in. Somehow, as bizarre as it sounded, he had to accept the truth: he had shrunk.

Then another horrible thought occurred to him.

He lifted his shirt and looked down. The sight of his limp dick both comforted and worried him. On the one hand it looked proportionate to his body. On the other hand, he had the body of a twerp, so proportionate meant a twerpy three inches hung down below.

Just then the door opened and the antlered rabbit bartender entered.

“Everything where it should be?” he asked.

Porter dropped his shirt, blushing.

“What’s going on?” he said. Once again, his voice surprised him. He sounded like a teenager. “What happened to me?” he whined. A wimpy teenager, at that.

“Shh, it’s okay, here,” said the rabbit, offering a handkerchief. Porter realized he was crying. Like a little sissy. He took the cloth and wiped his eyes.

“I-I don’t understand,” he said, sniffling. “What happened?”

“Look, we didn’t really meet before.  I’m Humphrey. I own this place. I thought you knew what you were doing when you took that champagne.”

“B-but, t-this is crazy!” said Porter. “I’m six foot tall! I weigh t-two hundred and t-twenty pounds! D-did I get hyp-hyp-hypnotized?” He choked and sobbed between almost every word.

“No, of course not!” said Hump. “You did it to yourself. You made a magic toast to give that girl’s fiancée your height and strength and manliness. He must have been a real Nancy boy…uh, no offense. I mean, he probably got a little extra in the switch, but mostly you gave him what he needed to be as macho as you are.  Um, as you were.  But, hey, look at the bright side…”

Porter wiped his wet eyes waiting for some kind of good news.

“Now your hairdo totally works!”