A mite admires his betters

His hot breath gusted over my face, scattering flecks of moisture across my features. The dark gullet ahead of me seemed to stretch wider. More imposing. Whether that was because his throat was actually stretching with its idle movements or a trick of my eyes, it really didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was the pink, organic tunnel ahead of me. A flexing, slick abyss that led to a much more caustic world than I’d ever known.

Light bounced off of his tonsils and gullet with tiny, scattered flecks. The thin coating of saliva in his throat would serve to drag me down more easily. I’d be coated in the stuff, both choked and half-drowned if he wanted to. If I squinted, I could imagine that the light show was nothing more than the glow of a few Christmas lights or the dancing scatter seen on a busy road. But no, it was just his mouth. Beckoning.

His tongue looked so soft. Weird, considering it was a powerful muscle capable of dragging me helplessly around his mouth. It could slam me into his soft, smooth cheeks and smother me with its weight. Trap me against the roof of his mouth and roll across my body to suckle out every last bit of flavor from my skin. I wondered what flavors it would receive. Was I salty? Sweet? Hopefully not bitter, though I was particular taste wasn’t why he would do it.

If you looked closely, you could see that his tongue was coated in a packed pattern of darker spots, all of them pinpricks of color with even smaller tastebuds scattered about. I always found it interesting how some people had that extra splash of pigment on a sensory organ. What was the point? Most of them were focused near its tip, though his tongue was quite a bit broader than average. Laying flat in his mouth as it was, it almost looked like a waterbed. It swayed and twitched ever so slightly with his breathing. I could hardly look away.

There I was, standing on his lower lip while he slept. I didn’t know his name, nor his opinion of tiny folk like myself. He would never know about me, even if he looked directly at me. Yet, I was obsessed. Perhaps that was why I was so obsessed. His existence was so much bigger than mine. I was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

So why did I want to explore him so much? To learn all I could while he went about his business? I lived in his home, hiding amongst the cracks and imperfections in his space. I should have stayed far away and never put myself in danger of being close.

But, as I climbed down from the vista of his plump, beautiful lips, I admitted to myself that I knew why. For some reason, I loved him. I couldn’t explain it. It certainly wasn’t a proper love. I didn’t know his name for God’s sake! But when I looked at the smallest pieces of his body, I felt a rush. His skin, fingers, nose, and toes… all of them were precious to me. These scant few moments of contact were what I lived for.

He was beautiful, and I was nothing. And yet, I was happy.


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