You rode the Tinyway bus with trepidation, double-checking your appearance in your phone camera and tugging at the collar of your shirt, making sure everything was as perfect as could be for your meeting with Kelly. You had just gotten off work, and unfortunately didn’t have time to shower, so you still smelled like grease and food. You applied an extra layer of deodorant before you left.

 

For safety’s sake, most of the Tinyway was underground. It didn’t cost too much to bury it anyway, since giant-sized heavy equipment wasn’t even necessary to dig the holes. A giant could do it with a shovel. You missed the older routes that were still being demolished, when the Tinyway was above ground. It would snake around the sides of buildings and go overhead the giants. It wasn’t safe, and it was always a target for accidents, pranks, and vandalism. But on the bright side, it afforded incredible views. It was, after all, at waist height with the giantesses. Sometimes women would lean against the wall, not realizing they were perching their butt right above a Tinyway. If it weren’t for the glass tube protecting it, you would have been crushed by an oblivious woman’s ass many times over.

 

You shook your head. This wasn’t time to daydream of good memories involving giantesses you didn’t even know. You were about to meet a real, live giantess in person! One who wanted to see you! And you had a purpose, too: you were meeting at her place so you could show off your cooking skills, and you’d be damned if you didn’t try to make her the best meal your one year of cooking school could muster.

 

It was tough cooking for giantesses. Your teachers often had difficulty rating the dishes from the tiny section of the class. Even if a tiny made way more portions than necessary, the dish wouldn’t even be a single bite for her, so they had to go on a very small taste alone, and couldn’t judge plating, or texture, or anything else really. A whole plate you put hours of work into would be licked up in a split second. Sometimes they’d even slurp up the plate by accident, and return it to you dripping with saliva. So you knew it would be a real challenge to please Kelly, but you were determined to try.

 

You had a killer recipe for Beef Bourguignon that had impressed your teacher, and you were positive Kelly would love it. You figured she’d have some of the ingredients in her kitchen, and you were lugging around some marinating beef in a huge insulated camping backpack, along with a hot plate, a set of tiny knives, cutting boards, bowls, and anything else you’d need. You couldn’t count on her having any tools suited for your size. You might have overprepared, though, as it was killing your back to lug around such a heavy backpack. 

 

You exited the tinyway and walked up to the street, on the sectioned-off, glass-walled zone for tiny pedestrians. You double-checked the address on your phone. Yep, this is the place. You gazed up at the plain, gray-brick, cookie-cutter apartment block. It was a modest building, but to you it was as tall as any skyscraper. The giants’ door alone was taller than your own apartment building.To the side of the landing stairs, along the sidewalk, right next to the drain, behind a garbage bin, was the tiny door. It was covered in rust, and it looked like it hadn’t been painted in decades. This, sadly, was the state of most tiny-accessible features, even for otherwise well-maintained giant buildings. You weren’t sure if it would even open. On the call box, the buttons had no labels. You texted Kelly.

 

“hey, im here. theres no labels on the tiny callbox. can you let me up?”

 

She responded: