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eBook Category: Dark Fantasy
eBook Description: Meeting the parents carries no greater challenge than when your intended is a pixie named Tinkerbell and you must explain to her human mother and father how a marriage to their diminutive daughter could possibly benefit her. Is her would-be fiance a deviant? Or is he merely, what with his interest in doll houses and his calling as a micro-surgeon, a peculiar but nearly perfect match? Giving him the third degree in the study over cigars will, her father hopes, reveal all--as indeed it does!

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Crank! magazine, Issue 1, 1993
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2006

18 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [167 KB], eReader (PDB) [25 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [11 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [11 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [74 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [83 KB], hiebook (KML) [83 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [37 KB], iSilo (PDB) [10 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [13 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [40 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [20 KB]
Words: 3385
Reading time: 9-13 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

I understand her parents' wariness. A woman like my Tinkerbell is bound to attract the amorous attentions of the wrong sort now and again. So when they open the door and appraise me like a suspect gem, not smiling, not yet inviting me in, I understand and forbear. "Good evening," I say, and let the silence float like untroubled webs of gossamer between us.

After a time, Mr. Jones turns to his wife and says, "What do you think?"

"The eyes look reasonably sane," she replies, to his nod, "though that's not always an airtight indicator these days and there is a worrisome edge to them."

I look down, stifling the urge to defend myself, and am gratified to hear Mr. Jones say, "Man with his hobbies and profession is bound to have sharp eyes. I say we give him the benefit and let him in."

She sighs. "Oh, all right. Come in out of the heat, young man. Put your shoes there." A serried rank of them faces the wall like naughty students: practical ones for Mr. and Mrs. Jones, scuffed high-tops for twelve-year-old Melissa, and, looking more like shed leaves than footwear, Tinkerbell's familiar green-felt slippers. I unknot and loosen my buffed black Florsheims and set them beside my beloved's footwear, thinking what a marvel her tiny feet are and how delightful it is--ensconced alone in her cozy apartment after a date--to take her legs, right up to the thighs, into my mouth and lightly tongue those feet, her tiny soles, the barely perceptible curve of her insteps, the sheer white-corn delicacy of her ten tiny toes. How ecstatically my darling pixie writhes and wriggles in my hand, her silver-sheened wings fluttering against my palm!

"Hi, Alex." I look up and there's Melissa standing by an archway that leads to the dining room.