Intertwined

Like the smallest vine reaching for the tallest tree.
Like the smallest vine reaching for the tallest tree.

I created this collage using several different images, and the background is a remix of a photograph titled Legs by kitta, both image and author found at Flickr. I was taken with it when I saw the skirt and how it was made with a really great fabric pattern.

At first I had no idea in which way I’d ever get to use it, but when I spotted the right little guy I knew what I was going to do. As it turned out, I ended up using parts from three different images to frankenstein together the shrunken man. It was both hell and fun, but not as much eternal damnation as the shadows were.

As to what inspired the collage, it is far too dirty for me to share here, so I’ll just say they are talking. Yeah, just talking.

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6 thoughts on “Intertwined

  1. I think it’s a lovely pose, a lovely arrangement. I’d hope that, at some point in the course of being owned, one of my nights would resemble this. Though, of course, I’m no semblance of the beefcake your little men are. They’re all chiseled features and bulging lumps of meat, and I’m … remarkable only for my astounding unnoteworthiness. I could tell my giantess interesting stories, at least, while someone more physically toothsome is… talking to her. Just talking.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Alas, the reason I started collaging was that every time I looked at collages, the woman would be stark naked, super buxom, and spread wide for the little guy, while he was typically… uninspiring. It didn’t seem fair, and it didn’t get my clicks. Day after day, month after month, people putting out what THEY liked, led me to the conclusion I should do the same.

      Yes, they can keep using Cornelius Evazan’s likeness if they want to. That’s fine with me. But… I’m happy to see collagers are now using much sexier male raw materials for their collages. There are still those guys that defecate garbage images. They will always exist, and they don’t need my validation. They get plenty of it from their targeted audience.

      Hey, your giantess thinks you are remarkable. She thinks you are noteworthy. Who cares about chiseled bulges and whatnot, when your giantess wants your stories, and isn’t interested in what anyone else whispers in her ear? Sure, she might enjoy interesting reading material, and the occasional iPet catalog… but in the end she puts that aside and wants to see what *you* are doing.

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      • But you have to recognize there’s a different dynamic. Unevolved guys look at relationships in terms of upgrades. They can do better than what they’ve got, and they’re terrified that they could be replaced by someone better (which is proof, in their eyes, that they’re not that great after all). This carries over into the sizist relationship: the giantess is perusing her catalog of beefy, bulgy little Tinies with chiseled alpine ski instructor cheekbones and churning sinews, and then she glances over at me, thin of limb and getting a little pudgy, scrawling out yet another tedious sestina about her feet, and then back at the catalog of piercing, thoughtful expressions, perfectly coiffed hair, light and shadow in black-and-white, thinking about what that toned meat must feel like in her palm… or between her thighs. Then back at me, thinking of the last time I passed out because her breast fell on me, or the shriek I emitted when she tugged at my wrist too hard by accident.

        Tinies are a dime a dozen in the best of times. Giantesses are precious and rare, and don’t they know it. I’m consumed by living on borrowed time, scrambling for ways to be charming and unique and memorable as my body slowly betrays me, and those issues of iPet keep turning up in her mailbox. And when a Tiny’s neck accidentally gets wrenched, there’s no obligation to report this to any state agency: I just go straight into compost. I know what the deal is, it’s just a good day when I can think of something else.

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        • There’s only the dynamic we invent. The woman in the red dress (the little guy, in my case) does different things in our fantasy behavior programs. Yes, there are many social manifestations that carry over in our stories (and honestly, in our thoughts), but that doesn’t mean they have the same weight in meaning. An unevolved giantess will eye you critically as she thumbs that catalog; she will compare and make a wish list in her mind, if she is unable to focus on reality, and be grateful for what she truly has. My Little Asshole collage series deals with the opposite. There’s the perfectly lovely giantess, and that tiny jerk has the nerve to look at her, and say to her, “I can do better. I’m used to better. You should try dating someone within your range of looks.” That’s also reality. It happens in our world, and it’s something that -although not with those words- happened to me. I always liked boys that were much shorter than me, and I could always see in their eyes, when they looked up at me. The big NO. Later, none of my boyfriends wanted me to wear heels. They made them uncomfortable. I never cared if they did, but I could see the confusion and displeasure in their eyes. “You’re too tall!” And I’m only 5’6”.

          But back to stories… tinies are precious and rare. Normal women are a dime a dozen, and giantesses may be unique in my world, but they have a hell of a time getting anyone to date them. Not always. Often they just take what they want, but in longer, more elaborate settings, they romance a little guy the same persistent way a mad scientist works endlessly to formulate that elusive compound. In my world, little men disappear as well, sometimes without consequence; but that’s what happens to women in the real world. When I write about it, I write about change, about consequences, and penalties. A little man is a wonder to behold. I’m sorry the deal is different in your world. Whatever deals we think or don’t think about, I’m confident they are writing tools. On good days, that’s all they’ll ever be.

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          • My head is spinning. My mind is scrambling to recall exactly what I’ve revealed about myself in my stories—not real-world concerns, not at all. I’m wondering if someone can figure out how I was raised, what my friendships were like, and how I see the world based on what I compile and upload for my stories. Why would I choose a world where there are only a few women and teeming hordes of desperate, rutting tiny men? Is that my idea of dramatic tension, or does that say something about how I grew up? Why wouldn’t I fully subscribe to your world, where tiny men are the commodity and women count themselves fortunate to score one? Yes, I would much, much rather live in your world than the one I’ve designed. What the hell is my problem?

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            • I think it can be explained away as conflict, that dramatic tension you mentioned, the hero’s quest, etc. A world of suffering and overcoming that suffering will probably always tell a more interesting story than kissy-lovey-nothing-is-wrong. I prefer a combination of both. I doubt it reveals anything about you, not to me, and not to any casual reader that doesn’t have any profiling training. Who knows what a profiler might say about my blog. “Killed animals when young; seldom drinks dairy; capture or kill.” You don’t have a single problem. My world is nice for thinking about, but your world is better for writing about, if one judges by writing output.

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