Well, it's a big job to keep a giantess happy.
Well, it’s a big job to keep a giantess happy.

It is. It takes a lot out of a little guy, but you know as well as I do that relationships take a lot of work; strenuous, sweaty, dedicated attention to that one little/giant person that fills your pants skirts panties heart with joy. It has always been my understanding that a very small man is different from a man my size. I’ve counted on that difference for as long as I can remember. When I was a toddler that divergence meant that I’d have a companion, a playmate that was as fantastic in behavior as those little people in the fairy tales my mom read to me. He’d dance for me, play with me, and tell me things that were very important. I wish I could go back into that mindset and recall what it was that I thought was so crucial to know when I was barely beyond my second year of life.

Now that I’m an adult, that difference means that the tiny man is to be used to satisfy me. Because of how my mind is constructed, his size is 1.21 million gigawatts sexier than the size of a regular man. That’s the way it is, and there’s nothing I can do to alter that part of me… that whole of me, I should say, because I’m a giantess from every perspective, and not only the sexual one. But more on that some other time. The collage above is about that boundless attraction I feel, one that can’t be stopped by mores, or ethical considerations, or common decency, or feelings of empathy. When I fantasize about that little man that exists only in my head, I don’t stop until I get what I want.

What goes through his head when I shrink him? What happens in his heart when he finds out his change is permanent? What does he argue when I inform him that this is his life from now on? Does he imagine he can persuade me to grow him back to his original size, and return him to his loved ones? What then, when he sees his hopes dashed by my handling of his tiny clothes, torn from his body like wet tissue? What happens when I say nothing in response to his raw emotions, his distress, soon to be followed by physical discomfort, inevitably brought about by my spending him? That’s what the collage is about.

It’s about losing a shoe because I have to have him, and have him tiny. It’s about laying our clothes to waste because I have to have him tiny. It’s about turning his past into nothing, and his present a fight for his life because I have to have him tiny. It’s about not having one single care if the world goes down all around us, as long as I have him tiny. After that, when I’m done, I know it will all right itself in the end. We see it in nature all the time. There is recovery, there is regrowth, there is a return to life. Nature is the greatest punctuator, and that’s a blessing because in my fantasies I fill in every space between those punctuations. His bones will heal, his skin will mend, his mind will occlude or disassociate, and that’s a blessing because in my fantasies I fill out every space around him.

4 thoughts on “Spent

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  1. Wheee! Thank you. It took me quite a while to get to finish it, as the man part of the image was grainier, and not as clear as the woman part, and the shadows, and the angles, blah blah blah.

    I’d put it in the group of images I’ve had the most fun working with so far, and I’m glad you enjoyed it.


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