iParticle

Not to worry. There's a gigantic hand waiting below if he loses his tiny grip.
Not to worry. There’s a gigantic hand waiting below if he loses his tiny grip.

No time! No time! I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date. I gotta type fast and then go. The same I did a gazillion other posts here (past and future) this is something I already shared in my old blog when I posted the iParticle image above.

* * *

I like what my mind shows me in the variety of a small man’s sizes. He can be as tiny as a mouse, or far smaller, tiny enough to cling from my eyelashes, and get a bit of a workout that way. Because he has to maintain his health, and who better to encourage him to get the blood circulating than the very person that surrounds him every day.

I like… no, I love to imagine what his weight must feel like when he wraps his minute hand, so small it’s nearly translucent, around the steel-like circumference of my lash, and dangles from it like the sweetest monkey. He grunts like one too, beats his chest with his free fist, and makes me laugh. To and fro he moves, swinging from left to right, catching his own reflection on the mirror surface of my eye, and when he’s tired, I extend my hand and watch him drop into the padded bed of my palm, where he takes his rest.

I like it when people [in the giantess community] talk about interaction between a giantess and the rest of the world, or a shrunken man, and the rest of his life. It’s diverting to see what fuels different points of view, and what we express as possible within the impossible. For me, interaction is always possible. There are no limits.

It wasn’t always like that. Years ago I only thought about shrinking a man, or the universe (which consequently would have made me a giantess!), and growth was something I thought of sometimes, but never seriously considered. It grew on me.

* * *

Not that growth can be “seriously considered” anyway. Now I look back at what I wrote over a year ago, and I completely agree with me. I still think it’s amusing when people get worked up about the “right” perspective, and expound on how impossible it is to relate to a giantess or a shrunken man if they reach above / below a certain size. So what if a man reaches the size of a flea? Why does that mean I’m no longer able to hold a conversation with him, or listen to his squeaky pleas, or coherent ideas, in case he ever has any?

And don’t get me started on the definition of a realistic giantess. How many times have I read that given current laws of physics, a giantess could not sustain her own weight, and would collapse and crush herself? Or that her joints would be grotesquely large, in order to compensate for… you know, it doesn’t matter, because it’s not true. Why in the world would I let any known law as interpreted by the primitive now, get in the way of the enjoyment of my own thoughts?

I don’t. In my world, I make my own rules. He can always hear me, I can always hear him; what we pretend to hear is an entirely different matter. He can always feel me, I can always feel him; how much and how hard we feel is always up to me. I can’t get my way for shit in reality, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow a few physical considerations get in the way of how I love to construct my world.

 

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