One of the things I enjoy about this here blog is the way I use it to channel my thoughts into lighter directions. I sit here and I would really like to type something enraged about the presidential campaign, and about religion, sexism, racism… and I probably will one day.
Right now this is my break from all that, a respite from oil speculation, from the climbing price of lettuce, from politics, a place where I can concentrate on the diverting, nonsensical facets of human fantasies.
I grew up in a country where people hug and kiss often, nearly without provocation. Despite the fact that some of those kisses and hugs were a mask for ill feelings, I saw those public displays of affection as a wonderful thing among my people. I also assumed everyone in the world was like us.
When I moved to the States and was introduced to new people, I behaved as I had been raised to behave (i.e., I hugged and kissed the cheek of people I met). Oh, the scandalized looks I received! The horror on those people’s faces because I was being affectionate!
Well, maybe I’m exaggerating. They weren’t horrified, and I certainly never had anyone slowly back away from me, but I still perceived a surprised response for actions I thought perfectly normal. After a relative explained that sort of thing was not normal up here, not between strangers, I felt the fortune of having been raised to experience the sort of effusiveness and blatant affection that was my daily bread when I was a child.
There are studies that show touch has a calming effect in some humans. Of course there are also studies that show that mice can’t be trained to dress as humans do, but nowadays I’ve grown accustomed to physical contact from family members only, and if a stranger ever tries to hug me, well… I’ll have to cut him.* :)
I do love hugs. Hugging can give the impression the human body is very strong, but bodies aren’t strong. They are very delicate, as people falling off balconies constantly prove. My mind protest the fact that we can’t survive car crashes, sinking ships, and the occasional explosion; that skin and bone breaks if we fall off a tree, or are poked with a knife. I feel we are entitled to an exoskeleton, that evolution owes us one, after these millions of years and billions of deaths from simple forms of skin rupture.
The human body would be nothing but a smear painting the ground if a giantess applied the pressure of any part of her to it, and pushed it down. Squish. She could break the tiny twigs that are human bones (and probably liquefy some internal organs while she’s at it) with a well-aimed scream. And she could reshape plexiglass with her giantess-vision, and whip up a windstorm with her swaying hips, and bake a cake with her temperature, and-
Speaking of screams, it amuses me to no end that here is this group of people that shares fantasies of a size nature, and we can still be different as night and day in how we envision the particulars of interaction and communication between a very very tall woman that doesn’t exist, and a man that does (in my case, between a tiny bitty man that isn’t real, and me).
If I can imagine it, it works for me, and I don’t really give a rat’s ass about current laws of physics, especially when so little is known about the “realities” of this universe and its constitution. But it is entertaining to read all those suppositions and get a glimpse of the manner in which we mix some realities with what isn’t there.
Nah, a mega giantess is not too big to interact with her little, microscopic boyfriend. Why not? Because I said so. Yes, a two-mile-tall woman can feel the titillating touch of a six-foot-tall man. How? Dunno, but I said so. No, a giantess can’t have intimate relations with a building. Why can’t she? Because I said so.