Between Toes

Could he pass for an extra toe? Probably not.
Could he pass for an extra toe? Maybe.

I was looking at the draft for this entry, and I decided against it. At first I was going to post what I originally wrote for it, which now the editor in me calls cheesy.

A few days ago I discarded the above, and wrote a strange rant for this entry about those people that don’t like feet content in their giantess collages. There was talk about religion, and now I look at it and wonder what sort of stupid drugs I was on when I wrote it. And I don’t even do drugs.

It was a bit of venting, but a year too late since I no longer go to boards and see button-pushing online behavior. Besides, ranting about rants is still the sort of waste of time I consider the latter to be.

It was satisfactory, but unpublishable. What I really want to mention now is gigantic toes next to little bitty infinitesimal toes. That’s what’s in my head right now, when I look at my collage.

Unfortunately the male element of the image didn’t have legs from the knees down, so I had to find the use for it that you see… but I can still imagine a shrunken man’s toes as they flex almost imperceptibly into the soft skin between the feminine toes that surround him, thick and wide in circumference as sturdy trees.

He stands there, between the largest and middle toes, both much longer than he’s tall, and he’s in the perfect place where the owner of those huge toes can see him hug one of them, try to bring his twig-like arms around it, and man oh man, I can imagine what that looks like, what it feels like.

What he does after that is even better, but not as good as what she does to him after he thinks he’s through. That’s something about shrunken men, a sort of universal truth about them: they never know when the show ends. I know the tiny man in my imagination never ever knows what’s coming to him.

It’s fortunate that whatever takes place without his previous knowledge or consent happens to be quite wonderful, even in his insignificant opinion.

But back to toes. It’s not easy to collage male toes when they are small to the point of near invisibility when compared to female toes nearby. And what does a collager have to do to get an extreme closeup of male toes and still have a collage of a shrunken man as a result?

I’m not sure what the answer to that is, but when I find out, I should plaster the giantess boards with male feet collages, and sit back with a bag of pop corn for the shriek / rant show.

Which would probably never take place. Despite the things I say every once in a while, the giantess community has always seemed very open, friendly, and easy to please.

And the above can be summed up in four words:

Fire bad
Fire bad!!!
Toes good
Toes good!!!

P.S. Oh, what the hell, here’s part of what I wrote last year, and I’m even leaving in place the Star Trek reference. Those that can’t spot it will be stripped of their Dork bronze medal.

From a man’s perspective, whether he’s normal sized or shrunken, he can create a link to the moods of his giantess through her toes. If she’s tense, they tap the floor as they twitch like buffaloes on caffeine. If she’s happy, they wriggle and bounce like happy ponies- OK, enough with the bovines and equines to illustrate emotion. My point is, he reads her toes, and he either approaches or runs for cover to the doll house, until he hears a different, calmer rhythm on the floor, from her.

I also love to imagine what her perspective is on his little toes, you see. Now, I couldn’t include male toes in the image above because the source material didn’t include his legs below the knees, but I can still think of how a woman feels when she’s lying in bed, on her back, after a long day away from her tiny little love. He, in bed with her, climbs her foot as though it’s a sport, a demonstration of manhood, and arrives at the top and positions himself between the big toe and the one next to it, and the mere idea that he’s small enough to do that….

That powerful section in my mind where I’ve hung my giantess hat tells me that his little body isn’t two inches in height, that some of the smallest parts of me are the size of amazonian women to him, yet he confidently surrounds himself with them, like the only man in a party of ten women, and makes sure I’m looking before he does anything else. My eyes aren’t on anything else, and my mind feels very much like Nomad right before it explodes (but without the confusion and imperfection computations).

8 thoughts on “Between Toes

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  1. I wish I were 2 inches tall or less next to you. So I can be the one that reads your moods and know if today will be the day you step on me or not.


  2. I’d thought about toes as the initial interface for a tiny man trying to get through to a gigantic woman. Physical perils aside, I tried to think of a few universal gestures each could use to communicate to the other, if he’s too small to be heard and she’s too lazy to stoop down and collect him. It’d be tricky, but I think the friendly wiggle of the big toe translates well. The tiny guy might be relegated to scratching/punching on one side and then the other… if he can be felt at all. It might not be a good idea to approach a new, potentially unaware, giantess at her feet, now that I think about it.


    1. I think it’d be hilarious. Little guy tries to get her attention with some taps to her big toe. Tap, tap. “Hello!” Tap, tap, tap. “Hellooo up there!” Nothing. Tap, slap, slap, punch. “Hey! Look down here for a second!” Next thing, he’s flying in an arch, twenty, thirty of his feet away, because she flicked her toe to scratch it with the adjacent toe. She glances down just in time to watch him land on his bottom, and tries to suppress a giggle. “Oh, I’m sooo sorry, Little One. I didn’t see you down there. I thought there was a bug on my foot.”

      Liked by 1 person

      1. So he picks himself up, trying to read her expressions a couple hundred feet overhead, trying to read giantess sarcasm into her tone of voice… without assuming the worst. Don’t want to sell a big girl short, as it were.

        He waves, works up a grin, even pantomimes scurrying and a kind of mandible-working motion with his hands. All in good fun, right? Not the first time this kind of thing has happened. “I’ve seen worse,” he calls up brightly. “One girl confused me with athlete’s foot. I tried not to take it personally…”

        He pauses; she waits.

        “I mean, I am a fun-guy.” Inwardly he dies a little, but experience has shown him that chicks love puns.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. LOL! Oh my, that’s adorable. I love that little guy! But he better never say “chicks” out loud in her presence, or the next sound he hears will be *splat*

          Liked by 1 person

          1. Oh no, he knows better than that. He only refers to “chicks dig _____” ironically, and only internally. Not even with friends who’d understand, because he doesn’t want to perpetuate that mentality. He never forgets that Hannah Arendt said that politics are what we do in public.

            Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh, but that’s a wonderful size and a wonderful place to be as well. Even better if he had to climb up there by himself. And how exciting it must be up there, to feel her toes’ warmth and softness and being so close to kiss them. He’s just where he belongs.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. It was wonderful to collage. As I worked on it, I thought of what you mention: how did he get up there? How was she encouraging him? Did she tease him? Did she distract him? Did she flinch, or wiggle her toes, just to make it more of a challenge for him? And what did he say? Was he resigned to amuse her in this manner? Or did he feign indignation, as he is often wont to do? And what were the rewards, after completing such a task? Was completing the task the reward? It’s a never-ending story.


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