And he better tell the truth now.
And he better tell the truth now.

I saved the background for this image a long time ago… many months. I found it at Flickr after I had started saving information about the sources for my collaging material (which is—after that point in time—clearly marked under Creative Commons as work that can be remixed).

It is the original work of Konrad Roziewski, and it has always seemed to me to be such a sweet image, the capture of a woman’s tender smile in a way that makes me think the photograph was taken with great care, perhaps with love. I kept it, and every once in a while I thought I should leave it alone, because I was never going to be able to find elements that would help me tell a story with it.

But I found a little guy. I spotted him at one of the best places to find collaging material: a gay blog sans nudity. It is perhaps unfortunate that the greatest admirers of the male form (via the Internet) seem to be men, as that leaves us women way behind in the race for objectifying respectfully drooling over the opposite sex through Internet websites and galleries. :D

As it’s generally the case when I’m collaging something, a story with dialogue began to play in my head. Once upon a time there was this woman, and she was in bed, not because she was tired, or sleeping, or sick. She was well physically, but in emotional turmoil. As she lay there, she was wondering what to do next. Her little man had lied to her, you see.

It hadn’t been a big thing. He isn’t capable of big things, she half joked to herself now, but it stung nonetheless. As she remained there, almost not moving, she saw the slightest tension stretch a section of her bed cover. He was scaling up the side of the bed.

Slowly, she thought. Hah! There have been plenty of times you’ve made your way to the top much faster than that… but now you don’t really know if I’m about to flush you down the toilet, or pack your little things, which I made for you, you little rat- And then she stopped herself. C’mon, he’s not a rat. That’s mean.

To rats.

They are bigger than him, after all.

She had to contain a giggle compounded by the emergence of his little head by the side of the bed. It was blue, covered as it was by a beanie she made him from one section of a toe sock, and it matched his eyes. His lying eyes. The Eagles song attempted to begin playing in her head, and she smothered it with a mental punch as she watched him take toy steps toward her.

She moved a hand and derived great pleasure from seeing him stagger from her movement as she tucked it under her cheek. Maybe he had thought she had been about to slap his body, or maybe it was just instinct driven by remorse, or fear. She allowed herself a little smile. She wanted him to be sorry, not frightened for his life.

He reached her side and stood on the bed, only inches away from her face. He was still panting from the climb, and any other time she would have scooped him up into her hand and placed him on the softness of her chest for a nice pretense of rest, but now she remained still, and waited.

His hand traveled the minimal distance to his forehead, where he wiped sweat off his brow. He then pressed his knuckles on his beanie-covered temple, as though that would help him think. His hand was still there when he muttered softly, “I’m sorry”.

What to do next?

4 thoughts on “Confession

Add yours

  1. Mmmmmm. Many writers who write giantess/SM fiction miss out on the little details, like how a bed would feel if your female keeper shifted her weight, and how it would completely throw the man’s balance off. Too many also go too fast into the so-called “good stuff” without spending time with the buildup. This story is all buildup, and how excellent it is, because it conjures up all sorts of “good stuff” in my head.


  2. Trinket, I love those little details! Considering we spend nearly a third of our lives in bed, it’s impossible for me to avoid thinking about those small circumstances that perhaps some consider peripheral to the “good stuff”, but that I imagine is exactly the latter, and take place there.

    That’s why I like those bed-related collages of yours very much! Bed, couch, any place where a woman and her shrunken man should sleep but never seem to do, and make for excellent images that tell stories about those little details.

    Thank you for the comment! :)


  3. Someone, years ago on another GTS site, had written something eloquently crude: “It’s all about the ‘wood’.”.

    (And please forgive my eccentric, oft-confusing punctuation; it’s an anal-retentive, Honours English thing of mine. Just smile & nod, then shake Your head in dismay after I’ve left the room.)

    Back from digression.

    Yes, I will agree that 99% of the stories I write / read are mostly for “gratification”, as is my fantasy of being a shrunken man. That being said, the lack of a meaningful plot is the primary (yes, really) reason I don’t now, nor ever have, watched porn. While the aforementioned “gratification” is the destination, the JOURNEY is what makes the “arrival” so much more pleasant (or arduous, depending upon the story). If the plot / storyline / writing doesn’t engage me intellectually, then I’m off to something else.

    YOUR stories are definitely about the journey more than the destination, and for that, I say “thank You”.

    (See… there I go again with the weird punctuation.)

    Gotta go get my shrink on…



  4. I’d say it’s all about the ‘brain wood’ for me.

    There’s nothing about your punctuation that causes dismay, but I think you know that. Every effort I still make when using correct punctuation in one language and trying to recall it in another is always worth making, so your proper use of semicolons is a coat of candy over your nice comments.

    I looked for your stories at GC, but I can’t find a matching username, nor does a cursory look reveal someone with your punctuation, so please tell me if there’s a way to find your material. I have too read and written “destination” stories and scenes, but back then they were shared with someone special. I don’t know if it will always be that way, but my blog is not where I’ve put my explicit material.

    But as collages go, I always prefer “journey” images to the other kind, maybe because journey collagers tend to care very deeply about presenting a realistic image, and destination collagers are likely to paste material together in a way I find corrosive to arousal, or self-defeating because they don’t match my particular taste.

    Go get your shrink on,



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