Companion

How much for the entire night, little one?
How much for the entire night, little one?

Today is International Giantess Day, in case you didn’t know. I’m celebrating it in various ways, and posting this collage is one of them. I started it almost ten years ago, on Friday, March 9, 2007 at 8:21 pm. It almost didn’t make it, as I never really intended to start collaging again. I thought that part of me was gone, and I’m glad it isn’t. I just spent an hour putting the final touches on it (or what I believe are the final touches), and I almost forgot about Tuesday. It was fun.

Nearly eighteen months after starting it, I began to tell myself a story about the characters. I don’t know where the hell my notes about it are at the moment, but I did have a few paragraphs on a doc, in the same folder as the image. I can’t believe I never went back and wrote the entire thing, as I love the idea. A shrunken man is found dead in an alley, and the prime suspect sits with a detective, and tells him everything she knows. Or does she…?

More about International Giantess Day:

  • As I mentioned eight years ago, you must have in your possession ten gallons of nail polish, and a matching barrel of lipstick. If a giantess appears at your doorstep, you must be ready to perform the appropriate beautification rituals.
  • You must roast one hundred wild hogs, which you needn’t have killed yourself.
  • You must bake the giant cake, from which you will pop and dance, wearing only the customary mushroom.
  • You must be ready to sing the Giantess Anthem at the top of your lungs. If you don’t know the words and music to the Giantess Anthem, I feel very, very sorry for you. Your home will not be skipped. Or it will be skipped. I forget how that goes.

And here are some new, important things to know:

  • You must place mistletoe on your doorstep. If a giantess appears, you must be ready with an excuse to kiss her. Her toes, which is all you can reach.
  • You must have spent the entire year training for the International Giantess Day games. After all, there can be only one winner.

That’s all I have so far. I’m going to go see if I can tinker with the story.

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8 thoughts on “Companion

  1. I don’t know where I’ll get so much toxic nail polish in a hurry, but any giantess who can find her way to my place will definitely receive a diligent microdermabrasion and cuticle trim/shaping.

    I’m having a devil of a time memorizing the third stanza to the Giantess Anthem. It doesn’t precisely rhyme, in parts, does it, but that’s no excuse. I’ll get it down pat before anyone swings by, surely.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. No, no toxic nail polish. Costco sells the non-toxic kind, as do many catalogs on the webz. In lieu of polish, your alternate rituals will pass muster. Probably. Good luck!

    If you forget it mid-screeching, pretend you’re drunk, and slur your words. The giantess will think you are so cute, she’ll be too amused to do much damage. Probably. Good luck!

    Liked by 1 person

    • …Yes, pretend. I’ll work hard to pretend I’m drunk. I’ll pull out my rumpled waistcoat and crumpled top hat, and I’ll totter about in a little circle, legs flailing, fending off pink elephants with a battered umbrella, while stumbling over a rhyme for “pygoditic”.

      Liked by 1 person

      • That might be taking it a bit too far. You might get scooped up and placed in the teetotaler bandwagon, with disastrous consequences. Just go for “a little tipsy”, which is much cuter. Much more believable a state of confusion.

        And the next line after that is, He cried “the end!”
        Of piquant darkness, critic

        Liked by 1 person

  3. That’s an awful lot of effort just to be able to kiss someone’s toes. I miss the times where the only incentive for such a thing was being smaller than the woman’s toe and finding myself in front of her foot. Granted, those times never really happened, but let’s say they did. It’ll be our secret, alright?

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I’ll tell ya! In my day, why, a feller could go up to a giantess, invite her to the malt shop for a tank of ice cream island, and be done with it. None of this politically correct mumbo jumbo! None of this “have to get to know her”, or “can’t abuse him right off the bat”. It’s madness. Madness, I say!

    Take heart, Balore. All that work happens only once a year. There are entire towns that make something special out of it, too. Fireworks, festivals, special foods, and the very special Groom Ceremony, where single men hoping to snag a giant wife, decorate themselves appropriately, and stand on special stages, waiting for the special moment when they’ll be chosen, and never seen again live happily ever after.

    Like

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