How it happened…
Some days ago I was all, “hey, Twitter, help out a giantess. I need one or more of you to give me two words for my Two Words blogging gimmick! Yes?” And Twitter was all, “OK.”
The first volunteer, chef to the Stars and producer of action-figure pron Will Edgecomb, offered the following two words. There are three other sets of words that will form what I’ve bombastically decided to call Two Words (a game) – The Twitter Edition! fireworks
He lay on her chest, all two inches of him; curled into himself like a baby, his face nuzzling into the thickness of her skin. Her left hand was a canopy over him, a protective shield against the hooting permeating the room from the tree outside her room, where owls had perched and held conference every night for the past week. He stirred, and lifted his little head towards her. She felt it bump the pad of her palm, and looked over at him, even though she could not make out his face in the cavernous protection of her hand. She did hear his voice.
“Can’t you just go out and grow a bit? Scare them away?”
“I’m not going to grow in the middle of the night, in my neighborhood, just to quieten a few owls chattering away.”
“It’s not the middle of the night anymore! And what if they’re discussing me, and the best way to eat me? Would you like those owls to carry me away, and eat me, and then regurgitate my bones for you to find?”
She didn’t know whether to laugh, or be astounded at his childishness. She only shook her head, and added, “Look, my little darling, no creature in the animal kingdom is ever going to discuss eating you. Look at you! You’re the size of a small mouse, so tiny, I can hardly feel your weight between my breasts-”
His voice turned into a whine, which annoyed her, “but honey, I need my sleep. You know what happens when morning approaches.”
She sighed. “I know, my sweet love. Shh… I know. I’ll have a word with the neighbor. I understand keeping chickens, but I’m rather sure that rooster is violating a number of city ordinances.”
“Can’t you just kill it with your brain?”
“You’ve been watching “Firefly” again, haven’t you? Please don’t talk about killing living beings with my brain.”
She could feel his piercing gaze travel in the darkness and caress her cheeks. She blushed when he whispered, “You did it that one time. For me…”
She brought her fingerpads down onto his body, feeling his tiny shoulder, the length of his arm as it swept down to touch her pulsing skin, his hip and leg as he lay on his side, his tiny toes curling and uncurling in his restlessness. “I will always kill for you, you know that; but only when you’re in grave danger.”
“I’m in danger of losing my mind. I need to sleep… you’re not going to let me sleep now, are you?”
“Please, just this once.”
She sighed a bit too hard, blowing an impatient gust into his warm cove. “You know what happens when my needs are not met.” She felt an almost imperceptible nod.
“An entire state knows what happens when your needs are not met.”
It was her turn to nod. “Look, I can tell you this, at least. I only need a few.”
“That doesn’t help the way you think it does! I’m only two inches tall! This dependency of yours! Why do you think I can take that kind of-“
“Watch your words very carefully now.”
“-loving. That kind of tender, nurturing, non-bruising loving.”
Her smile could be felt across the Universe. “Good save.”
“Yeah? Did it please you?”
“You please me endlessly.” They both inhaled and exhaled simultaneously, as though their lung capacities were made twins in some unifying dimension.
“So… do I get to sleep in this morning?” But he already knew the answer to his question. Somewhere in the distance, her free hand was moving through the air. In the darkness, it was stretching. In the dim light of a setting moonlight sliver, it was cupping and sinking into damp flesh, carving it gently to collect silken moisture. It didn’t lift again. Instead, it dragged a path from pooling wetness over her curly mound, over her soft belly, over the dip of her bellybutton, until it reached his tiny heels.
There, her wet hand exiled the dry one, and her fingertips glued themselves to his body with a single moist click. She heard him gasp as the weight of her fingers forced air out of his tiny lungs. She didn’t care. She needed him. She began to slide him along the path she had made for him. He glided easily, collecting her dew as he passed it; he even gathered some of it on his own, stretching his little arms in scissoring moves as he traveled closer, and warmer. His cries and moans were drowned by that damned rooster’s crows.