I don’t know how it is for you, but in my case, I have my fantasies, and I have my real life. When I’m out in the world, there are things and people that tickle my giant spot, so my fantasies and real life are forever laced together like a successful Ripley clone. My alien queen always roars in the background. The following are a few wall-crumbling sounds of my soul.
In the South America of the 50s and 60s, interior walls were often painted a frightening Cambridge blue that chased me into a dream a couple of weeks ago. I was arranging my dinner plate and cutlery next to other settings at a very large rectangular table, long enough for about fifty people judging by the number of plates and glasses and napkins, when I looked around and wondered where the rest of the party goers were. I was alone in the blue-walled room when I caught the sound of wild cheering coming from outside. I rushed out the front door, and down the few front steps to the cobblestone street that shouted “South America!” as loudly as the colonial-style, three-story building from which I had just emerged. The street was not designed for vehicular transit, but human. It was night, but it wasn’t dark, and it felt like 9 o’clock, because that’s the time I remember people would leave their homes after dinner, and fill coffee houses and pubs to hang out for a while, or promenade along a palisade that always smells of salt and rotting fish. But those are memories, and not my dream.
In my dream I looked across the narrow street, and realized that the sounds of conversation and cheering were coming from the roof of the house on the opposite side of the street. When I looked up I saw a group of party guests cheering and holding sparklers. They all looked in one direction beyond the house I had just exited. I knew I could not look over it, so I decided to grow. And grow I did. I lifted off the ground and expanded in heigh very quickly, and soon was able to see over houses and roofs. In the distance sat a huge stadium filled with the unmistakable sound of thousands of people cheering at the same time, punctuated by louder screams when something interesting happened on the green. I was about fifty feet tall now, and listening to all those little people was the best part of the dream. I only stood there, but just standing there when being that tall and feeling… something for that crowd of tiny people I could have reached within seconds was… nice.
The tiny guy
He wasn’t really tiny, but he surely acted tiny in my head. The taco place wasn’t crowded as I sat there, watching people, when I saw them arrive. A young couple stood waiting in line to place their orders, and as they waited, I watched. I immediately noticed the way he looked at her. His eyes had nothing but pure love in them. I don’t see that often, so I might have stared. When she talked, when she stood there quietly, when she did nothing at all, he watched her as though she was oxygen, the sun, and life, all combined. He watched for the entire time as they waited, and I realized the way she saw him did not contain the same fervor. The way she looked at him was exactly the same way we look at a possession we enjoy. It’s a look I reserve for a loaf of freshly baked bread, or a pair of shoes I adore, or a book I enjoy. It’s a true feeling, but I can do without those things.
As they moved to the front of the line, he advanced tethered to her by an invisible thread, and once there, she proceeded to place their order without consulting him, or giving him a single look. I think that got to me the most, because… what possessor of a tiny guy would do any differently? Would you, as the shrinker, look into your pocket and ask that little guy what he wants for dinner? You know he’s not going to make wise choices, so you do it for him. If he happens to ask for something sensible, you choose to listen or ignore; but you know what’s best. As the shrunken person, you have a voice, of course. A voice that remains unheard if you ask her to get you a thimblefull of tequila when you know very well that you’ve had your alcohol allotment for the week. Foolish tiny.
And then I noticed the way he looked at everyone else around him. It was either contempt, or boredom. That’s when I smiled to myself and started to imagine what their intimate moments are like. How she shrinks him when they’re at home, alone. How he follows her everywhere, always looking at her (or her feet, because looking up all day long gives him such a crick in the neck) with that same expression of love; how he silently submits to her every important decision; how he glues himself to her when she finally lifts him off the floor, and places him on whatever part of her is a favorite that moment. So, nothing to see there, except for what my brain interprets as a Size moment.
The niece and the daughter
These last two involve minors, so I thought about not including them… but I’m not going to be overly descriptive or inappropriate. All that needs to be said is that I was at the store getting groceries, and a storm of a girl (the niece, from what I overheard) walks by pushing a buggy and issuing orders to both children and grownups with her. I instantly thought, giantess in the making. I know her being a bossy child doesn’t instantly mean she’ll grow up to think about being hundreds of feet tall. It only means I like to imagine she will, because of the utter authority in her voice.
She was instructing everyone what to gather for purchase, and how to pick the proper items, what to look for, and in the meantime, she also managed to tell the adults exactly where to stand. She wasn’t barking words, but the conviction that she would be obeyed was as palpable as the cereal her little siblings were commanded to fetch. I was impressed, and secretly wished I’d run a Hogwarts type of giantess school. I would have sent her an owl right away. Or a teleporting mouse. Whatever familiar I decide to use in that universe.
I saw the daughter from a distance last night as I got out of my car at a grocery store’s parking lot. This particular place is a two-story building, and the store is on the second floor. She climbed the stairs to get to it, and when she got to the upper landing she looked down and exclaimed to her little sister and father, “I wish I was this tall!” She said it about three times, all the while fearlessly looking down at thirty or so feet of distance to the ground. I wanted to hug her and welcome her into the giantess world. She looked to be about eight years old, but I don’t care. She’s getting a teleporting mouse tonight, and if her parents don’t matriculate her immediately in giantess school…