This comic strip idea started as a wish to see how many frames I could put together that followed the same idea. I could have kept going after the seventh one, but thought that was a good place to stop. There can always be future strips that depict various activities between a tiny man and his partner. There is no end to what those can be. I’ve always liked thinking about the life of a tiny man when he finds someone that loves and wants him, even at his tiny size, and against every describable odd, because who in the world would want such a small man, not only as a lover, much less a life companion?
A large number of people, as it turns out. I just happen to be one of them, and as Gentle April reader- and writership proved, there are many of us that envision the shrinking of someone, the enduring of that process, the becoming someone for whom then keeping and preserving that small life is a zero-sum game for both parties. I could argue that I’ve always imagined receiving much more than I get. Maybe that’s the way my psyche explains the psychopathy… the pathology… the abnormality of wanting to remove someone from their life, shrink them against their will, and hold them deep in your power for the remainder of their existence, and know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that you’re doing the right thing for yourself, and for them.
It welcomes analyses. And then it pulverizes them. I certainly have never read a proper explanation of why I am how I am, and why I love what I love. Even if I did, I’m sure there would be elements found lacking in a thorough mental examination. I said I’d welcome it, but I won’t be volunteering for one, any time soon. It’s much more fun to sit in front of my computer for a spell, and create an image that depicts a woman dancing, while there’s a tiny cage dangling from her neck that contains a shrunken man. He may be unable to stand on the dance floor and match her move for move, but they are dancing together, and she would not have it any other way.
In the next frame, she is doing one of my favorite activities, which is reading. Of course I don’t read trashy novels [anymore], but I certainly write smutty stories; so I’m not going to be too hard on her. They are both reading, even though he has to walk the lines, and she has to turn his pages sometimes; off him if they get out of control, or a breeze swirls into the room from the open window, and they flip and slap onto his tiny frame. She finds that living bookmark, and she sets him to rights again. It interrupts her reading constantly, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
And they share meals together, and he feeds from her fingertip. They shower together, and he stands in her palm to do it. They watch a sunset together, and he tells her about that time he found his dad’s porn stash, and how excited he was, without knowing why… and she tells him about the time she found her dad’s porn stash, and how she only wondered how in the world her body was going to turn from a flat canvas, to the painted curves she saw depicted in nearly every page. He tells her she’s perfect as she is, and she doesn’t need anything changed about her body. She tells him he’s perfect as he is, and he doesn’t need to be any different.
And they kiss, they kiss all the time. And the other one. That one happens all the time as well. Probably after each one of the frames take place. I don’t know. I’m not going to ask them. That would be rude.