The ABCs Game – K is for Kisses


Good heavens (or bad ones in this case), I didn’t realize I wrote a blog entry with the same title about a decade ago. Oh, well… here I go again on my own, pounding down the only road I’ve ever known, like a twister I was born to post alone. But I’ve made up my—Enough of that. I’m not even going to check the lyrics. Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with my memory. So… K is for Kisses. Again.

At present, I find myself only wanting to kiss someone tiny. That doesn’t mean I’d refuse to kiss a normal-sized man, but having only done that since the beginning of time, I’d like to try the non-existent alternative. Most people remember their first kiss, and I vaguely recall mine. He was fifteen years old, and an asshole. I was fourteen, and completely innocent. He didn’t like it when I wore heels, was humiliated that my English was better than his and that there was no question he asked me to which I didn’t know the answer. I was never one to pretend I knew less than I did so a boy could feel better, so the thing lasted about three months.

What the hell does that have to do with kissing? Nothing, and everything. At this point in my life, I can’t think of kissing without thinking that the simple act of sharing saliva should be enough to shrink someone. Getting all those juices going with someone magnificently wrong for you should have that sort of payoff, right? If we’re to suffer the deep disappointment only made possible by someone who only wants to use you, we should have something to show for it, right? And what better something than a tiny person sinking into the plush velvet of our lips? I’d happily endure various degrees of suffering, just as long as—in the end—the cause of my heartbreak ends up in the palm of my hand.

But never mind that pound of flesh I’d exchange for that 0.5 oz. of flesh. Never mind suffering, and let’s get back to the kissing. Let’s think I have the power to shrink whoever I want, and I do so. What’s the first thing I do? Well, I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you the second thing I’d do: I’d kiss the hell out of my tiny man. I’d press him to my lips, and make him feel how tiny he is. I’d let him digest that information as my lips pulse against the length of his front and let me know he understands with muffled screams that penetrate the first layers of my lips like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. A butterfly that’s just been pinned into eternal captivity. But how does he explain the caving in of his entire existence to a pair of lips coming down to claim him? He can’t. How does he explain that force pressing down on his entire body? He can’t, but I can.

Once upon a time, the woman made a wish. She wished for a tiny man, the size of her pinkie. She looked into getting herself admitted into an asylum, her desire felt so mad. She read promising words about healing if she only removed part of her brain, or shocked the whole of it with a series of electric currents, or took the right drugs. Naturally, she was skeptical. How could she excise such an extensive part of herself? Would any procedure be more harmful than the alternative?

She lived with the weight of her lust for years, dating men that exceeded her height, touching them in every way, finding them wanting. She wanted her tiny man. She questioned her thoughts often. What good would such a runt do? What use would such a little man be? What could such a creature do for her that was better than anything someone taller could do? She had answers to those questions, but she kept them to herself. Despite that silence that sometimes felt like shame, she knew that part of her was the best part of her. That little runt would make her happy. That little man would be more useful to her than anyone else in the world.

One day she stumbled upon a tiny man; she found him where she least expected. When she saw him, she rushed to chase him and lowered her palm to the ground even as the tiny man rushed away from her lumbering form. “Stop,” she said, the back of her hand pressed against the hot sidewalk, and he did. He did as he was told, and looked back; a suicidal gesture if she had been anyone other than herself. She smiled and nodded at her hand, and grinned like an idiot when he turned his entire body around and walked toward her hand. She felt it burn on one side, and burn at the other when his tiny palms and knees pressed into it, and he climbed to the center of her hand. She waited until he was finished, and didn’t do what I’d do first… or maybe she did. She lifted him to her face and lowered her face toward him simultaneously.  And they kissed. But maybe she’s a little like me, and eventually took over until she heard him scream and demand to be put down. And then, like me, maybe she did.


8 thoughts on “The ABCs Game – K is for Kisses

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    1. Thank you! I hope it does come true. I don’t remember the name of the band, but I’m pretty sure the name of the lead singer is David Covertentacle. Nice squid. Super active on Twitter. Always says goodnight to his followers.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. I wonder how it would taint it, though. The difference between stalking and studying someone and capturing them, versus being used in an imbalanced relationship that culminates in possessing a tiny, treacherous, traitorous figure. You couldn’t look at the two little guys the same, could you? One that you’ve scoped and vetted and approved, against someone who was a creep and a bully while he thought he had power, and now he’s vulnerable in your grasp? Surely not, they couldn’t receive the same treatment.

    Once again, I can’t relate to not wanting to be smothered under a giantess’s full lips. Not wanting this is alien and anathema to me. The square who protests against it deserves to be terrified and broken.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Imbalanced relationship. Yes. Precisely right.

      Sometimes the treacherous, traitorous figure is chemistry. The little jerk didn’t feel anything but a passing fancy for me, while I practically melted and went up in flames every time he touched me. Betrayed by hormones, I rebelled against my parents just to be with him and when I was locked up in my room, I learned to scale down the side of a building just so I could see him. I did everything, he did nothing. But chemistry.

      The above is a flight of fancy. I meant it when I wrote it, and I’ll mean it when I shrink someone, but not exactly in the same way. When I shrink someone, I will have scoped and vetted and approved, and will never shrink someone who would hurt me, who doesn’t have feelings for me, who doesn’t know how to be kind or simply isn’t interested. Of course not passing muster doesn’t make anyone an asshole, but I’m determined to be happy with the person I shrink, and given that insanely lucky opportunity, I’m not going to waste it on someone who doesn’t meet my criteria.

      Aww! The little guy protesting— just look at the— I’m smothering him! Of course, he’s going to protest being practically waterboarded! But the terror passes, and more fun can be had.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. “I’m not going to waste it on someone who doesn’t meet my criteria.”

    writes this down, gets it notarized in triplicate, keeps one copy for himself, one for the vault, and one to be mailed to you at a later date

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m laughing!

      But yeah… all this work I’m doing, all this writing, this drawing, this comic creating, this songwriting, this [future] podcasting, this energy and love that flows constantly, all this spell casting to bring about that wonderful reality, and then toss it away? No. That’s a horror story right there, and a terrible insult to anyone working for the same thing.


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