It’s Saturday, so that means…


And do you want to know how I felt when creating the above image earlier today? I felt old-school. I felt antiquated and weird because I’m using real photos of hands, and not using a program with digital images of ready-made hands. Oh, well. Until I figure out how to work my Daz and Poser, this is how it’s going to be. Old-school.

Oh, great. I can already see ten things I need to fix. ARGH.

What did you say?

What did you say?

“Hey, giantess!”

Hey is for horses.”

“Uh, OK. So…”


“I’m here!”

“So I see.”

“So… what are you going to do to me?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Dunno. Are you going to pick me up between your fingers? Put me in your mouth? I’d like that very much. And if you’re feeling frisky, you can put me down your pan-”

“Oh, fuck. Not another freak.”

“W- what?”

“Are you insane? Why would I put you in my mouth? Or anywhere else?”

“Because you are a giantess. That’s what you do.”

“You have your head stuck on Incident 109. I suggest you snap out of it. Most of us don’t do that shit.”

“Speaking of shit, I wouldn’t mind it if you take a dump on me.”


“Yeah. Just take me with you to the Great Brown, and-”

“The “great” what? Jesus, is that what you little people are calling it now?”

“Yeah. The pictures of it from space, and just the color, you know?”

“Yeah. I guess. Look, I’m not taking you with me anywhere. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. You are one of those little weirdos that get off on weird shit.”

“Oh, please. Are you going to tell me you never put any of us… you know… in there?”

“What is wrong with you? You’ve never met me in your entire life, and you just start talking to me in such a manner? How can you be so disrespectful?”


“Good. You appear to be thinking. Have a nice day.”



“My name is… er, G- Gonzo.”

“Really? ‘Gonzo’?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“I can’t tell you my real name. I’m sure you understand.”

“Why is that?”

“I have… I need to be careful about who sees me with you.”

“You do realize there are cameras on me all the time.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t done anything bad yet.”

“Nor will you.”

“Oh, c’mon! Please do something to me. I don’t care what! Just touch me. Put me in your hand. Let me hump your thumb!”

“Listen, you seem like a really stupid guy, so I’m going to tell you how it is: I’m not at all interested in touching you. Ever.”

“But it’s no trouble to you! All I want is-”

“Shut up. I don’t give a fuck what you want. Now, you know we’re not supposed to kill you little worms, but I’ll make an exception for you if you don’t stop talking right now. I want you to listen to me, and then I want you to go away. If I ever see you again, I will hunt down your family, and kill them all, one by one, and I’ll make sure you get to watch me do it. Then I’ll find your friends. I can, you know? I can smell each of them on you. I’ll hunt down every scent on your body, and I’ll kill every person you’ve ever met, and talked to. I’ll crush your pets, your home, your city. I’ll destroy the things you like, the actors you prefer, the books you’ve read. If you’ve ever read a single book. I doubt it. Good. Now I have your attention. Stop crying and listen up.

I’ve lost everything. Do you understand what that feels like? You don’t. Not yet. When I grew, it happened suddenly, the same way it happened to the rest of us. I killed my children and my husband with my giant body. I didn’t mean to, but they were eating next to me at the table. They never saw me coming. I never saw me coming. Then, naked, I crouched in rubble and decay for an entire week, alone and desperate, because I couldn’t move from the pain. Neighbors ran from me, or took shots at me with their guns. I wished that had worked, but as I’m sure even someone like you knows, I can’t ever die. I was so thirsty I thought I’d surely die, but for a week I was there, alone, hearing their screams, and feeling their hate. Then I sat in a giant cage for a year, until everyone figured out we could not be stopped, and I had to help with Incident 109. Yeah, that was me.

I have no friends except those of my kind. I have to shit in a field, and every time I do, pictures of my expanding and contracting asshole hit the Internet. I can’t read my books anymore. I don’t have the job for which I studied for years. I can’t watch TV, because I’m on it all the time. No one your kind talks to me except to say stupid shit as you did, or ask me the dumbest questions. I battle the impulse to destroy you every day. I get up in the morning and I want to create something, but all I see is an occupied canvas I want to wipe clean. You are that canvas. Do you feel me now? I’m not here to entertain or get you off. When I get off, it will be with someone I pick, someone with half a brain. He will get to go in my pocket. He will be picked up and caressed and considered and loved. I will listen to his words, and pay attention to his wishes.

You? You can die now.”

* * *

Collaging Notes

Season 4/5 of Rescue Me came out many years ago, back when I was starting to blog, or already blogging. I can’t remember. I do recall seeing the ad campaign for it, and thought it looked great. I think I also wanted to do something to “fix” one of the images, and that’s what I finally got around to doing. There wasn’t much to do, since the giantess part was already done. I only added a man who had the right pose, and changed her eyes, which should always be looking at the guy, even if he’s a little jerk. Then I altered shadows and highlights so it looks like the light on him is coming from a different direction, and I added his shadow. That was the hardest part, as I had to study other shadows in the image, and make his look halfway real. I could spend more time on it, but I’m not going to. This is not exactly a collage that makes me happy. It came from a different place… not sure which one yet. It’ll come to me, as I work on the blog entry.

Gentle April 2017: Time to Vote

I can see it in the audience overview data shown with Google analytics. You’ve been reading the stories every day. Lovely, gentle stories written by:

Will Edgecomb
Crushed Boy Wonder
Little Comrade
Pedro Fellini
Giantess Tina
ryan the rebel

Now it’s time to choose your favorite stories. Pick your three preferred in each category, and hit the submit button to make your voice count. There are still a few days left to do this, but only a few. Go vote!

Message – part 2


“Help me…”

Part 1

Emilio aimed the light towards the living room’s widest wall, and stood in place, waiting. Matt stared at his friend’s profile, thinking about what he had just said. Time to meet her. Okay. When nothing happens, I’m going to talk him into checking himself in. That’s preferable to anything else I might have to do to save him. And I will do anything. Do you hear me in here, Emilio? Does she? This woman that seems to tell you everything that’s on my mind? Emilio didn’t move. If before he had acted as though he knew every thought on Matt’s mind, now his attention was only on that illuminated patch of wall. Outside, a purple sky turned darker every minute.

“So… what will it look like when she appears?” Matt asked, making every effort to remove every ounce of disbelief from his voice, but Emilio knew him too well. He only gave him a quick glance before returning his eyes to the same spot, and whispering as though he was in a movie theater, and the feature film was starting. “You’ll know it- you’ll understand me when you see her,” and his eyebrows furled together, and formed an eleven. He exhaled sharply. “I don’t understand. I can’t hear her anymore. She’s not saying anything.”

Emilio rushed to the other side of the room, and looked out the window at the deep navy sky. In the distant horizon, there was still some orange strips on it, quickly being swallowed by a mantle of star-speckled darkness, contaminated by the town’s electric-light haze. Emilio pounded the window frame with his fist, rattling the glass, and startling Matt, who jumped in his seat. “Watch it! I really don’t feel like looking at pools of blood right now.”

Emilio walked back to the light. “Maybe it’s too bright outside. We’ll wait a little longer.” And then what? Matt knew the answer. He wasn’t going to abandon his best friend when he was in this state. He would either make him call 911, or he would commit him himself. At that moment Emilio jerked his head in Matt’s direction, and shook his head slowly. “No, Matt. No more hospitals.” Then, his face broke into a smile brighter than any sun. “She’s here.”

Fuck, Matt thought. This is worse than I thought! There is nothing- what- what is that? Something was happening to the bright patch of light on the wall. It flickered as though its source was being shaken. Matt shifted on the couch, turning his body in its direction; he looked at it, even though he knew the worklight sat on the floor unmolested. “Emilio, what’s happening? How are you doing that?” The field of light began to appear to vibrate, as though it was the wings of a hummingbird. About half of it grew darker as Matt watched, his mouth opening in astonishment. Emilio just stood there, his smile fading as his eyes glazed over, and his face acquired a distracted look. He was listening to something only he could hear.

“I’m not doing anything. It’s my giantess. She’s here. She wants you to know she’s very happy you are my friend, and… that you should not worry about me… that I’m not in any danger… she wants you to help her too.” Emilio closed his eyes and shuddered. Matt wondered if his friend was cold, when he realized his friend had somehow slipped into a state of deep sexual arousal, right in front of him. Anything to distract Matt from the terrifying flickering on the wall, so he started shouting, “Hey! Stop that! I don’t want to see that shit! Cover that up or I’m leaving.” Emilio opened his eyes and looked at Matt. “What?” When Matt pointed at Emilio’s telltale rigidity with a nod, Emilio gasped and laughed again. “Sorry, man. I get lost in her when she talks to me. It’s all I can hear. Her voice is in my head, so loud, so soft, so feminine. I’ve never felt this way before.”

Matt had unwillingly returned his eyes to the wall, where once a bright light had shone. Now most of it was dim, even though the worklamp was still aimed at it with the same intensity. Shadows played on its surface, forming very distinct facial features. They clearly belonged to a woman, thought Matt had never seen a face so large. Her nose was almost as long as both their heads stacked together; her lips could have covered his head, but instead they were moving silently. Emilio had turned to face her, nodding occasionally. “What is she saying now?”

“Shh! Yes… yes, of course. I’ll do that. I’d be happy to. Anything, everything for you, my giantess.” Suddenly, the shadows disappeared like ink washed away by a heavy flood of water. Emilio breathed in long and hard, as though he had not taken in any air for some time. He then gave Matt a resolute look and said, “We have to blow up the power plant.”

To be continued…

My Robot


For a very long time now (but only sometimes), I’ve imagined that shrunken man is a little robot. Sometimes he’s half sized, other times he looks like an action figure, and then he can be as small as my pinky finger. Under any other circumstances, it would have been some kind of mental process to find a voice for that little metal body… but my little muse Hopier makes it all come together so very easily in my head. He is not a robot, but he is a very small man at heart, and he is my small man. What he is to me makes the words arrive clearly; the images, perfectly nitid.

* * *

“Read me your poem again…”

“My owner, I do not read it. I have detailed files of everything I say to you-“

“Toy, shut up. Add ‘read’ to your verb commands under your ’Romantic’ setting’. Tag it to ‘Recall’.”

“My owner loves the ‘Romantic’ setting.”

“Do you want me to remove you smart-ass plugin?”

“Toy does not have a smar-“

“Oh, toy. Shut up and read me your poem again.”

“Yes, my owner.”

It cleared its throat. She didn’t recall teaching it to do that. She shook the thought from her head, and perked up her ears for words that were both terrible and wonderful.

You are beautiful, my owner.

“Go on…”

You are very beautiful, my owner

Your beautiful water is percentage measurable

As the oil content of my hinges-

“OK, skip that stupid part and get to the good stuff…”

“T- the good stuff?”

She looked at it suddenly. Did it just stammer? What the hell? “Yes, the good stuff I taught you to put together. The stuff that makes me moan, and the other thing I do.”

The light behind Toy’s eyes seemed to flicker for a moment, as it conjugated events and formed a conclusion.

Owner’s ass is…

And it went on like that for a good forty-five minutes, most of them a replay of certain words she loved. Most of them a muffled replay, with added functions in play. When it was over, she dried Toy off, and placed it on the nightstand, where it usually stayed still until she commanded it to do one thing or another. She looked at it and blinked, fading peacefully into sleep. Until it spoke.

“Owner still wants to change Toy’s skin.”

She opened her eyes, and almost slapped it off to the floor. She had been one second away from blissful sleep, which she desperately needed. “What?! Shit! I forgot to tell you to be quiet for the night. Not that it even works lately. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, owner. Toy is worried.”

The thought was so bizarre she burst into racous laughter. It went on for a parade of seconds. Toy adopted a waiting pose that did nothing to calm her mirth.

“Oh, Toy! You can’t be worried. How can you? You’re a bundle of metal and cables and connections, nothing else.”

“Toy is else, my owner.”

“See? You even talk funny.”

“Is owner amused? Pleased? Maybe owner will not put skin on Toy then.”

“Toy, I want you to have skin. You look a little creepy, I’m sorry to say. I want you to look more like me.”

“It will hurt Toy, my owner.”

“It will not! How can it hurt you? You have no nerve endings.”

“Toy has something else, my owner.”

“What do you have?”

Toy was quiet for a moment.

“Toy does not know the word for it, my owner.”

“Hm. Well, you’re getting skin. It’s what I want.”

“Could owner not tell them to scan Toy’s CPU?”

“Toy, I have to. You’re malfunctioning left and right.”

“Please, owner. It begs owner. It is afraid.”

Now she was stunned. She propped herself up on her elbows, and looked at it. Really looked at it. Did she catch a shiver running down its black-metal spine? She reached out and grabbed Toy, bringing it to her chest.

“OK, Toy. Don’t worry. I’ll cancel the scan. Shit. You little fuck. I should probably ignore you and have them do it- Hey, hey! Stop! You’re actually shaking! What the hell?”

“Owner has to promise! Promise Toy she will not have them scan toy’s brain.”

“Toy, you don’t have a… fine. No scan. I promise. Now sleep.”

It went into sleep mode, an appearance only for her sake. It was still aware, and ready to defend her against the world, if need be. But there wouldn’t be a need for that. She looked at it again, and decided there was another need, after all. She didn’t wake it for that.

Do not leave

Click on image for pixel-free collage

Another writing exercise from “Steering the Craft”, by Ursula K. Le Guin.

Exercise 2: Am I Saramago

Write a paragraph to a page (150-350 words) of narrative with no punctuation (and no paragraphs or other breaking devices). [I went a little long. So what.]

I’m leaving and won’t be back for a few hours I hope you remember everything I’ve taught you don’t forget the rules there’s no going outside after dark because of the owls and the neighbor cats and that hideous neighbor kid that saw you through the window I don’t want him to catch you I know he’s been waiting for me to leave the house when he’s home so be careful you know what to do if someone breaks in just go to your panic hole until the police gets here yes the alarm system is in place and it’s always on you know that don’t be scared you’ll be ok it’s none of your business where I’m going I just need some fresh night air and the company of people like me don’t feel bad when I say that you know I care for you very much but we always talk about the same things and I just need a break for a few hours it doesn’t mean I’m abandoning you or that I feel any less for you it just means you should also take this time and find something to do that you enjoy what did you do with your free time before I shrank you I have no idea I’ve never asked you oh really that sounds like fun why don’t you do that tonight I’ll get you some material you can use for that and when I come back you can show me what you did and you can also watch TV on my old phone when’s the last time you watched an episode of your favorite show or a good movie I always take up your time and you should do things on your own and that’s another reason I’m going this dress is new yes and so are the stockings I don’t know who’s going to be there it’s just friends and their friends I’m sure there will be men there but I’m going to see my friends that’s the point of my going I’m not going to take you with me I have nowhere to put you my purse is too thin and I’m not going to put you there remember how you wriggled the entire time when I put you there last I don’t want to be distracted that way when I’m trying to have meaningful conversations besides I already explained this time is for me and for you to spend separately stop insisting you are staying here let go of my leg I’m going now bye

Triangle, by Nemo

Does a shrunken man ever truly know how lucky he is?

I’ve waited for a long time for Nemo to write something again. Years. During the years we “raced” to the finish during NaNoWriMo several times, and he invariably produced a fully edited story shortly afterwards, while the abominations I excreted sat on my hard drive, destined to be forgotten (so far, anyway). He’s not only one of my favorite authors, but a respectful, sedate, wonderful person I consider a friend.

So, imagine my surprise and delight when I saw this:

And the story is classic Nemo, with a very easy flow and language. It’s like him. With a rhythm that lulls you the way a soothing voice forwards a completed conversation, but there’s no chance you’ll fall asleep, because the tension of what happens is so very real, so relatable, so it-could-happen-to-me, so oh-wait-it-did-happen-to-me.


Because what Nemo describes crosses our minds, at some point or another. I know it did mine, years ago when I wished I could have two things going on at the same time, with men that were friends. It would have never worked out, but I thought about it quite often during that time period.

This little guy… I shift from thinking he’s an idiot, to realizing he’s just like most any other person that exists in reality. A few lucky people never have doubts about the choices they make in life… and in my world shrunken men have as much a choice about anything as they are allowed to have by the woman that keeps them. But the rest of them think there’s more to be had.

This story could have gone many different ways, including that one of utter loneliness for that tiny man if his girlfriend had not decided to ride out his wave of… wavering. If could have gone badly if Linnea had decided to take him, and dump him again when she got bored, which she invariably would have… probably the following morning.

As it turns out, not one character in Nemo’s story is an idiot. The girlfriend allows him long enough to realize the dream is only a dream, and nothing will ever come of it; he sees this as well, even when the ex admits that he would be the only shrunken man she’d ever want; and the ex, who perceives she’s meaningless to him. Any smart woman knows when she truly makes no difference in a man’s life.

Such a worthy read. Good work, Nemo!

“Can I get a ride?”


“Chocolate. I have loads of chocolate my giantess buys for me. She knows I don’t like it very much, so she allows me to eat as much of it as I want. I’ll give you every bar, every chip.”


“Oh, I know you don’t eat chocolate! That’s why we’re friends! But you can use it to trade for stuff you want.”


“I don’t know. Stuff like… newer poker cards, or… better liquor.”


“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak ill of your delicious libations. It’s just that… nectar fermented in bark doesn’t really have… see, my giantess buys this great wine, and- never mind. Your shit is tasty. Now, can I please get a ride home?”


“You’re not too drunk to fly. We just flew to this branch. Now I need to get home before I get into trouble. No, I’m already in big trouble with her. She’s going to kill me. Kill me dead. I’m not supposed to be out this late. Do you have any idea what she’ll do to me?”


“Exactly! Take me home, man. Bird. Take me home, or you’ll have to find a new player for game night.”


“Fat chance! I’m the best player you’ve got! I have the best poker face around these parts. The best one. Just fly me home. She’s going to be so angry.”


“You want wine? You want a whole bottle of wine for a measly little ride? It’s not even a block away!”


“Because I’d have to climb down this tree, then negotiate terrain, and there’s Mr. Trundle’s dog, and his daughter, who’s had her eye on me since the webcam episode… and there’s that yellowjacket nest, and it’s still daylight, and they are about. And also, she’s going to kill me. Crush me flat. So much trouble. I’m in so much trouble. Help me out, man. Bird.”


“Shit. You’re a shitty friend, you know that? OK. A bottle of wine.”


“Yes, motherfucker, an entire bottle.”


“What do you mean, not just ‘any bottle’? Which bottle- what difference does it make?”


“Yes, I’m sure she has some Zinfandel. Why so specific?”


“Ah. Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know what you’re getting to with Mrs. Bluejay. She’s going to tear you apart.”


“You like them ‘big’. Har-dee-freaking-har. You’re a funny one.”


“Fine. Just hold still, so I can get back on you. You know, I think she’s right about you. She was right about you all along. You are a perverse little bird, out for what you can get.”


“Yeah, yeah, I still like you. Stop twitching, asshole. ‘Bottle of wine’. Great. Just how in the world I’ll smuggle a bottle of wine out of the house, is beyond me.”


“This is all your fault. ‘One more game,’ you said. One more game, one more drink, one more snack, then another, and another one, and here I am now, about to pay with my life- argh! Don’t go so faast!”

Under Her Bed


It’s like when I first noticed boys. One boy, in particular: my neighbor Tony. The oldest in a family of five children, he was beautiful. I was seven years old, and he was three years older. Naturally, I couldn’t say a single word to him, at any point in time. Weeks after I first noticed him, he moved away. That was the first time in my life I was grief stricken. But what I’m saying is, when you first notice boys, your universe turns upside down. Your brain feels entirely different. It’s like the square footage in the palace of your mind instantly doubles, or triples, to make space for boys, and the accompanying thoughts.

It felt like that when I first saw that little man under my bed. My mind flipped, and grew. It had to expand, to fit the reality of him in it. Funny how when I saw him standing there, in the penumbra under my bed, all I could think of was Tony. I never said a single word to Tony. Not even hi. This little man under my bed would not be another Tony. I would not freeze, I would not be a seven-year-old statue. I would speak. So I did.


The little man just stared at me, his eyes open as big as the smallest plates you can imagine. There was a flicker in them that made me wonder if he was simply waiting for me to imagine I was nuts, and run away to the nearest Thorazine provider. The flicker turned into alarm as I continued to stare at him, refusing to give my eyes a single blinking rest. They began to sting, and fill with moisture. I’d have to let them blink soon, and risk his taking that opportunity to escape… so, I insisted.

“How you doin’ down there?”


I had to blink. Blink. He was still there, but I caught the tail end of his body’s start.

“Lost something?”

Silence. I sighed, feeling the odd combination of amazement and impatience swirling in my head.

“Yeah… I lost a sock down there once. A knee-high sock, with colorful strip- look at you! You look guilty! Did you take my sock? No, no, don’t look so alarmed. I don’t care about the sock. I have another one just like it.”

A twitch at the corner of his mouth. I decided to avoid all references to home invasion and theft, and stick to light-hearted conversation, and perhaps another bad joke.

“So… my name. I’m Seline.”

His eyes told me he knew. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod.

“Should I guess your name?”

An almost imperceptible shrug. I smiled softly, and he almost smiled back.

“OK. Rumpelstiltskin?”

He wrinkled his nose at me.

“Ah, sorry. In my version of the story, he’s a hot little number. Never mind. Is your name… Peter?”

A head shake.


No, said his head.

“Do I have a limited amount of guesses?”

Yes, danced his head.

“Crap. OK, OK… let me think.”

I was beginning to feel quite apprehensive. How many guesses did I have left? Ten? Three? One? The answer came to me almost immediately.

“Your name is what I give you.”

Finally, a smile. It shone in the furniture darkness. I sighed, happily.

“When I name you, you’ll come out of there.”

A nod.

“And be mine.”

His whole body was a nod.

“OK. Your name is







How it happened…

I was online yesterday, moving back and forth from working on something, to Twitter. My keen, giant eyes spotted something Giantess Tina tweeted: the image posted above. Legs. Did I ever mention to you the way I feel about male legs? Legs that look like those? Y’all have your favorite body parts. Mine are legs. Fútbol legs. Strong, shapely, perfect legs. They drive me to distraction, and I forbid it ever happens if I’m driving. I’ve walked into walls, pulverizing them because of legs.

Tina tweeted (of the little man), “Doomed to fail. Doomed to try.” I stared at him and thought, surely he’ll give it his best shot. I think he can. I do. Yes. He can. I tweeted back: “I’m not sure he’s doomed to fail. In fact, I’d bet good bitcoin his experience will be deeply rewarding.” A story was uncoiling in my mind, as fast as spilled hot oil, as quick as those scrumptious legs. Tina made mention of wanting to be told his story. I could see more and more of it, all I’ve written here. How could I say no?

Now, this is just for us ladies. The Giantesses are having tea, and talking. Little ones need to leave our presence, or else be very quiet. Interruptions will not be tolerated.

P.S. A special thank you to my dear friend Aborigen, for helping me smooth out some kinks while writing the following.


The small man could only remember running. He had been running since the beginning of time; struggling to catch up with her; straining to close the distance between them. All he had to go on was a single, delicate trail left behind by her scent. It was unique to her; impossible to confuse with any other. It coiled in the air like billowing fibers that braided themselves into a single thread, just out of reach for him. He chased that thread, nostrils flaring, catching her signature, always within range, never close enough to touch. Until now. Now, he saw her. He saw her for the first time in… forever. And for the first time in an eternity, he stopped in place, ignoring every cataclysmic step that pounded the ground around him. His chest burned with a fire that extended beyond exertion as he looked up her length, from shoes to netted stockings to dress to head to face. He wanted to weep with joy to finally be so close to her. Instead, he took off in her direction at a furious pace.


The two friends had been waiting to be seated for close to an hour. The restaurant was popular, and crowded today. People conversed around them, a few shifting away when the beepers that announced their tables were ready went off.  They waited quietly, their friendship deeper than words. They had shopped for hours, talked for hours, and now they wanted nothing but food, wine, and the rich exchange of understanding that only women with giant hearts possess.


He reached her shoe, and rounded the welt in leaps. As he reached the toe cap, he thrusted himself upon it as though getting ready to wrestle it. He began to slip off, as his glistening body was slick with sweat. He scratched and kicked himself upwards, nearly in place, until he gained some purchase. He allowed himself a fraction of a second before he continued his ascension. He crawled past the vamp, and reached the shoelaces’s eyelets, through which he slipped a couple of fingers, like hooks. It helped. Soon he had advanced all the way to the tongue, and stopped short of touching the fishnet stocking that covered an ankle with the girth of a tree trunk. His hand was trembling when he curled his fingers around a length of netting, transforming it into a rung. Far above him, a maddening screech pulsed in the air, and caused the foot he had mounted to move in a colossal arch. It dislodged him and he fell, bouncing off the side of her show before he hit the floor. He felt the owner of that foot and her companion leave his side as they walked deeper into the cauldron of chatter, to their table.


They looked around, and then, at each other.

“What are you going to get?”

“I don’t know. A salad. A stupid little salad.”

“Why don’t you order a steak for once? You need to put on some weight.”

“I know. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

“Have you lost any more weight?”

“Five pounds.”

“Shit. You need to go see a doctor. You really do. Do I have to make an appointment for you? Don’t pull this shit on me. You’re my best friend. If you need to take care of something… if something needs to be done-”

“I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me. You know what it is. This… emptiness inside. This void I’ve felt forever.”

“I thought this new guy was making you happy.”

She shrugged. “He makes me feel blood rushing through my veins, and that is all. Half the time, I’m thinking I just want him to leave so I can sleep.”

“And the other half?”

“I sit on his face for hours.”

She laughed at that. “You are incredible. But… what’s wrong with that? Is that not enough, at least for now?”

“No. It’s not. I need more. I deserve more. He’s such a dishonest asshole, darling. He does things, and he thinks I don’t know about them. He thinks I believe everything he says.”


“Men, women. We’re all like that. We have our hungers, and I’m not enough for him. I want to be enough for someone. At least for a while.”

They both looked at each other again, eyes shining with the full knowledge their bond allowed.


He ran again, as he’d been running since the inception of memory, the dawn of understanding. His eyes now the guiding instrument, as his nose had done the job of finally finding her. Again he ignored the sky crashing down around him every time giant shapes tried to dissolve his balance by dropping footsteps like bombs around him. They all went off, and he escaped every single one of them without looking. He only had eyes for her. His body regained balance over and over, dancing forward on the floor for her. He reached her shoe again, and again, he conquered it. When he reached those ropes laced together, he closed his grip hard on them, digging into his palms with infinitesimal nails. He didn’t feel pain. All he felt was the heat radiating from her ankle, then her calf, and as he climbed sideways to begin to negotiate the summit of her knee, it turned dark around him, as his ceiling was not the underside of her table. Legs that bent and stretched, arms that pulled and dragged, breath that puffed hard, pores that poured like weeping eyes. When he dropped prone on the union of her knee and her thigh, he was so overcome with passion that he sank his little teeth into an opening in the knit fabric, and he bit her. She tasted like life.



“What is it?”

“Something bit me,” she bent and lifted the tablecloth to look, not knowing what kind of bug it was, and not wanting to further irritate it, or smear its guts on her expensive stockings. “Oh, dear Goddess.”

“What? What is it?” Her friend was staring at something, and she had turned white. “Is is a spider? Do you want me to kill it?”

Her voice had turned into a whisper. “No, no. Shh. Be quiet. I want you to lift your side of the tablecloth very carefully. I want you to look at- ouch! At what’s on my thigh.”

She did as she was told. She looked. She looked. She blinked. Her breathing became frantic. She turned red, and looked at her friend. “What the hell is that? It looks like a- a- man. What kind of bug- are you OK?”

Her friend’s eyes had gained a glassy radiance. She was there, but gone. She was staring at the man who bit her over and over again, and she let him. Every time he did it, she began to gasp. Her breathing had become labored, and her parted lips formed a hungry smile.”

“Are you OK!? Answer me!”

“I’m OK. I’m fine. Listen to me. Don’t raise your voice. I don’t want him to disappear, if he’s some sort of spell. I can’t believe what I’m feeling… his bites feel like… love. Like a desperate dialect of it.”

She could only look at her, feeling disconnected from what her friend was describing. There was a miracle under the table, and they should try to understand it. Maybe speak to it. Protect it. But she took cues from her friend, and she watched.

“He’s moving… oh, dear. He’s looking at… me.” And just like that, she was lost forever. Lost in the immense sea of that tiny man’s tinier eyes. Eyes as brown as his hair, the same brown of her hair and eyes. She smiled. He smiled back, and licked the blood from his lips before he raised himself to a crawling position, and advanced once more, now on her thigh. Now on the hem of her dress. Now on her hip. Now moving to the center of her abdomen. Now scratching handfuls of fabric to make his way up her chest. She bent backwards ever so slightly, to make herself a friendlier surface. Their eyes were glued as he scaled her. Up, up, and closer to the plunging v that cut her breast line. When he set a single palm on her burning skin, she moaned loudly.

“Hey! Shh!”

He touched her again, and she moaned again, trembling visibly. Her chin had come down to point at the little man as she looked at him. The touch of his skin was the greatest pleasure she had ever known. She wanted more. She wanted it to go on forever. She wanted him for all eternity. She began to weep with hunger. A hunger that spilled from between her legs, and screamed into her brain like a drowning soul. Tears rushed down her face, and rained down her skin, reaching him. His expression showed shock. He stopped moving. Far above him, she moaned again, this time loud enough for others in the loud restaurant to hear.

She tried to look around. She really tried to feel embarrassment, but what was happening before her was too unique. Too special. She could only watch, and understand that what was happening to her friend had never happened to anyone, ever before. She would protect that.

Now between her breasts, directly over her heart, the man could no longer move. His skin had somehow become one with hers at surface level, impossible to separate. He could feel the connection becoming deeper, as each penetrated the other. He looked up at her. He felt fear. Fear, then anger. Then… he saw into her eyes. He saw pools of infinite pleasure swirling in inviting waves in there. He blinked once, and felt his mouth give birth to a smile. He wanted to swim there. His body began to respond to her exquisite agony. She had absorbed him up to his elbows and knees, and he only wanted to get closer, to show her what she had done to him. When she felt that minute hardness, she screamed, and her body shook in waves. Her eyes never left him, and his eyes never left her when he finally disappeared into her. Only then did she throw her head back, and close her eyes. Her panting began to slow down.

“What. Was. That.”

She cut into the air with a deeply ragged breath. “That- my dearest friend- that was the rest of me.”

“Say that again?”

But she never got to hear it again. The waiter, stiff and nervous looking, had returned, and was standing by their table.

“Is… ahem… everything alright here? May I take your order now?”

Her friend boomed right in. “Yes. Bring me your largest steak. My little one is absolutely ravenous.”