“Why am I stretching?”


“It’s not as though I’m going to get any taller.”

“Please, be quiet.”

“I don’t like yoga.”

“That’s not yoga. We’re not doing yoga.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“We’re relaxing.”

“Can’t we relax indoors?”

“Do you know why I brought you to the beach in the middle of October?”


“Because I’d like to drown you.”


“But I’m not going to. Instead of picking up your little body and holding it underwater until it stops moving, I’m sitting here, erasing all thought from my mind, and trying to remember everything I like about you.”

“What did I do?!”

“Nothing. Everything.”

“Why are you so mad at me then? Talking about drowning me. That’s not nice.”

“Do you want to know what’s not nice? I could tell you everything you do that’s not nice. Instead, I’m going to sit here and think good thoughts. It’s either that or packing up your few belongings and kicking you to the curb.”

“I don’t even know what I did wrong!”

“I remember when I met you. I’d seen small men before. Even dated a few. Almost married one. When I saw you I forgot every other man I’d ever met, big or small.”

“You wanted me.”

“I did. More than anyone else on Earth. That’s why I took you the way I did. I knew you were in need, the way you were working that corner, eyeing every woman that drove by, ducking out of sight when you saw the drivers were men.”

“Then I saw you.”

“I stopped the car long enough to open the door and grab you. I didn’t even ask you how much for the night.”

“And I didn’t say.”

“And I never paid.”

“And I never left.”

“You never left.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“You can be so sweet at times. So tender. That’s when I delight in every word that comes out of your mouth. When I come home and you run to my side, stretching your little arms to be picked up when you can’t even reach my knee.”

“I like to see you when you come home. I like the way you pick me up and hold me close, and kiss my whole face at once.”

“I like that too. I like it when you ask me how my day was, and you get mad at the people that made me angry. I really like when you lift your hands to my lips and massage away their tightness, your tiny fingers smoothing over every pucker and wrinkle.”

“You don’t have any wrinkles.”

“Lines. I mean lines. And wrinkles? I’m starting to… just look at this eleven shape between my eyebrows.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t scowl at me so much.”

“Maybe you should stop making me.”

“I don’t-”

“Shh. I like your voice. I like the way it makes my heart beat faster even though I haven’t been running. I like the horrible sounds you make when you sing-”

“Hey! You said you like my voice!”

“I do. I love your voice, but you can’t sing for shit.”

“I’ll have you know I used to sing lead vocals in a very popular group back in the day.”

“You have an appalling singing voice, but I’d take your singing any day, over any other singing.”

“Even Luciano Pavarotti’s?”

“Anyone living.”


“I like that you’ve stuck around this long. I like to wake up and see your little body next to mine, my panties your blanket tangled around your legs. I like to bring my face to your body and breathe in your scent… which is usually my scent, left to marinate overnight.”

“I’d really like a bath every night.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“I had to try. So, if you like me so much, what’s wrong?”

“I like the way you walk. Your little legs barely covering any ground at all, but your stride is so confident, you look like you’re stepping over mountains. You are a giant in the body of a toy-sized man.”

“That sounds weird… I don’t feel giant.”

”I like the way you make me forget my worries when we’re together.”

“I sound great! I don’t know what the problem is, then.”

“The problem is, this is not real.”

“What’s not real? What do you mean?”

“You. Me. None of this is real.”

“Stop. This is real.”

“It’s not. You’re not here. I’m not here. This is not a real place.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Every day is the same: I wake up first, and wake you up. We have breakfast. I go to work. Next thing you know, I’m back. Then we have a nice, relaxed evening, or we go out. We go on trips together. Our holidays are wonderful. But nothing is real.”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

“Why is it that you never talk about yourself?”

“I don’t- I don’t like to talk about my personal details.”

“Really? Personal details? In this world, you belong to me, but you can’t tell me your phone number?”

“That’s priv- I mean… we have the same phone number. Oh, god. What’s happening?”

“Every night is the same: the sun sets, and I tell you the truth. You and I met online at a VR station. We were roleplaying this whole size world when you had a stroke, and collapsed on the floor. I wasn’t there to witness the event. To me, it only seemed as though you dropped the connection, and decided to ghost me. I didn’t hear about you again until your girlfriend contacted me-”

“My what?!”

“Your girlfriend. The woman you love. The one holding your real hand right now, waiting for you to wake up from a deep coma. She’s been waiting for a year.”

“Please, stop. Shut up. No more.”

“Every night I tell you she found me. As it turned out, every time they tried to unhook you from our VR world, you died. I don’t know how she figured it out. Something about the VR unit being stuck to your port all the way to the hospital or something like that. The point is, she contacted the VR company, and got them to release my name. Got lawyers involved and everything. One day I’m bringing the laundry in from the line, and there’s a knock on the door. After she explained everything, she begged me to help. She had tried hooking up to your environment from her own account to no avail. It was only when I entered it using mine as I used to do that I saw you there. Waiting. Working that corner and looking in every direction like you were lost.”

“No. No no no no.”

“Yes. That’s why you fight my getting close to you. That’s why you don’t love me, and never will. You need to wake up and get back to reality. She needs you. She’s waiting for you.”

“Stop. Stop fucking with me. You’re lying. I can’t believe you can be this cruel.”

“I’m only here to help. At the expense of my own life, and my own heart. Wake up soon, because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I want to go home.”

“I know. And you will.”

“No! I want to go to our home. Our house. Where we live.”

“We don’t have a house. We don’t have anything. But shh. That’s enough for today. Come to me, sweetie. I’ll take you back inside that fake beach house, and hold you and love you one more night, and when you wake up you’ll remember everything about today, except this conversation. You’ll be happy. I might be a little happy too. Sometimes I am. Then, when the sun sets, I’ll try again.”





He sat on her chin, making a distinct effort not to laugh every time she tried to peer at him over the summit of her nose. Her eyes crossed before she closed one, then the other, trying to look around each of her nostrils to catch a blurry glimpse of his tiny shape. Why she chose to set him on her chin was beyond his ken, like so many things she did or said. He bit his lip and listened to saliva clicking in her mouth as the muscles that governed her lips began to shape words. She was about to say something. He dug into her soft flesh with his little hands. He knew his hold was meaningless if her words were strong enough to buck.

“I need a story.”

“A story?” he asked, feeling himself bob up and down helplessly as her jaw stretched. He could hear muscles longer than his body play with the opening of her mouth, even if he could not see them inside her head. He wondered why he had asked her that when he heard her so clearly, instead of making sure she said as little as possible. Instead of doing all he could to avoid being hurled into her heavily guarded mouth, even if by accident. She answered with a frustrated gust of warm wind hitting him square in the everywhere before she reiterated her demand.

“Yes. Tell me a story.”

“I-I don’t know any.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Can I move to your chest? Every time you say anything, I feel I’m going to fall off and tumble down either side of your head, and crack my skull so many feet down to the ground.


“Feet to me.”

“Yes, but inches. And you’re not going to fall. You’re going to sit there and tell me a story.”

He clutched handfuls of her skin as tightly as he could. His fingers, infinitesimal as they were, could not compete with whatever moisturizer from hell she applied to her face every morning. Even when he dug his heels into the border of her lower lip line and turned his feet into wedges between it and the protrusion of that massive swath of pink flesh, he felt as unsteady as a leaf in the wind- no, a leaf in the gutter, to be swallowed by darkness too profound to contemplate. Still, he thought, and thought, and came up with nothing. Rather than say as much, he recited his own life to her.

“Once upon a time there was a man. His name was-”


“What? I’m telling you my story.”

“I… I don’t know. I’m… I feel alarmed to know your name, after all this time.”

“How do you know it’s my name, and not just a made-up bunch of random words?”

“Because I know. I know things. Like how I knew I could shrink you even though such things are impossible.”

“I see. I guess you do know, because I was about to tell you what used to be my name. We both know that’s not my name now.”

She sighed so hard, she almost blew him off her. And she didn’t notice.

“Go on.”

“His name was Orton Ransom McGillis- Hey! Watch it!”

It was clear she was trying to contain her mirth, and badly. She was biting her lower lip, and the skin on her chin felt dimpled and taut under him. She was gasping and about to throw him off.

“Stop! You’re gonna make me fall.”

She kept at it for a few seconds longer before her amusement was brought to check, but not before she sighed a bit too happily.

“Aren’t you happy your name is Toy now?”

“Yeah, sure. Ecstatic. Look, do I tell you a story, or can I get off now?”

“Not yet. Go on, tell me your story. I’m sorry.”

“OK, that’s better. So, his name was Orton, and he worked in the porn industry-”


“Just- let me finish.”

Again, contained laughter about 5.4 on the Richter scale. He waited it out, wishing for a dark corner in which to hide. Once it was over, he cleared his throat and went on.

“Poor, misunderstood Orton worked in the porn industry composing summaries for porn films. His carefully worded descriptions and delicately crafted keywords filled the world of Internet porn and the still existing DVD market. The money was adequate, but the hours were hell. One particularly grueling day, Orton made his way to his car. He was exhausted, and not paying attention to his surroundings. When he was unlocking his car, he caught movement on the side window’s reflection, and turned his head long enough to see a woman reach his side.

He turned to defend himself, but instead stood there as she smiled at him, and brought her face up to his, and kissed him fully on the lips. He was so startled by her behavior that the prick in his neck went almost unnoticed. What he did notice was that everything turned into darkness then, and when he came to, nothing looked familiar. He would not realize for a full minute that he had been taken from his life, his work, and everything he once knew, and transformed into a two-inch tall man-”


“Man. I’m a man, no matter what you say or how you treat me.”

“Shush. Don’t tempt me to prove your wrong. Finish your story.”

“So, this little man finally made sense of the roaring sound that assaulted his senses, and understood it to be the engine of a car. He finally made sense of the heat surrounding him, and understood it to be mountains of smooth human flesh. He finally made sense of the coarse texture on which he stood, and understood it to be the seat of a car. The driver’s seat.”

The wall of her lower lip stretched into a smirk, and Orton, now Toy, read her thoughts in it. He knew she was thinking of what she made him do as soon as he recovered consciousness. No explanation, not a single demonstration of care, or an attempt to assuage his fears. His panic. His horror. He graduated from man to sex toy that very moment. Magna cum loudly.

“Go on….”

“After months of being treated like an object, Orton began to think of himself as one. He stopped begging to be regrown or returned to his life. He didn’t have to work anymore, except as a human dildo for the woman that shrank and took him. He had zero responsibilities, except to keep her satisfied. His family, his friends, everyone that had once known him were still grieving for him, looking for him, crying for him; but the woman, his owner, didn’t care. She wanted him so badly, none of that mattered.”

“Poor, unfortunate Orton.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that. You’ve always said I’m the luckiest toy in the world.”

“I’m talking about Orton, not you. You are the luckiest toy in the world.”

“Anyway. Orton made peace with his fate, and realized his place was with this giant woman that loved him as the most precious thing in the world.”

“The universe.”

“The universe.”

“The universes. Reality. Realities. All dimensions.”



“Is that what I am to you? The most precious thing in all universes dimensions everything?”

“Yes. Everything, everywhere, and beyond, where there is nothing and nowhere. You are the most important nothing there too.”

“Hmm. Thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you like my story?”

“Yes, I loved it.”

“Can I get off now?”

“No, Toy. Ladies first.”

The ABCs Game – E is for Eye

is for Eye – ‘ī n [ME, fr. OE ēage; akin to OHG ouga eye, L oculus, Gk ōps, eye, face, Skt akṣi eye] (bef. 12c) 1. a: an organ of sight; esp: a nearly spherical hollow organ that is lined with a sensitive retina, is lodged in a bony orbit in the skull, is the vertebrate organ of sight, and is normally paired.

I love word derivations. When I was a child and read the dictionary because it was fun, etymologies were always the best part. This blog entry was first created eight years ago, right about the time I stopped playing this word game. My muse started packing his things, and all I ever typed here was the above paragraph, and this thought, “It is that giant shape that peers into your window….”

I then added this post to my drafts and left it there to rot. Last night I was inspired soon after I began looking for the components for the accompanying collage, and while going to the store I thought of the words that belong here. All day yesterday people tried to talk to me, and they had to get my attention several times because I was lost in my world. I was lost in this.

* * *

Look at me.

What is your name?
Wrong. Your name is Toy.

Where is your home?
Wrong. I am your home.

Who is your family?
Wrong. I am your owner.

Look at me.
Stop crying.

Who did this to you?
That’s right. I did this to you.

Open your eyes.
Tell me what you see.

Come here, come closer.
I gave you an order.

Very well, you leave me no choice.
Stop screaming, I won’t hurt you.

I’m only closing my fingers around you, and doing your work for you.
Now look. Look. Open your eyes. Dry them.

Now touch me with both hands.
Yes, there. Reach over my thumb and touch me.

How does it feel?
Yes. What else? Press harder.

Close your eyes and see with your body.
Thunder? No, that’s not thunder.

That’s my heartbeat. That’s my blood.
Rushing there for you.

Put your hands back where I told you.
Follow my orders.

Now feel the heat.
The air down there is thicker. Wetter.

Do not move your hands away.
Or I will keep them there for you.

Tell me your name.

Tell me your name.

Open your eyes.
You are learning.

Look up. Look at my face.
I don’t care if it hurts your neck.

Tell me my name.

Show me your home.
Confused still?

Look down again.
Look with your eyes, and with your hands.

That’s your home.
I’m your home.

Push hard. Harder.
Do you hear that?

That’s all for you.
It’s coming for you.

I’m going to put you down now.
Don’t run. Don’t cry.

Alright, keep crying.
But run and I’ll take over.

No more learning.
Only teaching.

Good Toy.
Now come home.

* * *



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!