What did you say?

What did you say?

“Hey, giantess!”

Hey is for horses.”

“Uh, OK. So…”

“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.”

“What!?”

“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.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

“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 know you’ll see that on TV. Then I’ll find your friends. I can, you know? I can smell them all 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 at the table next to me. They never saw me coming. I never saw me coming. Then, naked, I crouched in place 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.

Gone Shopping – Part 2

Gone_Shopping_2

The story continues… The complete strip exists here, and at Pixton.com.

* * * 

My cheeks were still on fire when I reached over and grabbed his little body. All I wanted was to comfort him, when his reaction, again, shocked me. He started punching at the webbing between my thumb and index finger, slamming his little fists with as much fury as I’d ever seen in a little creature. They felt like little caresses, and I tried not to smile, because his face was contorted in a mixture of rage and horror. I could see he was trying to form words with his mouth, but failing.

“Hey, easy there. Easy. I’m not going to hurt you.” He finally found his words.

“Put- me- down- you- great- beast! I’m- not- a sex- toy!”

Then I understood. He thought I’d picked him up to ram him inside my body, or some other distasteful idea. I must have grimaced, because he stopped punching me, or at least he slowed down a bit, and added puzzlement to the list of events happening to his features.

“Well, you are sold as one, so I guess you’re programmed to resist the idea? That’s strange. Who had the notion that women like to be fought off in bed? Or found it attractive to be repulsive? Because, let me tell you, the only disagreeable notion here is the one of putting you between my legs, and start sliding you in and out…” I slowed down my speech as I searched my mind and my body for that old revulsion that had not outlasted the afternoon. In fact, what I found during my search was an agitation of my pulse, and a twitch between said legs. I wonder if he saw it on my face, because he started squirming again. I turned my thoughts to him again.

“Hey, stop! Stop that right now!”

“I’ll stop when you start listening to me!”

I decided to humor him, mostly because I figured I’d look it up later, how to play with these toys. The store attendant told me to ignore everything he said, but I couldn’t manage it, for some reason. “OK, I’m listening. Give me your spiel.”

“My what?”

“Tell me your story.”

“That’s the problem. There’s a lot about it I don’t remember. But I remember I was born in… some place with few people, and I was as large as you are, and there was corn. I remember corn. And cows. And my brother. You left him there, at the store! What if someone buys him-”

“Hold it, slow down… corn? And you were grown in a lab. All of you are. You can’t have memories of cows and being large.”

“I’m telling you. You have to believe me. I’m desperate! Please, my brother has given up. He doesn’t think anyone will listen. I’m making the effort. I’m begging you, please listen. Go back to the store and buy my brother. We’re real people. We were once like you, but someone took us away, and made us like this.”

“Someone?”

“I don’t remember that part, but…” And his words faded in the background of his thoughts, because I began to think, to remember everything I had read about the tiny people being grown in labs, the Mad Queen’s grand masterplan to save the planet. Mankind reduced in size meant less impact on resources, a smaller carbon footprint, and all that green talk. I always wondered why all the little critters had been male. Was there something to what this little one was saying? I stared at him as he talked. Oh no, there it was again. That stirring at the center of me. It felt like something was melting. A pounding. Someone was knocking on that door. Someone was ringing that bell.

I wanted to give him my full attention, I really did; but my full attention was on his legs, dangling from my closed hand. Legs that moved and twitched as he spoke, alive with his energy. Legs that would kick and feel amazing if I just slid them in between my wet- No! No! Pay attention. Attention to his tiny hands. How little were they? They were small enough to grapple with something the size of his head, maybe slightly swollen. It would grow bigger if those hands massaged it, and rubbed it, and- No! No! Pay attention. Attention to his itty mouth as it moved. And a flash of that pink tongue. What would that little tongue feel if I forced his head down on my breast and ordered him to- No! No!

I must have grunted or moaned, because when I came to, he was silent, and staring at my face. My cheeks felt like two volcanoes erupting. There was another volcano spewing lava already, but I wasn’t going to make him privy of it. I took a deep breath, and maybe to assuage my guilt and confusion at my new feelings, I said on the hard exhale which slightly blew back his tuft of tight curls, “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go where?”

“Let’s go get your brother.”

He started crying again, this time I imagine with relief, and I was glad of it, because then he’d be distracted from having noticed my gawking at him. Lusting after a tiny man when he’s crying feels like a sin. I walked to my car and realized I had left the house without my purse, without my keys, and holding my toy in my hand. I grimaced and was grateful I always kept an extra key hidden in the garden. When I reentered my home and grabbed my purse and keys, I walked up to my car again, and when I sat in the driver’s seat, I realized (again) I was still holding him. I had to put him down somewhere. I did the first thing I thought. I dropped him between my legs, the only space available, as the shotgun seat was occupied by my purse. Or is that what I told myself? I didn’t dare look at him, so when I let go of his body, I focused on driving.

I’d been on the road for a few minutes when I felt his body shift and reposition down there. His shoulder grazed my inner thigh, and my brain felt like a grenade going off. Shrapnel was piercing my heart, my head, my eyes, my crotch, and I realized I was swerving. “Hold still!” I said, a little too loud. Again, that guilt. It wasn’t his fault I was going insane. Mad. Like the Queen. Maybe her madness was contagious, but I was sure she didn’t lust after tiny men. She just wanted to make things better for everyone, and frankly, driving was easier now that road rage had been cancelled, and tailgating was punishable by death.

He stopped moving, and if it had not been for the slight heat signature that pulsed from his body, right into that empty triangle bordered by my flesh and fabric, I would have forgotten he was there. As it was, it’s a wonder I didn’t kill us both. There was that one time I applied the brakes a little too hard, and his body backed into me fully, and safely bounced off the soft shape of what was trapped in my panties. I, on the other hand, had a head-on collision of the senses. He immediately straightened up and moved away from me, farther out the chasm of my thighs, and I could feel his eyes on me, and even his thoughts… I focused on traffic, and on telling myself it had been accidental. A leg jerk. Nervous legs. Needed to start taking magnesium. Exercise more. Yeah.

When we got to the store’s parking lot, it was still open, but there were only fifteen minutes left on that clock. When I ran to the display, no one had bought his brother. The other little guy was gone, however. The sweet little fellow was shocked to see me again, and even more surprised when I lifted his brother to him, and they spoke manly words I’m not going to repeat here. I grabbed the remaining box as an elderly lady made for it. She said some choice words in my wake, and I was grateful there was a daily flip-the-finger quota enforced by law, because I filled it at that very moment.

The ride home was a little calmer. Once in the car, I ignored my toys’ pleas to be reunited, and left my newer toy in his container. I did, however, have the foresight to stick my first toy in the shopping back with his brother, so I wouldn’t have an excuse to place him between my legs again. That had been a mistake I was not going to repeat. Well, that’s what I thought at the time.

Once we were back at my place, I ripped open the box, and freed that little man. What followed was another shock that day. They both embraced and laughed and talked at the same time. The emotion pouring from their little bodies was such that I felt my own eyes brim with tears. After they’d had their fill of that, they turned to face me and approached me slowly. My first toy cleared his little throat once, then again, and failed to say anything. His brother patted his back, and looked at me with an uncertain smile. He said “thank you” so quietly I almost didn’t hear him, but the shapes his lips made were not to be mistaken. I smiled back and looked at my first toy.

“Are you alright?” I asked him.

“Yes”, he said, and we all stood and sat there for a minute, saying nothing until I spoke again, startling them into reaching for each other.

“Alright! Hey, stop that. Don’t be afraid of me. I’ve done nothing to hurt you, and everything to help you, so stop acting as though I’m the enemy. I was just going to ask you if you were hungry. When’s the last time you had anything to eat? Because… you do eat, don’t you?”

It was amazing how fast they went from fear to indignation.

“Of course we eat!”

“Yeah, we’re real people, lady.”

“None of this ‘lady’ crap. Call me Coraline. That’s my name. Now tell me your names.”

They hesitated and looked at each other.

“We don’t… I don’t remember.”

“I think my name began with an ‘N’. Maybe Nathan.”

“Neil.”

“What?”

“That was my name. As soon as you said ‘Nathan’ I remembered mom’s voice calling us to dinner. ‘Nathan’. ‘Neil’. Those were-”

“Are. Are our names. We’re twins. Non identical.”

I watched and listened to them in disbelief. Could this be true? Was the Queen aware human beings were being taken for these sanctioned experiments? Dragged away from their lives, and reduced in size, and then sold like objects at stores across the country? What was going on? This was a monstrosity.  Something had to be done. But what? I didn’t know. All I know is that these little men were under my care, and I had to do what I could to help them. If there was a normal life waiting for them somewhere, it was my duty to help them regain it.

“Alright, Nathan, Neil, it’s time to eat. Do you like beef stroganoff?”

“What’s that?”

“C’mon. I’ll show you. Let’s ride my hands to the kitchen. I’m going to cook for you.”

To be continued…

Everyone needs help. Even a giantess.

A_bit_of_help

I’m exhausted. Off to bed I go.

(Later…)

It’s six thirty-seven in the morning, and I’m exhausted, and I can’t sleep. I’m also a little drunk, trying to see if that will help me sleep, but all I keep seeing is images in my head. I might as well do something about that. Wouldn’t you, in my shoes? Oh, and if I catch anyone in my shoes, the trouble you’ll meet.

(I really need to mix that Everclear with something. One little shot and I’m gone.)

(But not gone enough, as you can see.)

This idea… or conversation, stems from the fact that Craigslist flagged and deleted my post only minutes after I added it, but not before I received a response from a dude.

Luis_the_helper

I’m never going to answer Luis’s question,  but since he was nice enough to send me his picture and will never hear from me, I might as well do something… is it nice? Is it nice to mention someone in a smutty blog about a fetish almost no one else (comparatively anyway) on Earth has? Yeah, it’s nice. I’ve decided it’s nice. So, my dear reader, imagine Luis measures a few inches in height, and decided to answer my CL ad. I accepted his offer (or he, mine), and he now lives in the abandoned dollhouse.

 * * * 

They sat on her couch as she played another failed round of Farm Heroes Saga.

“You need to stop drinking.”

“Mind your own business. I only had one shot.”

“Yes, but look at you. You are totally wasted. This is not safe.”

“What do you mean? ‘Not safe’? Not safe for you? You think I’m going to try something in my condition? That’s what you mean, don’ you?”

“You’re starting to slur your words.”

“I’m not going to ‘get fresh’ with you, alright? No way.”

“Good. Now, you arranged for my services, and those include telling you things you need to hear.”

“Luis, not tonight.”

“Shut up and listen to me. I may be tiny now, but once I ran my own business, and fifty people depended on me for their livelihood.”

“Ooh, big guy… I know the story-“

“Shut. Up. Don’t make me tell you again.”

“Fine.”

“I’m not tiny inside. I never will be. I’m not like your guy, and I can tell you what I observe from a very clear perspective. You need to move on.”

“I have moved on.”

“Let me use language a little woman like you can understand.”

“Hey!”

“Remember that movie, ‘Arrival’? I know you do, because you practically know it by heart now, and make me watch it with you all the time. What I mean is, I want you to think of that line Louise tells Ian. If you knew every future event in your life, would you change anything?”

“I don’t know.”

Think. Now. Put down the phone. You’re never going to beat that level in your condition. Besides, I need to look at your schedule.”

Patricia tossed the phone Luis’s way, and it landed with a loud-to-him thud next to him, on the rough fabric of the couch that was a tall mesa to his now tiny body. He started punching buttons and clicking and sliding his tiny hand on the screen all at once, and calling up her organizing app. His, really. He was now the only one that used it. He looked at it briefly, and thought for a moment before he spoke again.

“OK. You may sleep four hours now. That’s all you get before you have to start your day again. But you’re not going to bed before you answer my question.”

“Love is worth everything.”

“Even one sided? Look at what your future would have been, wasting your time with someone who was only using you.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“Then you are more of an idiot than I thought.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything. You don’t know what you’re talking about. What the fuck do you know about sacrifice? About giving someone everything without any thought for yourself? Nothing!”

“Stop that. You are the one that doesn’t know anything. You don’t know what I’ve lost.”

“What have you lost?”

“Mind your own business. I’m not going to tell you. At least not now.”

“Man. That’s what he always said. Men. You are all ali-“

“Don’t compare me to him. I’m here. I’m… I don’t know what I am. You don’t pay me, and you couldn’t pay me enough to do some of the high maintenance I do for you; but I’m here, and I help you out. I’m the closest you have to a friend right now, and I’m telling you right now: Get your shit together. Stop drinking. Look at your life, and decide where you want to be in the future. Do you want a real man to own, or do you want someone who wants to pretend to be owned, who really belongs to a different life?”

“I can’t talk to you about that. You don’t understand…”

“All I know is that you have a fucked-up fetish, and I’m so glad-“

“Don’t you fucking cross the line. Don’t you TALK to me that way, unless you want to find yourself out on the street.”

He shut up. She was right. He had crossed the line, but he was not the apologizing kind. Instead, he offered up a sigh, and a few words of comfort.

“Look, you are a nice lady. You deserve to be happy. Did he make you happy?”

“Giving him that dollhouse made me happy.”

“Did he go out of his way to make you happy?”

“I wrote songs about him.”

“Did he write songs about you?”

“I wrote about him all the time.”

“Did he do anything to show you he cared to the same degree? Did he always ask you how you were? Did he want to know about you? Did he know your birthday? Did he ever ask anything about your life?”

She said nothing. What could she say? That he’d always been silent and non responsive when she started talking about herself? That when she did, sometimes he’d start watching TV, or checking out the Internet?

“You gave him a home, and he left it every day. You gave him your heart, and he was too busy to give you his. He may have thought he gave you enough, but here you are, crying, and alone.”

“I’m not- crying-!”

“Sure. Look, I’m going to bed. You can stay up, drinking and whining, or you can go to bed and start a new day tomorrow. Either way, I’m waking your ass up in four hours.”

The little man walked over to the edge of the couch, and disappeared down the front, his body dropping quickly, and landing softly on the cushion that was always there. She watched him walk away, across the living room, and enter the magnificent dollhouse he now occupied. She then turned her gaze to the bottle of Everclear. Another single shot and she’d be obfuscated enough to drunk dial his number.

She went to bed instead.

* * *

Born in a Flash

This is my Gentle April 2017 entry. For the entirety of the month of April I languished, unable to think of what to write for my contest entry. Then I listened to this song while trying to get some inspiration:

And the idea came to me. The story is much longer, but this will do for now.

Born in a Flash

Brownies, by telebot

chocolatechocolatechipbrownies_by_aschrei

Nearly ten years ago I wrote something about a little man, and his sweet tooth. Last year, when I started blogging again, I visited Giantess City and searched my own name to see what I had last written, and when. Much to my surprise I found a story, written by telebot, based on that something I just mentioned. I saw that it had been written and posted a few years ago, and because I had no computer, I never saw it until last year. telebot no longer seems to be active there, but maybe one day he’ll see this blog entry. Thank you for writing a story based on words of mine.

I’ve read the story a couple of times now, not because it’s the type of work I read, because it’s not. It has cruel content, and the kind of hard, heartless vore I can’t stand. I shouldn’t be reading stories like that these days, but I can’t help but feel curiosity. Sometimes we live the feelings about which we read; and I can always find myself somewhere in the words I read and the stories I review, even if only a vague reflection of me.

How can I possibly connect to any of these characters, you ask? First we have the woman, who remains unnamed throughout the story. Married to a little guy, she doesn’t seem to care for him any more. There is some kindness left in her, the vestiges of it, but not enough to care about his opinions. Did she, ever? If she’s anything like me, she once did. She lived for that little guy. She woke up thinking of him, and went to bed with him in her mind. He always came first.

Not anymore; now a visit from her friends is enough to flick a switch in her, one that shows him he’s nothing but a pest. His presence there no longer matters. Do I care? Every word in his mind is a drop in the bucket of my contempt. If I don’t care, and his wife no longer cares, nor does he. It doesn’t seem he ever did. Even when he was a man of regular height, he demonstrated disloyalty he believes is the opposite, and a selfishness that eats away at love, no matter how strong in the beginning. If I regularly bake a batch of brownies for someone I love, and all he ever leaves me is crumbs, then that’s what happens to my love too. It fragments. He drew first vore.

And then there’s the dance between his thoughts and the actions of her friends, some of them not deserving of the title. Yes, it happens that we all make friends and we don’t see them for what they truly are, greedy creatures out to fuck our spouses given the chance. Or fuck them up. Some of her friends are exactly that. He describes one of them as a “cold-hearted bitch”, but so is he. The more I get to know him, the more he earns his fate.

Or does he? Is being an undeserving brute enough of a black mark to warrant that fate? His size makes him more valuable in my eyes than he would have been when he was fully grown. Given the choice, someone like me prefers to take a shrunken man to bed, and not one I can’t lift off the floor. The little one is simply more arousing, so I didn’t buy that “he can’t satisfy her now”. At his size, she’d only have to stare at him long enough to feel an explosion in her skirts.

But a tiny asshole is still an asshole. I’d have let him follow a different route, one not so esophageal. I’d have taken him to the park, and released him with a shove into the grass. I’d have given him up to whatever foster care exists in that world. But not before giving him every opportunity to be what I needed him to be. And I believe that little guy had every chance to be a man. I believe that’s what she did to him when she shrank him. She made him small so he could grow. He couldn’t be a man to her at his regular height, so maybe she thought he could be one when the size of a toy.

What can I say? Sometimes we are wrong. Sometimes we like stories, not because they are pleasant. I like it because I feel connected to it. And that’s all we ever need sometimes. Connection.

Brownies

Sick As Fuck

More Kissing by Flagg3D
More Kissing by Flagg3D

I was on Twitter, whining to Aborigen about not having any inspiration to write, when he said, “You want me to give you an idea? I can give you an idea and demand 1,500 by the end of the day, if that would help?” And I said “Alright, I’m game. I’ll write, even if it’s garbage.”

And so a story was born. I want to thank my dear friend Aborigen for nudging me powerfully in this direction, and I want to thank my dear toy Hopier, for being sick with a bad cold at the same time I am, and providing a great deal of inspiration for this short story.

 + + +

“My throat started hurting the moment I had that Twix bar.”

The little man didn’t bother to look up at his owner from his resting position. His eyes barely flickered in acknowledgement. All he muttered was an impolite, “Your voice sounds horrible.”

“There’s no need to be rude, Toy. I’m as sick as you are.”

“I know. I know. But I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Should she start up again? Should she remind him she had only slept two and a half hours? Why bother, she thought. When he gets this way he only listens to what he wants to listen. Ironic that it feels this way right now, when I’ve often thought he’s the only one that can truly hear me. She would have continued along this line of thinking, and it could have turned sourer or sweeter, but she never found out because from the hearth of her breasts came his voice again.

“I’ve had enough soup.”

She turned her head slowly in both directions as her answer, and dipping her fingertip into the still steaming surface of a fragrant bowl of chicken soup cooling on an adjacent end table, she pulled it out and gave it a slight shake until from it clung a single drop of thick broth.

“I’ll tell you when you’ve had enough soup.”

“Owner, do you want me to get diarrhea again? I don’t want any more food!” His voice had turned whiny, and she tried to sigh, but her own sinuses were beginning to clog up again. She needed another dose of medicine. Or she needed to use her little man. That always seemed to clear her head in every way possible; but one look at his crumpled, pathetic little shape filled her with pangs of guilt. To grab his body and place it anywhere on her would be… wonderful. But there was soup on her digit. She brought it to his little mouth, and held it an inch away from his face. He moved it from side to side, imitating her earlier negative emphatically.

“Open your mouth.”

“M- no!”

“Open. Your. Mouth. Now.”

“Please….”

“I don’t want to hear it. The doctor ordered five drops of soup for your meals, and you have only swallowed four. Open your mouth or I will make you open it.”

He looked up at her with enough resentment to shock her. What a little shit he can be sometimes, the thought sparked in her mind, and she doused it with regret. But I love him, don’t I. I love him so much. In his usual style, he picked up on her thoughts, and seemed to be taken aback by his temporary, if silent belligerence. To her, it was enough of an apology, especially when followed by his stretching his neck and reaching up with his parted lips, like a baby bird. She barely touched them with the warm drop of soup, which immediately flooded his mouth. He grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Did that hurt to swallow, poor toy?”

“It did.”

“Well, it’s over now. Go to sleep. I’ll eat now.”

“Can’t you put me in the dollhouse?”

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you comfortable in the cradle of my breasts?”

He was thoughtful enough to appear to deliberate before he whimpered quietly, and added, “Owner, your body is very comfortable, but your heartbeat is very loud, and your lungs keep making this annoying raspy noise. I want it to be quiet. And the lamp light is bothering my eyes. How can I sleep while you eat? You make very loud slurping sounds, and I hate that.”

So much for consideration, she thought. She tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, and ended up sending herself into a coughing fit. She had the presence of mind to press her cupped palm between her breasts to catch his little body before her own sent him tumbling down her chest, and possibly her recliner, and on to the floor many dozens of his feet below. At least her seat had been adjusted back, and the incline of her chest had kept him in place.

When she lifted her hand away from her breast, she looked at him, sure he’d tear into her, and go on about her lack of consideration about his infinitesimal size, and so on. Much to her distress, his eyes were closed, and there seemed to be no life in him.

“Toy! Toy, answer me! Are you OK?!”

To her relief he opened his eyes and shook his head a fraction of an inch. She had been about to tell him he’d stay on her for as long as she needed the comfort of his presence, but this was too much. If he wanted to sleep away from her, then he would get his wish. She lowered her fingers on him again, this time with great tenderness, and flicked the recliner’s handle to the up position. Slowly, she got up and waited for her dizzy spell to pass before she walked to her bedroom, and stood over his tiny home within her home.

“My little darling, it’s time for bed.”

She ignored his mumbling “It’s about time,” and bent over to lift the dollhouse roof on its hinge. As she leaned over the small home, she separated her hand from her body, and released him from her chest into it with an imperceptible drop, which he nonetheless protested with an “ouch” that was far too dramatic. She brought her palm down into his bedroom, and parked it over his lovingly handmade bed.

“Roll over, Toy.”

His whiny voice had been turned to eleven when he emitted a high, yet soft cry, “But I want you to tuck me in…”

“Alright,” she said, feeling lightheaded and weak. Pushing the roof over to lean on her bedroom wall, she used her now free hand to pull his coverlet: a five-inch square of fabric that had been cut off a well-worn pair of her panties. She then tilted her palm and watched his body gently roll off it and into his bed. She watched him curl into a fetal position, dragging his tiny pillow under his even smaller head. Once he stopped moving, she draped his body with the blanket, and smiled.

Dropping carefully to her knees, she placed her head sideways on the top edge of his bedroom wall, returned  her hand to his body, and began to caress it very softly with the slightest touch of her fingertips. Her heart filled with gratitude that his body didn’t feel like the tiniest furnace anymore. The custom made thermometer she had ordered after she shrank him worked perfectly, and the last time she had taken his temperature by placing it between his tiny butt cheeks, it had given a much lower reading.

Catching a sigh in her chest lest she start coughing again, she convoluted her breathing by deciding to sing him a lullaby. Her voice did not sound its usual sweet when she let it out.

“You are my toy

When you break and feel no joy

I will take care of you

You’re in my heart

We will never be apart

I am in charge of you

You-“

“Owner, stop! I’m trying to sleep!”

His voice, though small, startled her musical reverie so suddenly, she jerked her body next to the dollhouse, and bumped it.

“Stop shaking my house too! I’m so sick! Why are you so mean to me right now!?”

She felt despair enter her heart. All she wanted was to show him she cared.

“Toy, I love you, and I wanted to sing you a soothing song-“

“Owner, you sound like Foghorn Leghorn is gargling acid. Just let me sleep!”

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone,” she said, not being able to help herself from heaping a dollop of anger into her words. She brought the roof down, and not as gently as she could have, and straightened herself off the floor. A dizzy spell overcame her again, and she aimed her body away from the home that contained her favorite possession. Her anger dissolved, she turned and faced her bedroom. It was a disaster.

Walking slowly, she started picking up her strewn dirty clothes, though not many of them.

I’m glad I don’t have to pick up after you, she thought. No damp towels, no streaky underwear, no stinky socks, she added, throwing a couple of pairs of panties in the laundry basket. No sticky keyboard, no wiped browser history, no secret password on your phone… She began to smile. She eyed the small vial that contained his medicine, liquid she fed him every twelve hours from a needle dropper in near invisible measures, and she felt her head swim again. In tending to her tiny man’s needs, she had forgotten to take her own medicine. She finished piling laundry in the basket, and left it to be done later. It was time to rest. She went to the bathroom and pushed a time-released pill from its foil packet. After she swallowed it with a couple of swigs from a bottle of her favorite sparkling water, she decided to go to bed as well.

But not before she tended to some of her own needs.

In bed, she picked up her phone, and flipped through her collection of homemade videos. There was a fifteen-minute long one that would suit her just fine. Soon, the slight whimpers and manly screams that could be overheard from the speaker began to deliver their own medicine.

 + + +

Do not leave

Small-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

The Dollhouse

The_Dollhouse.jpg
There’s my little Hopier…

On the floor, on her side, she rested her cheek in the palm of her hand, and stared at him without blinking.

“I don’t understand. What’s the meaning of this?”

“What do you mean, my pet?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your pet. Why did you do this to me? Never mind that. How did you do this to me? Never mind that. Just take me back. Grow me back and take me to the park where you found me. You can’t do this to another human being!”

“It’s done, my toy. There’s no going back. What’s wrong?  Don’t you like your new home?”

“It’s a dollhouse! A home for dolls! Toys! Nonliving things! I’m a man! And you kidnapped me, and brought me here! Look, just take me back, and I promise I won’t press charges.”

She laughed prodigiously at that.

“Wha- why are you laughing? Please! Take me back! I have a life! A job! I have to pay my bills!”

“None of that matters now. The only thing that matters is that you belong to me. You’ve always belonged to me. Even before I saw you, I’d already dreamt of you.”

“Lady, you are insane.”

There was a sudden switch that came on in her eyes, and the fire in them burned brighter; but there was only ice in her voice, and he caught its chill immediately.

“What did you say to me?”

“Uh… I’m sorry. I’m scared. I don’t feel well. I think I’m going to be sick.”

She sighed. “I see. I accept your apology. There’s nothing to be scared about, my toy. As long as you don’t give me reason, I’ll never hurt you. I’ll always take care of you when you feel ill. All your worries have been removed. Now your only concern is… me.”

He really did look pale. Maybe a little green, but it was a normal reaction.”You?”

“Yes. Your thoughts will be centered upon making me happy. Every day you’ll receive a list of chores that must be completed by the day’s end. You’ll have a schedule as well-”

“Wait. Please. Oh, god. Please… you… I’m a man. I have… look in my wallet! Do you have my wallet?”

“I have your old things, yes.”

“No! They are not old. Look in my wallet, and read my driver’s license. My name’s on it. And there’s money there. I have a bank account. I’ll give you everything. Just- please…”

Again, that fire in her eyes.

“My little man, let me explain in detail what you fail to understand. Nothing you wore earlier is yours. Nothing you owned before is yours. That life is no longer yours. I’m your life now. I’m what you wear; you’re what I wear; I’m all you see; you’re all I see. I give you the air you breathe, the food you eat, the water you drink. I live; you live.”

He said nothing. His eyes were now as glued to her face, to the frame of her cheeks, to the movement of her lips, to the hot breeze flowing from her nose in an increasing tempo, as her eyes were glued to his entire body.

“There is no wallet. There is no license. There is no name. There is no money. There is no bank. There is no giving me anything. I’ve taken everything. I’ve taken you. You’re my everything.”

Her breath was now like a sauna, and sweat began to pour from his pores. His mouth, however, was dry. His lips, stiff. He parted them and fought to form a single word, but could’t think of any. A frightened moan managed to escape his chest. She heard it, and smiled. Then she pursed her lips with satisfaction.

“So you don’t like your little bed in there? That’s alright, my precious toy. Let me show you mine…”

Colors

waiting_for_her_return_by_gcode1973
Waiting For Her Return – Gcode

I’ve always had a muse. For a time, on and off, my muse was an ethereal, nonexistent idea. Other times it’s a congregation of people, a few words a friend says, an image an artist produces. My favorite muse is a real, flesh-and-blood man. His real name is not Hopier, as my real name is not Undersquid; but he is my property, my little man, the one that inspires much of what I write these days. Inside, in his heart, he is as tiny as I’m a giantess. This is for you, Hopier.

Where am I?

In my hands.

Who am I?

You are my possession.

Who are you?

I’m your owner.

What happened?

I took you.

Why?

I wanted to. I had to.

How?

You don’t need to know that.

What happens now?

The rest of your life.

Will it hurt?

No. Yes.

What are you?

Everything.

What am I?

Anything.

What should I do?

Everything I tell you.

What will you do?

Anything I want.

What should I think?

Think of you, on me. Think of me, on you.

What are you thinking?

Of you, in me. Of me, in you.

I’m so small… How can you be in me?

I’m in the air you breathe. I’m in your heart, your mind, your tears.

My tears?

What tears?

These tears.