The ABCs Game – F is for Farts

giantess_div___tims_workout_4_6_by_deviantkibate
“Giantess Div – Tim’s workout 4/6” by DeviantKibate

I… don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m thinking about it now, and you are just sitting there, so you might as well listen.

* * *

Gabriel Maurice Sanchez, experiment No. 132, walked into his psychiatrist’s office and kept on walking. He only measured four inches in height, so it took him a while to reach the side of the comparatively gigantic seat. Once there, he stood still and waited. Doctor Pembrose, a noted mental health practitioner specializing in the treatment of shrunken people, raised his gaze from the iPad he was holding and welcomed him in.

“Gabe, how are you? Please, sit down.”

“Hi, Dr. Pembrose. I’m OK. Just let me…”

“Do forgive me,” said the doctor, lifting his enormous form from an ornate chair, and offering Gabe his palm. Gabe climbed in, visibly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Gabe. The new chair has not arrived yet. It’s currently airplane cargo, if these updates are to be believed. It’s too bad only the Japanese are true masters of miniature furniture.”

The doctor pressed the back of his hand gently on the cushion of his patients’ seat, and waited for Gabe to waddle off his palm and onto the velvety surface. He waited still, until Gabe reached the back, turned to face him, and slid down to sit, a ridiculously small shape drowning in the red fabric background. Once his patient seemed as comfortable as he was ever going to get, Dr. Pembrose returned to his seat, lifting the iPad and swiping the smooth screen with his finger, to access what he had highlighted from their previous session. He gave the device a quick nod, and looked at Gabe again, smiling negligibly.

“Tell me, how did the conversation with your wife go?”

Gabe’s cheeks turned red, and his eyes gave a new gleam, but no tears ran down his tiny cheeks. He swallowed and spoke quietly. The doctor didn’t have to strain to listen. He had installed a microphone in the seat, and it allowed him to listen to every word his patients spoke. They had enough to deal with, being so small. They didn’t need to contend with a giant tilting his head to pretend it might help him listen to them when he was only here to help.

“She didn’t want to listen. She says I’m her toy, and if she wants to fart on me, she will. She said she loves me, but she owns me….”

Gabe words trailed off, and he seemed trapped in thought until the doctor spoke again.

“Did you tell her you are not a toy, but a man? A real man that was shrunken violently, without permission?”

“I told her everything we discussed. I sat down with her… on her, last week after dinner, and I began to tell her how it makes me feel when she lets them rip, and she’s sitting on my body, and doesn’t even stop to go to the bathroom like I’ve asked her. I told her it makes my- you know. My… erection go away. I have to tell her because she doesn’t even notice, or doesn’t care to look. She just keeps sliding and rocking in place, until she’d done! Sometimes she farts on me more than once, especially after we’ve eaten Mexican food. That’s another thing, doc. I kept a record just like you said, and I knew I was right! I knew it! We’re now eating more Mexican food than ever. She’s even started preparing Indian food, which she never did before.”

“Please, go on.”

“I told her it’s disrespectful… no, I told her I feel like she doesn’t respect me. I feel hurt and mistreated. I don’t want to tell her I’m going to report her yet. I don’t think she’d like that.”

“Let’s stop there for just a moment, Gabe. Report your wife? For what reason?”

“Mistreatment of an illegally shrunken person. I’ve looked it up.”

“Have you found a particular passage that relates directly to what you are experiencing?”

“Well, no. There’s nothing about farting on a tiny person, but I’m sure if I find the right lawyer…”

“Gabe, I’m concerned about the notion of taking your wife to court. I have to tell you that I’ve seen similar cases in court before, and none result in satisfaction for the plaintiff. Not yet, in any case. But most importantly, what effect do you think that will have on your marriage?”

“It’ll make my wife stop farting on me! Seriously, doc, I’ll do anything at this point. Anything to get her to stop.”

“Very well.”

“Yeah. I mean, I love her. I love her with all my heart. And I guess she loves me. She didn’t have to marry someone so small. She could have just… she was going out with my handler, you know… that’s how we met. I’ve told you this.”

“Go on, Gabe. I’m here to listen. Say whatever’s on your mind.”

“OK. Well… my handler was taking me to get groceries, and he saw her at the store, and he wasn’t going to say hi, on account of the rules, you know? “Never take your attention away from your charge,” and all that… but she saw him and she came over, and then she saw me. And I was the first one she’d see up close like that. He told her they couldn’t talk on account of me, and instead of giving me a venomous look like they all do, she smiled and winked at me. I couldn’t breathe. Somehow we kept bumping into her at the oddest times and places, and then… she got her Handler’s license. That’s when my handler proposed, and instead of saying yes, she broke it off. She never told him why, but he must have figured it out when we got married.

So, you see? She could have married someone she’d never have to watch over constantly and carefully; someone who can’t ever get a job doing what I used to do…. Do you know how long I’d last as an engineer? Probably less than a minute. So here I am, going to school again, being a burden and a worry to her, but still a man. A real man with all my real parts. Did I tell you she wants to start having children? What’s going to happen then? How can someone my size be a father? Farts will be the least of my worries! Diapers? Teething? Walking? Tantrums? Teen years! College!”

“Gabe, take a deep breath now. I want you to breathe deeply. Your cheeks seem a little blue. Let’s pause for a couple of minutes, shall we?”

“OK, OK!” Gabe did feel faint. His mind was swirling with heavy thoughts, one darker than the next. He let them all slow down, and focused on letting air in and out of his chest. He did that for a few minutes while Dr. Pembrose looked at him with a great deal of attention, making sure he wasn’t witnessing a medical emergency. There was such care in his eyes; it was obvious. Even if he couldn’t up and tell his wife to stop farting on his patient, he was truly there for him. It felt nice.

“Listen, doc… thanks. Thank you for listening, really. I’m not going to sue my wife. She says she owns me, maybe she does. I don’t know. I don’t think she means it in a negative way if that makes any sense. She might say I’m her property, but her life is centered around me. She might tell me I’m not a man, but she seeks me out all day long, so she can do to me things women do to men. She calls me all manner of unmanly names when she’s in the throes… but then she lifts me up and cleans me and kisses me and hugs me so sweetly.

I’m confused. I was so upset about it. I have been so angry about it since it started happening with real frequency, these last two months! And now it- I’m- I feel different. I don’t know how to explain it. I can’t say it doesn’t matter anymore because it does. I hate it. I guess… what I mean is, I have to make a choice here. My choice is to go down a path that will perhaps get her to stop farting on me, but then I risk losing her. I don’t want that. I hate the thought of that more than anything; more than the thought of her farts.”

The doctor sat quietly, listening, nodding imperceptibly, his face impassive. Gabe went on.

“Maybe if I learn how to cook. I’ve heard of kitchens that are set up to accommodate a tiny chef. Maybe I can change her diet so her farts aren’t as overwhelming. What do you think?”

“I’ve heard of those kitchens. I saw a show about them last week. The woman that had her home redesigned to fit her needs was doing a wonderful job with a frittata.”

Gabe sighed and smiled.

“I’ll have to look into that. The coping classes I’m taking are mostly just common sense stuff, and I’m ready to get on with my professional life. When I was normal sized I couldn’t even boil water, but I’ll give cooking a try. If I can control what goes in, then at least I have some say about what happens when it all comes out.”

“Let me know what happens when we see each other next week, will you?”

“Yes, doc.”

* * *

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What is this?

I found this gif while looking for stuff on Tumblr, but as you know, large gifs no longer move when you click on them. The uploader did not bother to name the source for it, and my looking has not yielded any results. Does anyone know where I might find the working original?

This is why you name the source of the material you share. So that I don’t run around looking for the gif and the artist that owns it, like a giant chicken with her head cut off.

Thank you.

Update: Many thanks to my friend Aborigen, who found the original image here.

poor_man_having_a_stroke_by_flagg3d.gif

If you don’t love me now

kiss__request__by_hangry_female
“Kiss -Request-” by Hangry-Female

“You will never love me.”

“I won’t.”

“I am lovable.”

“You are, but that’s not the way it works.”

“I’ll make you love me.”

“You made me small, but you can’t make me love you.”

“This is not turning out the way I thought it would.”

“What ever does?”

“My cakes. My bread. My tomatoes. My drinking.”

“Small potatoes.”

“You are small potatoes.”

“I’m small, but I’m not a potato.”

“You are a couch potato.”

“I’m a panty potato. The only times I ever spend on a couch is when you are on a couch, wearing me inside your panties.”

“Why won’t you love me?”

“Neediness is a turn-off.”

“I don’t need you. I just want you.”

“Then what do you care how I feel?”

“I don’t know. This is a new feeling. I’ve never cared about the faces you made, or the grimaces, or the screams. Now I find myself wondering what you’re thinking about, who you want to fuck, where you want to be.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“No.”

“What can I do better?”

“Nothing. My heart was already taken when you did this to me. I think of my wife every morning when I wake up, and when I go to sleep, and every moment in between, when you are using me.”

“She’s forgotten you.”

“What?!”

“Yes, she’s moved on. She has a new boyfriend now, and she’s stopped looking for you. Your daughter doesn’t even remember you.”

“This is why I don’t love you, and never will. You are cruel beyond measure. You stole my life from me. You made me into nothing but a sex toy. I had everything, and now I have nothing.”

“I had nothing, and now I have everything.”

“Is your life so centered around sex that this ‘everything’ has to be a tiny man you use to fulfill your sexual needs?”

“Yes. I go mad when I don’t use you. I’m distracted. I can’t work. I can’t function. You are my air, and I feel you in my heart.”

“That’s pathetic. You should be able to function without me.”

“I should, but I don’t. I’d fall apart.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so. I think you should try to be without me for a time, and see how you do.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Suit yourself. But I think it’s sad that you can’t live your life unless I’m around.”

“I can. I simply don’t want to.”

“There’s nothing simple about this.”

‘It is very simple. I want you. I always want you. I want you with me all the time. And there is nothing you can do about it. Nothing. Everything has gone wrong for you because of me. You have lost everything and everyone, but for the first time in my life, I can breathe, and my heart doesn’t hurt. When I look at you I feel… full. Complete.”

“I find you boring. I miss my wife and the way she moves around the kitchen when she cooks for me. I miss the way her voice lifts when she wants to go see a movie. I miss the way she walks past me and leaves a trail of her scent for me to follow. I miss the way she bossed me around about things I found absolutely annoying. I miss mowing my lawn. I miss everything about my life, and if you brought me back, I’d never think of you, except in my nightmares.”

“Fuck. That hurts.”

“Good. It’s true. All of it.”

“I don’t care. You fill my heart. You fill me with joy,”

“One day I’ll hate you.”

“Maybe, but until then, kiss me, little toy.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll just make you kiss me.”

“It won’t be the same.”

“It is. You are mine. You will always be mine, no matter how you feel, or for whom you cum, or what’s left of your soul wants. You don’t know it, but every molecule of yours is mine, beyond love, beyond thoughts, beyond feelings. Love your wife. Think about your wife. I don’t care. Your body belongs to me, and when you open your eyes and mind, you are mine too. Every two inches of you. Kiss me.”

“No!”

“No? But you are. Look at you, kissing me now. Look at your lips, puckering up over mine, touching and feeling and swelling.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I don’t! Stop!”

“Kiss me again. And again, and again. Never stop.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me. You love this. You love being tiny. You love being a sex toy. You love being two inches tall.”

“I don’t love you. I will never love you!”

“Kiss me. I feel enough for the both of us.”

“I hate you, you fucking psycho.”

“I love you. You are mine, forever. Kiss me. Bend your body into my mouth. Sink your face into my lips, and press your hands on the pink wall of me.”

“I’m broken. Nothing I do has heart.”

“My heart is big enough for the both of us. My love gives you purpose. Hate me if you must. Be bored. Love your wife. Wish for her with all your might. You’ll never see her again. You’ll see me every day, feel me every morning, and make me feel everything I want to feel every time I want.”

“If you loved me, you’d take me back.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you’d want me to be happy.”

“Wrong, little one. I give your life more purpose than anything you’d find out there. Because of you I can breathe, eat, think, feel, live. You are everything. Out there you’d be an echelon in the tiny lives of little people that have moved on without you. Here with me you are an universe.”

“Fuck you. You are insane.”

“I’m as sane as you are. I only take what’s mine, and you are mine. It doesn’t matter how you feel or what you say. Kiss me again.”

“No!”

“And again…”

“No!”

“And again…”

No.

virus236da_by_openhighhat.jpg
“Virus236da” by openhighhat

The small man sat in a kneaded eraser the shape of a bean chair, and watched his owner draw. The faint smell of turpentine lingered in the air, carrying on its back the scent of paper, pencils, and the rest of her art supplies that crowded surrounding shelves, and a large percentage of the table on which his little makeshift chair had been placed. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift to the sound of her pencil scratching the vast whiteness of her favorite sketch paper.

“Open your eyes, my love.”

“Are you drawing my face now?”

“No, but I want you to keep looking at me.”

He said nothing and did as he was told. She was in a very good mood today, and he didn’t want to spoil it. Not until he absolutely had to. And he had to. Forty-five minutes later, her rough draft was completed, and she smiled, looking at her handiwork. She lifted it off the table easel and showed it to him. There, all over the paper, was his body, drawn nude, because he was always nude. She had captured him as perfectly as she did when she sprayed him with a shrinking formula, and lifted his wriggling, terrified body off the floor. He drove the flashing memory to the back of his mind and drew his lips into a smile. It almost felt sincere.

It was time to try again. He cleared his throat.

“I was wondering… my giantess, may I ask you a question?”

She had started smiling back at him, but at his words, her lips pursed together, and a slightly exasperated gust of warm air left them and blew back his hair. She put the sketching pad down and gave him a slight nod. She knew what he was going to ask.

“Would you please tell me how you shrank me?”

Now it was her turn to close her eyes. She shook her head slightly, and opened her eyes again, focusing them on him. Eyes as large as moons, and I’m in them, my reflection trapped in two places at the same time, he thought, his heart skipping with fear. He swallowed hard and prayed she would not answer him as she did most of the time, by grabbing him and dropping him down her panties, never pulling him out until his work was done. But this time, she surprised him.

“Very well, though the truth will disappoint you, as I don’t quite have a grasp on what exactly happened.”

He found that hard to believe. No one goes around spraying people with a liquid that transforms them into a 2-inch tall vestige of themselves and doesn’t know exactly what they are doing, but he said nothing and listened on.

“As I might have mentioned before, I’ve always dreamt of someone like you. Someone so tiny, he could fit in the palm of my hand, or in my mouth, or anywhere else.” She smiled at him when she said those last three words, and he forced himself again to return that smile. She thought she was complimenting him. All those months he had exhausted himself screaming at her, begging her to change him back into a 6′ tall man, demanding to be returned to his wife or parents, until he realized it was never going to happen. All she ever did in response was muffle his screams with various parts of her body.

“One day, I decided to do something about it. It wasn’t a rational decision because there is nothing to be done about wanting to shrink a man. Don’t look at me like that. I know you sit there, shrunken, and the evidence of the very opposite of my words… but… the truth is, I have no idea how I did it. I don’t understand how it happened. All I ever did was mix up various ingredients, and go around spraying men’s faces.”

He knew she hated it when he interrupted her, but she said nothing as she stared at him, so he ventured a question.

Men‘s faces? So you’ve done this before.”

“I’ve sprayed their faces, and I got yelled at, or pushed away, or slapped and punched by their wives or girlfriends. One time I was arrested and released after it was found that the spraying agent was innocuous. I made up some excuse about a social experiment, and I guess they don’t have time for my brand of insanity.”

“Insanity? That’s the first time- I mean, is that how you see this?”

“No, my little man. What I did was not insane. What I did was the most perfect thing that’s ever been done. How I did it was insane.”

“But- how? I don’t understand. You must have access to secret chemicals! Surely you work at some lab somewhere.”

“You know where I work.”

“Just because you take me there doesn’t mean I can hear anything. Every sound is dampened by walls of flesh too thick to-” He cut himself short when he saw that her facial expression had changed at the meaning of his words. She looked at him hungrily. Again. What else was new? Yet, instead of pinching his body to transport it to her walls of flesh, she sighed and spoke.

“Interesting. So you still don’t know what I do for a living.”

“No.”

“I don’t work in a secret government lab; I’m not a mad scientist developing secret compounds that will change the world. I grabbed a glass from my kitchen cabinet, and I squatted on it until the first drop of blood fell out of me that month and I cried a single tear in it and I added a single drop of sweat from my workout and a drop of wine and a drop of beer and a drop of spit and a fart from my ass and all this during a full moon and while I was naked and I know it sounds so absolutely ridiculous and impossible but that is exactly what happened!”

She stopped talking and caught her breath. Her chest was heaving, and from her cheeks, two red blooms grew deeper in color. She watched him watch her, and his expression changed from impassive to impatient.

“That can’t be true. That’s impossible. Sweat and beer and blood? That combination doesn’t work to shrink anything! If that were the case, then every homeless person in the world would be tiny!”

“Don’t be silly. There was more to it than sweat and beer.”

He began to rock in place, back and forth. He tried to keep it together, but it was impossible. He felt his mind would break soon.

“What happened to the other men you’ve shrunk? How did you grow them back? Why hasn’t anyone noticed your doing this?”

“Hey, calm down. Do you think if this had worked before, you’d be here? It had never worked before! All I ever got was trouble for my efforts, until one day it worked. That’s all I can tell you. No… wait… there is something else.”

“What? What?!

“How I felt when I saw you. I’d always been nervous before, with all those guys… but when I saw you, I felt this tremendous pull, and this calm. This absolute stillness of my mind, and my heart. And I walked up to you, and I sprayed you, and it worked. It worked.”

“Please grow me back.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“No.”

“You can’t do this to me! I have a life!”

“No.”

“I hate you! You are a monster!”

“No.”

“I’ll kill myself. I swear I will. Grow me back, or take me to my wife!”

“No. And that’s enough talking, my precious little man.”

“No, god, please! I’m sorry! No, no, nooo!”

“Yes,” she said, and she picked him up, and placed him deep within her, and she listened to his continuous screams with her skin, and she felt him with the beat of her heart, and she grabbed a pencil that was as deep a red as love, and she struck and caressed paper with it, to the rhythm of his struggles.

Undertoy – 3

Under_Toy_3_by_flagg3d.jpg
Under_Toy_3 by Flagg3D

This is the final image of this series. It’s only a slight change in perspective from the earlier couple of images in the set. I’m having a hard time deciding whether it’s my favorite of the three. Whichever one I’m looking at the moment is my preferred one. I’ve had a couple of ideas for what I want to do with it, for stories, and even a song. In the end, I saw the story below. The series was something I commissioned from Flagg3D, to represent both my little man Hopier, and me. This story is inspired by the way I see him.

* * *

We’d stayed up late the night before, even thought it was a “school night”, as he likes to say. But this was “Logan” we were watching, so how could we not? It had been a long day, as we’d spent it fighting. Don’t tell him I said this, but sometimes I get it that he gets tired of being told what to do, all the time. And yesterday he’d had enough.

It wasn’t even that I ordered him to do anything out of the ordinary… just another little chore on his daily schedule; but my voice had been too stern, or maybe he wasn’t moving as quickly as I’d have liked. The reason doesn’t matter, but he exploded, and dropped what he was doing, and started screaming at me… saying terrible things to me about what I’d done to him, and why couldn’t he just “not have a schedule” sometimes, and the worst thing he’s ever said to me: “One of these days I’ll just disappear. Just watch me. I’ll just grab my things and go, and you’ll never see me again.”

Those words chilled my heart, and I stood there, over him, feeling waves of hurt wash over me, over and over again. And then I turned around, and left the room. The rest of the day we didn’t say a word to each other. Not a single word. I know he keeps a secret stash of food and water in the dollhouse, so he didn’t go hungry. And at night, as I sat in the living room and clicked the remote to get “Logan” going, I watched him appear in the comparatively immense door frame. I clicked the pause button, and waited for him to walk the entire span of floorboards and rug until he reached the couch. Then, he gave me that little nod that’s our Rapunzel code for “Owner, owner, let down your hand!” and I bent to lower my palm to floor level.

He climbed it, and I lifted him to my face, and we both said we were sorry, and we said nothing else as I brought him to my chest, where he pivoted as he slipped between my breasts until we both faced the same direction. I clicked play, and when that thing happened to my second favorite mutant, and I started crying, I felt his little body torque back to face me, and as he caressed that rumbling spot where my heart beats, I let one of my fingers run down the length of his tiny body, from the back of his head to the small of his back. The rest of him was boob-hidden. We were going to be fine. Or so I thought.

The next morning I woke up and did the first thing I always do: I looked at the panty mound next to me where he sometimes sleeps, and I smiled. Somewhere in there, his little body dozed. I was tempted to reach for him; it was on the schedule, after all… but I decided to let him rest, and instead planned to make the day extra fun for him, starting with what I’d wear all day. I picked out my tightest pair of jean shorts; the kind I should have thrown out years ago, because they were far too tight to wear out on the street without getting arrested if I happened to bend over. But he loved me in them. He loved to watch me walk around the house in them, sturdy denim fabric that was no match for what nature had given me. Blue fabric that stretched and bent, each thread choking as it stretched over round cheeks too large, too unrestrained to control.

But he loved riding in my back pocket even more, so I’d give him the entire day off, and place him back there, next to me, on me, feeling every trembling shake of that cheek as it battled with its twin one for dominance. That war will never end, and he gets to live through it, I thought as I smiled, and stepped into my shorts, clean after my shower, and sucked in my gut, knowing I’d probably break a nail as I pulled and danced in place, my shorts finally inching into place. I walked over to my full-length mirror, and turned to see myself. I shook my head. I had no idea how I’d pull away enough pocket opening to push his body in place. The thing would probably rip at the corner, it looked so distended. I pushed my finger into that blue, curved depth, and took a sounding of the give of my swell down there. But my finger was infinitely strong when compared to that infinitesimal lump of flesh that was my little man. I shrugged. He liked what he liked.

I finished getting dressed, and walked over to my bed, to fetch his body from my panties. I lifted one fold carefully, and saw nothing. Puzzled, I picked another fabric corner, and found him not. I finally plucked the entire thing from my bed, and gave it a little shake. I sank my body into the side of my mattress, and held my panties up and against the light, thinking maybe he’d gotten stuck in some remaining moisture, but there was nothing. He was not there. I looked around, and thought maybe he had gotten up in the middle of the night, and had gone to the dollhouse to finish sleeping somewhere his earth wouldn’t constantly quake, which is what happens when I turn in my slumber. I lifted that hinged roof and looked down in his bedroom. Nothing. Nobody.

At that point, I usually call him to my side. Sometimes I go on the hunt, searching for him quietly, like a hungry lioness eager to feed. Then it brings me great pleasure to find him, even though I know it’s impossible for me to stalk him: I’m too tall for the task. He’ll always feel my footsteps at a distance; he’ll always hear my breathing the same way a farmer hears the wind and knows a storm is coming. That’s fine with me. The point is to make my way to him, to learn his every hiding place without his having (or even wanting) to tell me, to feel my lips tug upward when I finally see him, and grab his twitching body. So I decided to hunt.

Still barefoot, I dropped on my hands and knees and looked under the bed. I knew that if he was looking at me from afar, he was getting a good show of my backside as part of it stretched past the hem of my shorts. But there was nothing worth seeing under my bed. I crawled to my dresser slowly and deliberately, and I looked under it. Nothing. I felt the first twinge of impatience. I had to take a deep breath to calm myself down. I had a lot to do today, but I had the good fortune to work from home. This was a luxury I would allow him. So I kept looking.

Fifteen minutes later, I still had not found him. That’s when I felt the first lap of fear stroke my chest. That’s when I finally called out to him. First I used his pet name. Then another. Then every choice term of endearment I’d ever invented for him. I did my rounds again as I uttered each word. I retraced my steps when I started using every sexual word I’d ever called him. I bent low and stretched my neck under places I should have vacuumed more often, and I whispered  every teasing, demeaning, belittling name I’d ever bestowed upon him. Nothing. I finally sat on the floor, and as I felt cool floorboards lower the temperature of my ass cheeks before that tide turned instantaneously, I burst into tears. He had left me! The little shit had done as he said he would do, and had packed up his flea-sized things, and had abandoned me. Just because I gave his life purpose?

I’d find him. Oh, I would not stop until I scoured the entire neighborhood. I’d get bloodhounds if I had to, to track his unfeeling little shape and bring it to me, but he was coming back. I sat there, thinking about the steps I’d have to take today to get the local K-9 unit involved. I’d definitely have to wear my shorts to the station. I wasn’t going to stop at anything. The waistband of my shorts was beginning to dig into me as I sat there, plotting my little love’s search and discovery, thinking of a fitting punishment that would go on for days, when I felt the slightest of struggles in my jean pocket. Not the one I had tested with my finger. The other one.

I gasped, and foolishly turned in place like a dog chasing its tail. My heart jumping in place like one of those energetic little girls rope skipping until the end of time, I slowed myself down, and calmly turned from the waist up, and looked over my shoulder. There, in my pocket, was a lump; a tiny length of moving flesh that struggled uselessly. I bit my lip hard, because I started crying harder than ever. He had not left me! I quickly dried my tears with one hand, and reached into my pocket very gently, to make space for the little worm. I slipped one finger down his back as I’d done last night, but this time I went deeper, until I hooked my finger pad to his butt, spreading his legs wide. I reeled him in slowly, as his front rubbed that rough jean fabric. I heard him cry out in protest.

I didn’t care. I was beginning to sink into fury when I pinched his newly freed abdomen with my thumb, and brought him faceside. Quickly. Fast. So fast he was turning white when I brought him to a full stop next to my face, and started whisper-screaming at him. I called every mean name I’d ever invented for him, and asked him if he knew what he had done to me. Me! His owner! How I had looked for him, and anguished over him! And that’s when I saw him smile. His mouth stretched so wide it could have spanned the country from coast to coast. I was flabbergasted. I stared at him, my anger lost in confusion. I asked him the reason for his smile. Was it my suffering?

He said it wasn’t. Of course it hadn’t been my suffering! He was smiling because after he hid in my pocket while I took my shower, I looked for him. He was happy because I cared. He was delighted because I’d cried for him, and though he’d not read my mind about the search dogs, he’d felt my intent as I sat there in the quiet, and he’d known again what I’ve always told him; what I’ve been repeating to him every day since the moment I shrank and kidnapped him: I loved him.

And it was true. I did. So I returned his smile, and brought them both together in a kiss that was long enough to moisten his entire length. It was just as well, because then I separated him from my lips, and sent him riding my pinched digits until he reached his destination. There, I fitted half his body down my back pocket, and walked off to start my day. I didn’t have to push him all the way in. Every time my denim-clad cheeks bounced and bounded, he sank.

New Writing Contest: Butty July 2017

Butty July Banner
Yes, I have permission from AmGiPi to use his image, Gg682.

It’s time for the next contest, and this time it isn’t about writing a cruel story, or a gentle one. It can be either, or both, or neither, as long as the main character is a being’s behind. And by a “being” I mean a giantess, giant, woman, man, furry (does anyone even use that word anymore?), robot, object of any size and gender, in possession of an ass, and all its peripherals. Now, if you’d like to blame anyone for this quarter’s contest, blame me, because it was my idea. I wanted to make sure it had been my idea, so I had to look back, way back in time, to find the pertinent words. Here’s what I said on Monday, December 26 of 2016, during a Twitter conversation with my friend Aborigen, the mastermind behind all these contests:

“I think we should do a butt month”*

He laughed, and agreed, and then I wondered,

“July?”

And it was settled. Soon after I started calling it “Butty July”, and the name stuck. It’s the perfect name for a contest that refuses to take itself too seriously. It’s a playful name, because these writing contests exist to be fun, and to unite us as writers. I’ve always claimed that the size community is more than just a masturbation machine. I’ve been wrong before, and many times, but I don’t think I’m wrong about that. Some of us are here to make something else happen. That something else can be many different things, and it can change from day to day, but my own Something Else hardly ever does: I tell stories. It’s one of the ways in which I bring to life who I really am. I’ve already asked Aborigen to add me to the list of writers who will create a bottom-related entry (or two). If you’d like to do the same, contact him:

https://aborigen-gts.org/email-aborigen/

Or send him a direct message through Twitter.

Here’s the link to the contest’s page: bit.ly/ButtyJuly17

*Notice how I cleverly insert the word “we”, as though I have any ownership whatsoever over these contests.

Heartless

this-is-myself_by_markwazhere2

I was at a bus stop
The kind that crumbles in the sun, even though it has a cover for shade
When she sat next to me
And started talking

At first I didn’t respond
Because sometimes, if you don’t respond, they go away
But then she said,
“They don’t have hearts.”

I asked, “Who doesn’t?”
And she said, “In the factory, they are leaving out the hearts.”
I didn’t know what that meant
I should have left then

But our bus was here
And she got up and I gave her a helping hand. I didn’t mean to. I just did
She liked that I did that
And told me the rest

“Those tiny men they sell now,” she said
“They don’t come with hearts anymore.
They figured out how to keep them going without hearts.”
“But that’s not possible,” I said

“Everyone needs a heart that beats,” I said
“They don’t,” she continued, even though my mind was already looking away
“Because they are so small,” she said, as though she was saying “I have cancer.”
“How do you know?” I asked

She looked at me as though I had not been listening
“I work there. I worked there when they still had hearts, but now they don’t.”
“Have you seen this yourself?” I asked, still hoping she was drunk or blind or dead
“Yes. I had to assemble some myself. It’s not that hard. The juice and the egg and the glass…”

I didn’t understand, but I did
“So they are coded to grow and develop and emerge as tiny adults, but without a heart.”
“Now you are getting it. They act a little different too. It chills my heart.”
I didn’t want to understand, but I did

I went home, and I looked at him
I picked him up, and I pressed my ear to his tiny toy-sized chest. Nothing
“Do you have a heart?” I asked him. It
“I love you,” it said

“Do you have a heart?” I repeated
A little louder this time. Words with a beat, trying to jumpstart his, just in case
“I love you,” it repeated. I tried to feel its pulse
Nothing. I got nothing

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.

 + + +

Ciara’s Brother – Part 1

sketch_10___soccer_by_glkthread.png

I’m not even gonna explain… I don’t know what I’m doing here. There’s this thing that happened, and sometimes a story has to be told. I have no clue as to where it will go, and that’s a complete lie. I generally tend to see stories from beginning to end, like dominoes falling in both directions, and meeting in the middle. In medias res, here I come.

***

Marina jogged past the throng of kids playing and chattering away in English and Spanish, the unmistakeable cadence and sibilation of Mexican-ness as familiar to her as the smell of Cuban coffee. How she missed those dark morning (or afternoon, if she felt brave) punches to her brain. How she missed Florida. She pounded the ground harder, gaining speed and leaving all noise behind as she entered the park’s woods, and a narrow dirt path littered with years of dead leaves and twigs. 

Saturday sunlight peeked past the canopy of trees, and in the distance, gleamed in flashes off the tall surface of the Biodome where they lived separately from her kind. When it had all been new, her parents had taken her to the Wall a few times, the exterior of the dome closest to ground level that exposed an outermost layer of tiny citizenry as though it was a show for which you pay money and wait two hours in line to see. And that’s what they had done. She had been fascinated by the small buildings, the narrow streets, the incredibly small people that no one her age had ever met in person; and she had been frightened by the stern guards that kept the dome boundaries and contents safe.

Now, as she ran, she constantly sent her gaze to find broken spaces between leaves, to catch glimpses of the dome as she moved past tree after tree, so she almost missed the small shape that staggered from behind an exposed tree root, and dropped to the ground with only enough space to allow her to come to a brisk halt.

“What the hell!” she cried out as her body protested the sudden stop. Her chest was heaving, and she slowed down her breathing as she bent down to look at the little shape. She dropped her palms onto her thighs, and moved her head lower yet, not believing her eyes. Finally, she dropped to the ground on her hands and knees, followed by her head, which she pressed to one side of the path as though she was trying to hear its heartbeat. But she only wanted to get a very good look at the tiny woman, no more than two inches in height, who was lying still and beginning to open her eyes.

“Hello, little girl,” she said, suddenly flooded by wonderment to finally meet one of them in person. This one appeared to feel something entirely different as she scrambled away from her in a clear panic, and surrendered to shrieking. “Hey, hey, calm down. I know what to do. Let’s get you back home, alright? Where you belong. How did you get out here anyway?” Marina had lowered her voice as much as it was humanly possible, but it was clear that the gusts of her breath and the pounding of her words were too much for the tiny person. She had covered her ears with her hands, and was now shaking her head violently from side to side.

Marina sighed, and regretted it immediately when the wind from her lips hit the little woman, and bent her backwards. She pivoted in the dirt, and Marina could see a drop of fresh blood emerging from her tiny neck. “You are hurt!” and she covered her mouth right away, to try to protect the woman from the force of her words. She kept her hand in place when she said, “look, I can help. I want to help. Why don’t you-“

“Help?” said the tiny woman, twisting in place and sitting up again and drying her eyes. Her mouth was so infinitesimal Martina wondered how it was possible she could hear her. “Help! Help! Brother! Help!” Her words had an odd accent to them Marina could not identify, as skilled as she was spotting nationalities after only exchanging a few words when meeting people. But this accent? Unknown.

“Yes, I help. C’mon, let’s go find a guard, and get you back to the Wall, OK?” But much to her surprise, and to what was beginning to feel an uncomfortable position to her neck, the little woman kicked her heels and moved away from her like a little crab. She sat and waved her hands at her. That’s a negative in any language, friend. She gave the little woman a quizzical look. “I’m bound by law to take you back. If I don’t, and they find you, I can be arrested, and worse. I’m sorry. I have to-“

“Brother! Brother! Help brother!” And the little woman produced a tiny square that must have been a photograph, because she mustered enough courage to get up, and waver close to her face, wielding the square like a weapon, or an argument. Marina strained to catch the picture’s contents, but it was impossible. Whatever or whoever it was, was far too small for detection.

“OK, help ‘brother’”. How do you propose we do that?” At that, the woman balked, and appeared doubtful. Not for long. She started making odd beckoning signals to Marina. “Come here,” she said with her little hand curling. “I’m right here, you dum-dum… hmm. I wonder if you mean… my hand? OK. I think I get what you are saying. Sure, climb in, lady. What’s your name?” And Marina slowly inched her hand toward the woman, who stood there, waiting. As soon as her pinky finger was within reach of the woman, she did something exceedingly puzzling. She dove toward it, and when she landed on it, she straddled it, and then hugged it. Marina was about to protest when she felt it. The invasion. The mental connection that was both horrifying and more intimate than anything she had ever experienced.

Brother… lost… escaped… trouble… chips in our necks… The information was relentless, and it felt like an explosion inside her head. When it was over, she was shaking, and crying. She felt compelled to crush the little woman on the spot for such a violation, but at the same time such an act would have been unthinkable for her. She was also deeply grateful. She didn’t know why.

“Do you understand now, unwieldy person?”

“What did you- don’t be rude. My name is Marina.”

“I’m sorry, Marina. My name is Ciara. All our words for ‘big’ are insults or curses in my language. I’ll have to learn new ones, and add them to my understanding.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ciara. What did you do to me, to my mind?”

“I formed a link, so I could talk to you, and you could understand me no matter what language I speak. I also explained to you why it’s crucial you don’t take me back, and instead take me with you. We have to find my brother.”

Marina thought of Ciara’s love for her brother. She thought of what she now knew was her brother’s face. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and whispered to Ciara as she flipped her hand and offered her palm to her, “let’s go find your brother.”

Shrunken

Birdy_2-Fetish3D
“Birdy 2” by Fetish3D

I was listening to “Broken” by Depeche Mode for the millionth time, when it came to me that I should change the lyrics to suit my giant thoughts about shrinking that very special little man in my world, Hopier… so here they are.

Shrunken

I want all the control
And almost no pain
How much will I shrink you
As you scream in vain

I see the man that I knew
Cannot be found
Replaced by another
Who’s shrinking down

There’s a place where you’ll go
Without any sound
Only you can hear me
Only I’m allowed

You’ll be so far away
So far from here
You won’t remember
Old times, all those years

When you’re shrinking, I will catch you
You will shrink so much, so far
You will make it, I will be here
You were shrunken from the start

When you were a man
You’d dream all day long
You’d dream of a woman
You thought it was wrong

Now that time is gone
It’s real for you now
Now that you’re caught in
My hand as you howl

When you’re shrinking, I will catch you
You will shrink so much, so far
You will make it, I will be here
You were shrunken from the start