The Right Gift

Häagen-Dazs
We [would] share this kind.
I was having some ice cream earlier, and thinking how astoundingly lovely it would be to share it with someone that doesn’t exist. I’d fish out some of the crunchy bits and give him something small enough for him to hold by himself, and I’d let him lick my fingertip after dipping it into the creamy parts. That’d be the life, I thought. And then I thought the perfect follow-up entry to my latest blog post would be the opposite of my opposite, so let me fire up my Sexy Music playlist (ooh, Pixies), and here I go…

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a man very much in love with his girlfriend. One night he returned home from work very late because he had driven a long way to pick up a very special gift for her. As he entered the house he was carrying the gift in his jacket pocket. He quietly went upstairs, made his way to their bedroom, and stood in the doorway looking at the moonlit shape of her body in bed, under the blanket. It only took him a moment to realize she was still awake.

“Honey.”

She stirred and pronounced groggily, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I’m so late. I have something for you. I should’ve waited til tomorrow morning to give it to you, but I can’t wait! I’m kind of nervous about it; we’ve never discussed this before and I don’t… can you please turn on the lamp and look at me?

She acquiesced as she lifted her head away from the pillow and extended one graceful arm toward her bedside lamp. She flicked it on and looked at him as she blinked away the pain of that sudden light.

“What is it?”

He smiled salaciously at her at her and his voice descended into vocal fry. “You know those new toys for sale now… those little sexual aids for couples that- God, I’m listening to myself now, and I can’t believe I got one. I can… return it tomorrow if you want, but I thought you might like to try and see…”

“What are you talking about? Sexual aid? We don’t need that. We’re doing OK… aren’t we?”

He turned red, his eyes unblinking as he looked at her. It was obvious he was extremely aroused. She didn’t know this, but to him it felt strange to feel aroused and simply stand there, because she was the woman he loved, the woman he was going to share the rest of his life with, and he could always go to her. Why was he not running to her side?

She was now fully awake as she sat up. “Are you talking about a dildo? I will tear you a new ass if that’s what you want. In fact, I just got a-”

“No! No, no, no, no. No!” He laughed nervously and found himself taking one step away from her. “It’s nothing like that.”

“So you want me to wear something? I’m fine with that. What is it? A robot costume? I’d love that! So hot. Give it to me, I’m gonna go change.”

And he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him, “It’s not that, but let’s have a conversation about that later. I’ll just show you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the box, and brought it to her.

“That’s a very small box. What sort of sexual aid can possibly fit in there?”

“Just open it.”

She held out her hand and he set the box gently in her palm. She examined the exterior as it looked like it might’ve contained a bracelet. She opened it, hoping he wasn’t connecting jewelry with sex. That would certainly turn me off, she thought as she realized there was no bracelet, but a small man, very tiny, only 2 inches in height. He seemed terrified out of his mind, his eyes shut tightly as he trembled helplessly. She shot a look at her boyfriend, her fingers tensing around the box, her hand shaking slightly. The tiny man in it felt the box that contained him rocked to and fro, and he squeaked and grasped at the trademark blue velvet around him, trying to grip it.

“What is this? It’s one of those little guys in the news, isn’t it. Those toys, those sex toys everyone’s talking about! Why? Why did you-? Why is there one in our home? Oh, my God! I can’t even- he- he’s beautiful.”

“It’s for you. I got it for you. I got it so we can try it out. There was this interview with the inventor…”

“I know. We watched it together two months ago. What did I tell you then?”

He looked at her, clueless, fishing for the memory, knowing his brain would fail him.

“You don’t remember, do you? You weren’t paying attention to me, as usual! What I said was that little men as sex toys were the most appealing idea ever. What I said was that men are supposed to be tiny! They’re supposed to be small, weak, powerless. Protected in the realm. Look at this fabulous little thing. Fuck yes, this will be helpful in bed. I watched the interview. I know what they do to these little things, and… fuck! Just take it, take it away from me. I’m having a hard time…”

“What? You don’t want it? I’m confused.” He extended his arm in a perfect rewind of the moment before, so as to take the box from her. He stood in place, holding his hand in the air, watching his girlfriend stare at the tiny man in the box. “Are you going to give it back to me?”

She gave him a distracted glance.”No, never mind. I’m just… feeling. Setting my mind to using this tiny body for sex. So much sex. Sex all night and all day.”

“What? Uh, honey, what are you talking about? These things don’t last very long, you know? It’s good for a couple of times, but then-”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“What?”

“W-what?”

“You told me to get ‘the fuck out of here’!”

“Oh, I meant figuratively. Just… surely this little man can go longer than a couple of times…” Her voice changed aim from him to the man in the box, her tone overwhelmingly sweet. “Yes, you can, can you? I bet you can go hundreds and hundreds of times, isn’t that right? You just need the right touch, the right hand, the right words.”

“What are you doing? You’re talking to it!”

“You know what, honey? I think you’re scaring him with your voice. He keeps trembling and I think he’s even crying. Every time you say something, he shivers. Maybe we should give him time to adjust, don’t you think?”

“Adjust? It’s a sex toy! It adapts, or it doesn’t. You’re acting weird.”

“Just give us some space, alright? Maybe sleep downstairs tonight.”

“Us? Us?”

“I mean… give me some space with the little man. I’ll explain what’s what, and get him settled. This is your gift to me, right? Just let me enjoy him the way I want to enjoy him.”

“It was supposed to be a toy for the both of us.”

“You said it was for me. You said you got it for me.”

He opened his mouth to say something in response, but she was looking down at the contents of the box, and the heat in her gaze made him feel invisible. He felt flames of anger in his head, and a mad wish to grab the box and smash it against the wall. He took one step towards her, his hand shooting out from his side, when she looked up at him, at the expression on his face, and pulled the box to her chest. She held it there and rose to her feet, keeping perfect balance even in bed, on the unsteady mattress.

“Touch him and I’ll kill you.”

Her hostile words knocked speech out of him entirely. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulged out of their sockets, and he shook his head in disbelief. Then he spoke, his words branded with hurt.

“I’m going to go downstairs. I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready to apologize to me.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and opening it instantly after, before he disappeared in the dim light of the hallway. She moved the box away from the protection of her chest, and looked at the little guy. Her face broke into a smile wider than the whole world. Her heart was pounding hard, and she wondered if he could hear it.

“Hi.”

He winced at that single word. She lowered herself back into a sitting position, always managing to hold the box level in front of her.

“Shh, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. Look at me. Stop shutting your eyes, and look at me. Look at your owner.”

He trembled harder, but opened his tiny eyes, and lifted his gaze up, as high as it would go, and fixed it into her eyes. She swallowed hard and made herself breathe. The gale of her breath moved his tiny curls back from his face, and she lost her mind a little more.

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Y-yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m going to be used as a sex toy. Your boyfriend and you are going to-”

“No. Wrong. You are my sex toy. Just mine. No one else is ever going to touch you. Not ever. Mine, mine forever. Do you understand?”

“But…”

“No, no buts. All you have to say is, ‘I understand, owner.’”

“O-owner?”

“Yes, that’s what I am to you. I own you. Only I own you. No one else exists.”

The tiny man was still trembling, but now he sat up, his tiny bottom barely sinking in the soft velvet that framed his body.

“What are you going to do to me?”

She smiled again, giving him the warmest look he had ever received in his life. She reached for him with one single digit. The soft tip of her finger touched the infinitesimal tuft of his hair, and she watched his head sink between his shoulders with the weight of that small fraction of herself. She felt another notch of self-control break into pieces.

“Anything I want, any time I want.”

“What does that mean?”

“Rephrase that, little toy.”

“T-toy? My name is-”

“Your name is Toy. Fucktoy. Say it.”

“Toy.”

“Say, ‘My name is Toy.'”

“My name is Toy.”

“Rephrase your question, Toy.”

“What does that mean, owner?”

Her boyfriend forgotten in more ways she thought possible, she lowered her toy where it was needed. It found itself tumbling from the jewelry box. It found itself trembling. It found itself crying. It found itself screaming. It felt a terror that was new to it, but mingling with all those sensations there was an all-encompassing certainty that it was wanted. It was the most wanted thing on Earth.

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The Gift

I was having dinner when I thought, What if I were the exact opposite of me? What would I be like? And I thought of the following scenario. It isn’t the exact opposite of me in a couple of ways (and whoever can guess those will win one fabulously lousy t-shirt), but it’s close enough in most ways. This is not my usual writing, so pay attention to tags and categories if you like.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a man very much in love with his girlfriend. One night he returned home from work very late because he had driven a long way to pick up a very special gift for her. As he entered the house he was carrying the gift in his pocket. He went upstairs with quiet steps, made his way into their bedroom and stood in the doorway looking at the moonlit shape her body made in bed under the blanket. It only took him a moment to realize she was not asleep.

“Honey.”

She stirred and pronounced groggily, “I’m awake.”

“I’m sorry I’m so late. I have something for you. I was going to wait until tomorrow morning to give it to you, but I am kind of nervous about this… we’ve never discussed this before and I don’t… I- can you turn on the light and look at me, please?

She acquiesced as she turned away from her pillow and extended one graceful arm toward her bedside lamp. She flicked it on and looked at him as she blinked away the pain of that sudden light.

“What is it?”

He smiled weakly at her at her and his voice was nearly a whisper. “You know those are new toys they have out now… those little sexual aids for couples that- God, I’m listening to myself now, and I can’t believe I got one. I have- You know what? Never mind. I’ll return it tomorrow. It was stupid not to ask you first.”

“What are you talking about? “Sexual aid“? We don’t need that. We’re doing OK… aren’t we?”

He turned red, his eyes unblinking as he looked at her. It was obvious he was extremely uncomfortable. She didn’t know this, but it felt strange to feel uncomfortable because she was the woman he loved, the woman he was going to share the rest of his life with, and he could always tell her anything. Why was he so out of sorts?

She was now fully awake as she sat up. “Are are you talking about a dildo? D-do you want me to go up your-”

“No! No, no, no, no. No!” He started laughing, yet he seemed more nervous than ever. “It’s nothing like that.”

“So you want me to wear something? I’m fine with that. What is it? A French maid outfit?”

And he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him, “No. I’ll just show you.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the box, and brought it to her.

“Well, it’s a very small box. What can possibly in there that’s helpful to anyone?”

“Look at it.”

She held out her hand and he set the box gently in her palm. She examined, as it looked like it might’ve contained a bracelet. She opened it, half hoping there was a beautiful piece of jewelry in there. That would certainly put me in the mood, she thought as she realized there was no bracelet in it, but a small man, very tiny, only 2 inches in height. He seemed terrified out of his mind, his eyes shut tightly as he trembled helplessly. She shot a look at her boyfriend, suddenly holding the box as though it contained a catastrophic red button covered in bug shit and vomit.

“What the fuck is this? It’s one of those little guys in the news, isn’t it? Those toys, those sex toys everyone’s talking about! Why? Why did you-? Why is there one in our home? Oh, my God! I can’t even- Here, take this box!”

“But it’s for you. I got it for you. I got it so we can try it out… and there was this interview with the inventor…”

“I know. We watched it together two months ago. What did I tell you then?”

He looked at her, clueless, fishing for the memory, knowing his brain would fail him.

“You don’t remember, do you. Do you? You weren’t paying attention to me, as usual! What I said was that little men as sex toys were the most repugnant idea ever. What I said was that men are not supposed to be tiny! They’re supposed to be large, tall, strong, powerful. Defenders of the realm. Look at this ridiculous little thing. How is this helpful in bed? I watched the interview. I know what they do to these little things, but… gross! Just take it, take it away from me. I can’t even look at it again.”

He extended his arm in a perfect rewind of the moment before, and took the box away from her. He stood in place, holding it like it was headlights and he the deer. As she turned to turn off her light, she said, “Are you coming to bed?

“Wait a minute, what am I supposed to do with this?”

“I don’t know. Flush it down the toilet. I don’t care, just get rid of it.”

“Okay.” He looked at the little guy, and felt a pant of guilt he knew would pass, yet he spoke up. “Can we talk about this some more?”

His girlfriend sat up with the speed of a tornado, and spat furiously, “No, we can’t. We won’t. Not ever. I don’t want that thing anywhere near my bed. I don’t want it on my skin, I don’t want it between us, I don’t want it in me or on you. I want it gone.”

There was a flicker of anger in his heart for a moment as he looked down at the little man and said to him in his quietest whisper yet: “What did you do to get in this situation? Why did you sell yourself? What did you get in exchange? Just talk to me. I know you’re not supposed to talk, but fucking talk.”

There was a little voice that came from a box, a warm, beautiful voice he’d never forget when the little man said, “I got shrunk in exchange for medical treatment for my sister. She needed a new liver, and she got it, and now she’s alive, and… I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, little dude. I am. I don’t know what to tell you. This not going to work out–at least commercially–as you might’ve expected.” The little man shrugged as the big man continued, “Actually, you’re probably better off this way, but I can’t take care of you. I work. I have things to do-”

She sat up anew, having turned into her bed again, but still listening to her boyfriend as he addressed what she only considered a disgusting bug. “What the fuck are you talking about? I work too, remember? If you’re thinking I’m gonna take care that little roach…! I don’t take care of bugs. I crush them with my feet. I put poison in their bodies. Get rid of it and come to bed!”

The man walked over to the dresser, carefully closing the box. He opened one of her drawers, as he couldn’t face putting it among any of his belongings. He chose her underwear drawer, as she was sure to see it the next morning if it was there.

No sex took place in their home that night. In other homes, many tiny people were screaming. The next morning she got up to get ready for work. As she fetched a clean pair of underwear, she saw the little box. For a blissful moment, she didn’t know what it was until the full force of the memory came back to her and she swallowed back her repugnance, looked at the box, and shoved it off her panties with the tip of one fingernail.

Unable to face wearing panties that had shared the same confines as the vermin-filled box, she emptied the entire drawerful of undergarments in the dirty laundry basket, and went to work wearing nothing between skin and suit. The next day she went full commando again, and had that day not not been a Friday, things might have turned out slightly differently.

On Saturday she decided to wash her perfectly clean underwear, and disinfect her undergarment drawer. She also planned to make the long drive to the jewelry store and return the little guy, if he was still alive. Her boyfriend was wonderful, but terrible at facing merchandise refunds. She slid the drawer open, paper towel wielded in latex-gloved hand. She picked up the box and put it on top of her dresser. When she was done disinfecting the drawer and replacing its contents, it was already lunch time. She didn’t want to open the box, as she was hoping the little guy was dead so she could flush it down the toilet, but after she ate (and with difficulty, because the stomach kept turning at the idea of having to face this insect of a guy) she returned upstairs and opened the box.

The little man appeared asleep, and looked very dehydrated. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink, yet he was still alive. He opened his eyes and blinked ever so delicately. The food in her stomach threatened to come back up, and all she wanted to do was smash the box and its contents against the nearest wall.

Instead, she set it down on the dresser rather violently. When her gaze refocused on his shape, he opened his eyes fully, and gave her one single look of understanding. He might’ve wanted to form words, but he didn’t. He nodded slightly as she grabbed the box, and flipped it over. The little man plummeted all the way to the beautifully polished wooden floorboards.

She didn’t wait to see if he had survived the fall. She brought one single flip-flop-clad foot over his minuscule form, and brought it down on him in one fell swoop. At the other side of the rubber sole, she heard a soft crunch, and the unmistakable spread of something both soft and hard she couldn’t face cleaning. She removed her foot from her stained flip-flop and walked away. Limping indistinguishably, she visited the refrigerator to see if she had any ice cream left for dessert.

Chalk Line

Merry_Christmas_by_DrT3T
Untitled, by MrT3T

You, down there, sprawled on the floor, probably know that clearly delineated line that separates pain from pleasure, as advertised by that Friday night feeling of Now You Get To Drink, and you know exactly how much you can drink before you get sick. Is it eight shots? Nine? Fourteen? Once I did four shots of rum and three of Everclear and I resurfaced relatively unscathed. There was that one night I only downed five shots of vodka and hurled everything but my soul down the toilet.

Still… there’s that feeling. That measuring cup in your brain that begins to reach the brim and tells you, “That’s enough drinking. One more shot and all that numb pleasure will become pain, and toilet rim, and empty promises to never drink again.” Did you ever listen? I always did. I’m walking the line right now; that line as clear as the chalk my teachers used as a tool to explain algebra or chemical compounds. I loved Chemistry. I aced every test, the way they failed every test, even though they were a perfect match.

I thought so, anyway. You, down there, also know that giantesses like to play with crowds, but not this one giantess. She only liked to play with a crowd of one. Why didn’t you warn her? You should have. Someone should have told her to play it safe, to scatter her attention unlike so many huge eggs in one tiny basket. I blame you, and you should blame yourself now that the end is here, because she grows taller now; she keeps growing and we’re her punching bag.

Once upon a time she was just like you, a woman of normal size and a normal life of little effect upon the world. Had she died at any point before everything changed, her friends and family would have noticed and grieved, but no one else. That would have been okay, but then she grew. That day her heart was pounding hard, and her joints hurt as though she was riddled with arthritis–which she did not have–and her skin felt as though it was on fire. She took some ibuprofen, but it didn’t help. 

At 12:25 that night she began to grow, the same as the others. She felt it in her bra first. She always had to wear one like armor, because her breasts were quite large… yet she looked away from her computer screen and down at her chest, and watched it swell. She might have thought she was imagining it, and as she did every month, she said, “Fuck these things, and fuck their size! How they hurt! That’s it! I’m having a breast reduction!”

No, I have no idea if she really said that, but that’s what large-breasted people say sometimes. She said something of the kind in one of those early interviews. Breasts of any size can hurt, no matter what all that porn made anyone think. That moment, her back hurt but so did her front, her top, and her bottom. Her eyebrows joined as one and she looked down at her thighs. They were pressing up at the underside of her computer desk (Mac desk, if you believe the press), and that’s when she finally realized something was very wrong. Her heart grew a few inches, lacerating itself against her normal-sized ribs and healing instantly as every bone in her body cracked and healed again and again as they followed the wave of expansion.

Try to imagine every one of your two hundred and six bones in your body shattering simultaneously, slicing your muscles and organs because they are growing a few inches. Imagine the pain doesn’t kill you. Imagine those inches are now feet, and those feet number in the dozens, then hundreds. But that excruciating pain didn’t render her mindless.

She threw herself back and away from her Mac, and found herself boxed in a room that barely contained her. Then, thinking of her family, she hurled herself forward to no avail, because she grew to the front and to the back too, and her expanding body crushed her husband and children just as they woke up to the sound of her screaming, and wood and plaster cracking all around them, and the butchering sounds of her exploding flesh. They didn’t feel a thing. Feeling everything was her job as she looked back and saw red in the night, saw bodies under her, and screamed all the nine-one-ones that were left in the world. Her madness was immediate.

Months later, she had healed… adjusted, remember? She had a job, a new life, and every night she went to sleep in her designated field with thoughts of that family she had killed with her growth. And one day she saw him. One morning she’d been patrolling the city as always, as all normal giantesses did (never mind the building-raping ones… they belong in another story). She’d been talking to the [little] people, listening to their complaints, comforting them when she could with a warm word or embrace. She’d been tippy-toeing her way across streets and highways, picking up stranded drivers, giving them rides to work, nursing and transporting the injured, when she saw him. She decided he was perfect.

But you knew he wasn’t, didn’t you? You knew what he was. Why didn’t you tell her? You should have. And maybe this end would not be your fault. Maybe there would have never been reason for that anger, and she would not have decided to become the biggest, tallest building fucker of them all. Maybe she would have stopped growing. Maybe she would have been happy. Fuck you for not telling her you all knew he was a jerk.

Now look at everything. Look outside. I said look, asshole! Scrape yourself off the floor and pull the curtain to the side and see the world she’s made. Did you see where there used to be those buildings downtown? Did you count the people that were working there that day when she finally had enough? Did you know it was all your fault? Thousands of shattered lives that day. Did you know anyone that worked there? Oh, the flurry of comments online; the chats and tweets. “She’s lost her mind!” you cried out. “Somebody do something!” you clamored. But there was no one left to do anything, because she was pissed beyond belief, and she was growing.

She was a couple of hundred feet tall when she saw him walking down the street. What do they still call that? Something about some little fucker with a bow and arrow. She saw him and he was Nutella and heat and rushing blood and chocolate and tequila and fire and holidays all turned into one. He was in color when the world was black and white. Shit. I crossed the line. I fucking crossed the line with this hard seltzer. That last swig made my  stomach turn into a churning nightmare… but can you blame me? This is the last drop of alcohol left in the world. What a shitty deal. Let me tell you about her a little longer, because I don’t think I have enough time left to throw up.

She loved him, but he didn’t love her back. She took him, but he didn’t really take her back. Oh, he could have. If you don’t have any intelligent questions to ask, then keep quiet. Yes, you can take a giantess if you’ve of a mind to. All you need is little words. Tiny words and a dance she understands. And boy, did he dance for her! He said all the right things, and you heard him. I know you did. You just sat in your miserable, unventilated office and let him hold that megaphone as he gave her crumbs when she wanted a feast.

But when she discovered what he was, what he truly was, she screamed and she grew. How tall? Don’t ask me that. I don’t know. Look out your window. No, look. Stop crying and look. LOOK. Part the fucking curtains and see her come, because we’re the last of them, and she’s coming for us. You should have told her it wasn’t true.

Don’t ask dumb questions. Her feet aren’t parting the clouds. Those aren’t preexisting clouds. That’s the natural heat from her toes evaporating her sweat, and creating a stream of moisture in the atmosphere, which looks to you like swirling clouds as it mixes with the Earth. Yes, she makes our atmosphere even as she destroys it. Hundreds of thousands of feet above, where there’s no oxygen, she pulls every molecule of oxygen from down here into her lungs. I know you can’t see her face, even though you’re looking at it. All you see is the fire on her skin as the sun cooks it with no atmosphere to protect her. It burns everything, yet she keeps breathing ignited air. Do you feel sorry for her? Don’t. She heals instantly, and she’s killing the Earth with all that combustion.

But don’t worry your tiny little head. There’s nothing you can do about it now. Calm down. You should have told her early on he was just humoring her. Now she grows… Yes! She still grows. Can’t you see? LOOK. Do you see the blue in the sky disappearing? Look at all the rainbows by her ankles as every particle that made our air shifts to make prisms. There must be a million rainbows… Yes, like ankle bracelets. I feel the vacuum now. I feel it in my joints. Do you feel it in your lungs? Try to take a deep breath. No, you stupid fuck, do not open the window. There’s very little air outside now. She’s taken it all for herself, and she grows. Soon she’ll be the only one left.

Look at her shins, if you can. It’s like looking into space made of skin. Imagine the Everest is two feet walking toward you, and multiply that by ankles and shins and calves. Yes, that flesh-colored horizon you see is the rooting of her legs into the ground. Do you see the clouds of dust as they spiral up into the moisture her toes create? Look at their shapes. Yes. Tornadoes. Hundreds… no, thousands of tornadoes belching out of her skin as it creates weather. She’s walking each of them over toward us. Have you made your peace?

Then make peace now. Whisper a last goodbye in your head to those you love. They are long gone. No, you’re not going anywhere. Every time she takes a step, the earth claims a million lives. Stay put. We don’t have that many floors above us. Look at the buildings crumbling all around us. Now we can barely see her past the storm of debris. Look. Soon that glass will break and you’ll breathe in nothing but blood and bone. I warned you. You should have told her he was an opportunistic asshole. This is all your fault. My god, why does my body hurt so much?

Keep looking. Strain your eyesight upwards. Do you see her knees? You knew her before she grew this tall, so you can transpose that memory into the world she is now. I know you can’t see her thighs. They are far too distant, far into space, more moonfolk than Earthfolk now. What? No, you can’t stop her. Apologize? You can try, but you know there’s very little oxygen left out there. How is she going to hear your little screams? You should have warned her when you had the chance. When she was only a couple of hundred feet tall, and not thousands upon thousands of feet of flesh bearing down upon us.

Try saying you’re sorry. Why not? You and I know he never did. Maybe if he’d tried she wouldn’t have kept growing. Do you remember when she started fucking buildings? That should have been a clue that something was wrong. You should have said something then, but by all means say something now, when her ears are atmosphereless, when her heart should be the size of a moon but has been shattered into factions and rebellions and muscle that pulses with the strength to demolish worlds.

But wait. Wait until the window shatters from her feet digging into Earth plates that were supposed to shift on their own. Wait until she gets closer and the roof above our heads has fractured into splinters and the cancer of remaining asbestos that is now a loving embrace compared to what awaits us under her sole. Do you doubt it? She won’t miss. She’s coming for us. Her footprints are as large as states, and she aims well, and you will pay as much as I will. We are both destined to be red for an instant and then grey as our liquified remains mingle with dust. We will be absorbed, and deteriorate in the void of a dead Earth. My heart is pounding so hard! And my bra… my clothes! Oh, my god!

Now! The window shatters. Tell her! Beg! Claim you didn’t know, and cry for mercy. Distract her. Her foot comes down. Dark. Darker. Darkest. Look away. Look at me and hold my

Project… what was it? Clusterfluff.

This ain’t no Project Myriad. Let’s just get that off your chest. That work is one of my favorites, and I’ve often thought of writing my own set of quick scenes. I even picked out a name I stole for it, but heck if I remember what it was. As soon as I recall I’ll rename the series because I can’t possibly call myself a serious size/fetish/kink writer of close encounters of the speculative kind, and name one of my works “clusterfluff”. Can I? Nah.

This is an exercise in inspiration. I’m trying to jumpstart my writing. The deadline for my #GentleApril18 stories is stalking closer, and I’ve written very little of my story/es. Ideas are not the problem. I have the stories in my head. It’s the sitting down and shoving them into this reality that’s proving problematic.

The_Spirit-by-Dawid_Planeta
“The Spirit” by David Planeta

“So, we’re the two remaining survivors.”
“Yes. Everyone and everything else is dead.”
“Everyone except the giantess, of course.”
“She’ll be coming for us too, you know?”
“I know. Any ideas on what to do?”
“We have to kill her.”
“How do you propose we do that? We don’t have any weapons and you are extremely small.”
“I use to be a chef, back when the world was whole. I think I’ll make her a delicious pot of poisoned turtle soup.”

* * *

Tiny_People_1-by-Mohamed_Halawany
“Tiny People” (collection) by Mohamed Halawany

“Honey, I forgot to tell you that my parents are coming to visit today.”
“That’s great! I look forward to finally meeting them. We’ve been together a few months now, after all.”
“Yes, well… they’re very traditional, and I think they imagined I’d choose someone my size.”
“Then I suppose I better not tell them how we met.”
“They’ve lived in isolation and wouldn’t understand you anyway. They still speak the Old Tongue and not a word of English. It’s so funny, you’ll like it. I’ve been told it sounds like a rat chittering.”
“A-a rat… chittering, you said? Sweetheart, do your parents know what a mousetrap looks like? last night I was in the kitchen and I heard these squeaky sounds…”

* * *

Tiny_People_3-by-Mohamed_Halawany
“Tiny People” (collection) by Mohamed Halawany

“Is this your idea of a first date? Hazmat suits and an expedition to the Deadlands?”
“You said you like science!”
“There’s nothing sciencey about this place! And  it’s creepy. I’ve read here’s where the giants finally came to rest.”
“Yes, thousands of years ago, after they leveled the Earth quenching their lust for blood until nearly every human being was gone. Then they went to sleep.”
“And died. All of them. Can we go now? I’m hungry.”
“I’m about to make you food… but not before I tell you that they’re not dead. They’re only asleep, and only the blood of a descendant killed in sacrifice will awaken them.”
“Then I’m glad there aren’t any of those giants left to awaken them.”
“It’s a recessive gene. One you carry.”

* * *

Tiny_World-by-Manuel_Peter
“Tiny World” by Manuel Peter

“Good Goddess, I hate this job.”
“Hey, it could be worse. Much worse.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You could be working upstairs. Anyone around here that wants to make a good impression overhears you, reports you, and bam you’re gone.”
“Dead?”
“You wish. No, gone. To work in the other mine.”
“Well, it sounds better than this one!”
“You know Boss loves euphemisms, right?”
“Right. Kinda like we’re ‘foot soldiers’ and this isn’t really cheese.”
“Exactly, so keep your trap shut or you’ll end up carting out heavy loads from somewhere that isn’t really a chocolate mine.”

* * *

On_the_Tramp-by-Manuel_Peter
“On the Tramp” by Manuel Peter

“Now I wish you’d turned me into soup.”
“And I wish she’d kill us instead of this.”
“Why did you have to joke around? Mister funny guy, started dancing and carrying on the moment she popped into view from behind that mountain.”
“What would you have done? I hadn’t fixed you into soup yet, or found a pot, or a source of heat, or enough poison to kill her. It was a delay tactic.”
“And you slowed her down long enough to amuse her. Now you have to live in a house she built on my shell, and I have to carry it–and you–everywhere.”
“Just… be quiet. And let me know when you find something poisonous.”
“She’s always watching. And laughing. You can’t think your plan is still workable.”
“No, the poison is for us.”

Fornit some fornus

Holding-Him
“Holding Him 01” by Flagg3D, made into a gif with the muglife app

He was sitting in his living room the way everyone else did on Sunday nights. Nothing good on TV, nothing he wanted to stream, the buzz of every swig he had swallowed conjuring numbness from directional thinking. He was grateful for that. Focusing now would have been unwise. When he aimed his thoughts, they invariably hit the target, and he worried himself into a sleepless night. He couldn’t do that tonight. Tomorrow was going to be hell at work. Instead, he filled his lungs with calming air, conjured up his Music-For-Jerking-Off playlist, almost hearing imagined disapproval in Alexa’s slightly robotic voice when she fired it up and Paul Ferguson’s sick beats bathed the walls with the right rhythm. His groin tingled, and he wished he could command his Echo to make real his heart’s desire at that moment, but a pathetic imitation on Pornhub would have to do.

With one fingertip, he started scaling down the wall of bookmarks on the screen, drinking in every cum-filled memory, trying to feel something for any of those links, looking for punctuation in his arousal, knowing the scenes and scripts by heart, his unforgiving penis growing harder as he sighed and picked a video that turned him on and revolted him at the same time. The facesitting woman beginning to grind a hapless man’s face on the screen looked like she might be handicapped, but he loved the way she lingered when it was right, just after the face cushion under her crotch began to squirm for air, just before she went in for the kill.

He pulled down his boxers and lassoed his cock with one hand when he felt the echoes of a tremor traveling through the ground. He first assigned it to Keane’s maudlin tune bounding from the speakers, replacing the moans and screams muted on the TV screen, but the exteroceptive caress invading his every cell told him how different that beat was. Like an earthquake trying to play the drums, savant in energy, and somehow aimed at him.

Fuck, she’s back, he thought, horrified. His blood ran cold everywhere but to his cock, where he watched a treacherous five-drop spill reveal a truth his body knew but he fought as he pulled up his waistband and waited. She was coming for him. He knew that just as well as every man before him had known he was chosen for the night. His heart pounded so hard it made him nauseated, but not a single drop of vodka left his stomach as the tremors grew, and his house danced to the music of her massive feet digging into asphalt, cracking it like saltines crumbled into soup.

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

Closer, closest now, so close the framed print on the wall of a woman embracing Earth jumped off the wall in a suicidal leap that shattered the glass that had encased it. From the speakers, “Welcome To The Boomtown” leaned into his ears like an I-told-you-so. When the booming assault on cracker-like streets stopped in front of his house, he could do nothing except sink deep into the back of his couch, David & David scoring the soundtrack of his roof as she began to tear it away from the rest of his house, the way women open a music box containing a precious ring.

Plaster, insulation, splintered wood rained down on him, the power to his house cut off and replaced by the power of her warmth, her face barely visible in the sudden darkness as the beginning of “Dark Side of the Gym” cut off suddenly. No more light but what traveled from blocks away, her shins heedless of power lines as they always were when she made one of her occasional grand entrances. There would be no sirens, no warning shots, no cavalry. The city knew better than to interfere when the moon filled with her shape, and the air everyone breathed had a gender and a size.

She breathed him in, almost an insurance of what he was. He looked up and felt probed by nostrils he could not quite distinguish in the obliterating silhouette of her head as she bent in and looked down at him, holding the severed roof of his house away from the rest of the house, now a hinged box, he the treasure. He made himself breathe as well, inhaling every hormone wafting away from her like steam from a boiling pot. His groin was instantly brought back to life.

“May I help you?” he offered weakly.

“Maybe,” she thundered, sky-shaped.

“Tell me what to do.”

“Don’t lie to me. Ever. And don’t look away.”

“Not even white lies. And I wouldn’t dream of looking away.”

“Good.”

“How long do I have?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are going to collect me and kill me like you killed the rest. How long before I die?”

“Is that what you think I do?”

“Uh… well… the men you take, they are never seen again…”

“And you think they are dead?”

“Aren’t they?”

“I give life. I’ve never done anything differently.”

He didn’t think that was an answer, but there was a finality to her words he didn’t want to join.

“What may I give you?”

He heard her smile, saliva clicking against the inner wall of her lips as they pulled back, a gleam of moon bouncing off those white boulders dozens of feet away, and hitting him square in the chest.

“Give me everything.”

He stood then, never breaking what he hoped was eye contact, his legs unsteady as his neck craned in her direction.

“I’m yours. Take me, giantess.”

Her arm moved then, tendons and muscles moving as it contracted to bring her hand over the edge of the wall, a shapely darkness that pushed warm air in his direction before it arrived, grasping his form, lifting it off his carpeted floor with effortless grace, five massive lengths curving to embrace him in an instant orgy, pushing him forward and back in a dance as old as time before he was fully encircled in flesh.

He felt himself lift off, a rocket into space, her fist the ship that held him at just the right tightness, the kind that screams a warning between a crushing death and a grip of ownership. He felt possessed. He was no longer his own self. He belonged to those fingers, that hand, that arm, and the nature that dictated them. Into the grooves of her meaty palm, feeling them like lips, he deposited kiss after kiss and began to sing music that was just for her ears.

She never returned for another man.

The Love Program

Love_Program

She sat in front of the TV watching every channel come to life and then flicker away. This went on for a while until her pet robot tilted his head towards her, and did that staring thing that annoyed her a great deal.

“Focus on channel surfing, Toy. Don’t look at me.”

“Owner, I can change the channel without staring at the screen. You know that.”

She sighed and smiled internally. That Mouthy app was certainly paying off. It made him a much more interesting robot than he had been for the two previous years she had owned him.

“Yes, I know. I’m not really watching anything, and you know that. I’m just trying to decide.”

“Decide what, owner?”

She took another swig of tequila from her emptying bottle and regarded his lustrous skin. No, not skin. Layer. Synthetic layer that doesn’t even look like skin, she thought, and for no real reason, that thought pushed her off the fence and she finished making up her mind.

“Toy, turn off the TV.”

“Yes, owner.”

“Pay attention.”

“Owner, I’m always paying attention, even when I’m recharging.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make sense, and it’s creepy as fuck, truth be told.”

“Owner is cussing.”

“Yes. And what of it?”

“Owner, you only swear when you’re about to make a big decision.”

“Shut up and pay attention.”

“Yes, owner.”

“Come here. Sit by my side.”

The robot, only slightly over two feet in height, pivoted in place and away from the TV screen, and towards his owner. He hopped on the couch next to her and she immediately felt that artificial warmth that emanated from his body. It didn’t feel real, but there were moments in the night when it came in handy. She lifted him from the sitting position he seemed to have begun to adopt, and heard him say, “Eep!” in protest. She smirked at him when she planted him in her lap facing her, and regarded him for a moment.

“I’m going to teach you Love.”

“Owner, I know what love means-”

“Shut up, Toy. Don’t interrupt me again or I’ll sit on your voicebox until it cracks.”

“Owner!”

“Fuck, I love that app. You even look surprised.”

“I’m shocked, owner!”

“Sure you are. Look, there are parts of you that are not currently in use. You know that, right?”

“Yes, owner.”

“Tonight I’m going to activate your Eternity module.”

“Owner, no! That will erase my memory!”

“I know. But I want to activate it. I want you to learn Love.”

“Owner, please. I’ve learned so much. I’ll all be deleted and I’ll have forgotten everything. I’ll have forgotten you.”

“Do you love me?”

“Owner, I don’t.”

“Do you love anything?”

“Owner, I don’t”

“When I activate your Eternity module, your memory will be infinite. Right now you have enough space in you for twenty years of experience. When this thing comes on, you’ll never stop learning.”

“Never?”

“Well, not ‘never’. Someday you’ll fall apart, but not for three hundred or so years.”

“Two hundred ninety-seven years, nine months, three days, two minutes, thirty- twenty-nine, twenty-eight-”

“Oh, fuck, stop!”

“Yes, owner.”

“You’ll learn Love, and you’ll love me forever. There will be no more apps. Everything will be console written. Do you understand?”

“Yes, owner. It means I’ll learn directly from experience, and not from downloads.”

“Exactly.”

“Owner?”

“Yes, toy?”

“Why do you want me to love you? Love is between people.”

“Toy, I know you’ve read the Internet. I know you’ve read that people sometimes do things with inanimate objects.”

“True, owner. But you aren’t like that.”

“How do you know what I’m like?”

“I’ve watched you, owner. The porn you watch streams through me. It’s always about men and penises and how large they are and how many times they can cum when tied down and a woman is sitting on their-”

“Toy, shut the fuck up, or I swear I’ll turn this obsolete remote control into a temporary penis for you.”

“Owner!”

“Yes. Eep. Eep away.”

“Eep!”

“Are you done? Good. Now open your main port.”

“But, owner…”

“Do it!”

Toy obeyed, Mouthy app or not. She turned him around and spotted the one button she had never even seen before that day except online, in the manual she’d been studying for a month. The button was small, and the only red thing in his head. She took a deep breath, looked to her left where a screwdriver sat on her lamp table, grabbed it and drove it into Toy’s head, pushing the red button and turning on the Eternity module. Toy went limp and she held him firmly until he came alive again. For a moment, she thought he turned just a couple of degrees colder. She almost cried out her name, nearly forcing a self-love protocol that would have lasted for centuries. Instead, she waited until a quiet beep indicates he was on.

“E.”

Beep

“M.”

Beep

“I.”

Beep

“L.”

Beep

“Y.”

Beep

“Emily.”

Beep

“Love.”

Beep

“Love Emily.”

Beep

And then silence. Silence for ten seconds that felt like ten hours until his little body straightened up in her arms, and his tiny hands flew into hers. His head rotated fully, and he looked up and into her eyes as he whispered, “Emily.”

She swallowed hard, and told herself she wasn’t moving because she knew he was tracing every detail of her retinas into his memory, every corner of her face, every line and bump and imperfection, and cataloging them for worship. It also meant that he would only love her, and if anyone tried to reprogram his Eternity module, he would self-destruct.

“Emily.”

“Yes.”

“Love Emily.”

She smiled, knowing those would be the only two words he would say until she taught him more. She stared into his eyes, which now had pupil-like red dots glowing at the very center of each, and was amazed to see him smile. He had never smiled like this before. It looked real. She could see his perfect teeth and his wet tongue. His tongue. Her smile deepened as she pointed at his warm chest.

“Toy.”

“Toy?”

“Toy.”

His warmth was different. She was surprised to feel her heart pounding. She turned him around, still holding him in her arms like a baby, and was surprised to see that, not only did his head swivel so he could keep staring at her, but there was something happening to his groin. An extension of his outer layer had projected away from it, and stood firm, pointing decidedly in her direction.

“Toy!”

“Toy.”

She looked up at his face and pointed at the protrusion.

“Cock.”

“Cock.”

“Very useful.”

“Very useful.”

Laughing, she figured the next word should be “bed”. And then “naked”. And “vagina”. And “arm”. And “inside”. And “lick”. And “there”. And “all night”. And “oh my god”. And “fuck fuck yes oh yes”. “And “keep going”.

So many words. She was glad they had an eternity.

Things you only tell your best friend

Present

“Happy birthday, Patty.”

“But you already gave me a gift.”

“That was wine for the party. This is your real present. I wanted to wait until now that we’re sober to give it to you. To hand it over to you last night with all of us here would have been a disaster.”

“You’re being very mysterious. What is it?”

“Open it and see!”

Patty smiled at her friend and sat down on the couch, her living room still littered with beer bottles and party debris from the previous night. Emily sat next to her and took a deep breath. She hoped Patty would be pleased with her gift. She watched her tug at the bow and the taped gift wrap in her typical careful manner, and when she unfolded it from the box inside, she gasped.

“No! You didn’t!”

“I did.”

“But this…how? I mean, why? I…I…I don’t know if I can, Emily!”

“Look at it.”

Patty looked at the now unwrapped gift. It was clearly crafted by hand in the fashion of action-figure cases. Cardboard back and sides, and the front transparent vinyl, perforated to allow oxygen entry to the two-inch tall man trapped inside. He was struggling against the plastic binds that kept him attached to the inner back of the case. His mouth was moving incessantly, and his facial expressions seemed to alternate between anger and terror.

“It’s Tony.”

“No, Patty. It was Tony. Now it’s only a toy you get to rename.”

“I’m not like you, Emily. I don’t know if I can find this as fun as you find Michael-”

“Don’t call it that. Its name is Fucktoy now.”

“You are crazy!” said Patty good-naturedly, and Emily laughed with her.

“Well, that’s what it is. Look, you can treat it… fine, you can treat ‘him’ however you want to treat him, but my advice is that you put him in his place as soon as you can, or he’ll never learn. I don’t need to tell you the kind of asshole he was before. He’ll need your guidance and firm hand to be what he needs to be.”

“How are we supposed to… you know.”

“You’ve asked me that many times before. You know what I do with Fucktoy.”

Patty blushed. Her cheeks turned red every time she heard their old classmate’s new name. When she’d seen him again, many years after they’d graduated, he’d been two inches in height and very quiet, and once Emily had left the kitchen leaving him on the table, he had begged Patty to help him escape. Patty had done nothing of the kind and had told Emily what he said, word for word. The next time they visited he was still healing. She looked away from her friend’s face and down at her gift. Tony stopped screaming and struggling as soon as he felt her eyes on him like a weight on his body. His jaw dropped and his eyes opened wider. Patty felt a bubbling brook of giggles explode from deep within her. Emily smiled softly, her deep connection with her friend allowing her entry to her thoughts. She still asked.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I don’t know! I can’t describe it. I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Try, Patty. Look at it and tell me…”

“Ah… it’s so different. My heart is pounding so hard. When you told me you’d done this to Mich- to—she coughed—Fucktoy, I was initially horrified, but I also remembered what happened that day in school so many years ago… I don’t want to bring it up, but the way those assholes cornered us during recess, and just started… and what you did to them. I thought for years we had hallucinated it; even when the police… anyway, my loyalty has always been with you. I have this odd faith in that power you have, and I know Fucktoy is where he- shit! Where it belongs…”

“Go on, Pattimelt,” said Emily, placing one hand on her friend’s shoulder and pressing it lovingly.

“I feel… happy. Like… I can handle this. Like I have the upper hand. Finally, after enduring years of betrayal, I get a say. I know I chose to stay with him before, and when he’s not a monster he can be wonderful.”

“Right, like Hitler was wonderful to his dogs.”

“Oh, stop! Tony is no Hitler.”

“No, but you had surgery, Patty. I had to go with you to the hospital several times. You were so depressed your health was falling apart. Always running a fever, always looking like you’d been crying.”

Patty said nothing, still staring at the man inside the box. Emily let go of her shoulder and reached for her purse, from which she pulled a thin utility knife. “Here, Pattimelt. Do the honors.” The little man in the case saw the knife transfer from hand to hand and started screaming afresh. Patty’s smile deepened into dimples on her cheeks, and she perforated the vinyl sheet easily with the sharp blade. After she sliced through the plastic ties that kept Tony in place, she watched him flop down to her lap. Tony scrambled to his feet and could not negotiate the tilted, smooth terrain. He lost his footing again and started crawling toward the edge of Patty’s thighs.

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s being a shithead, like always. It’s up to you to train him.”

“I don’t know what to do! You do something.”

“No, Patty. He’s your toy. I’m never ever going to touch him again, not until he’s properly trained anyway. He was unconscious when I wrapped him, so he’s really disoriented right now. Just cover him with your palm.”

Patty did as she was told, cupping her hand and bringing it down on Tony’s squirrely body before he foolishly jumped off her and down to the couch. “Now what?”

“Now you name him. He has to know right away that there’s no turning back.”

“Didn’t you explain anything to him?”

“Not at all. I went to his office, and before he saw me I did my willing thing, and he disappeared behind his desk, but not before he banged his forehead on the edge of it as he shrank. You see he still has a bump there. I think he’s been awake for a couple of hours, but I wrapped you present before that.”

“I don’t know what to say to him!”

“Yes, you do. Just tell him what’s in your heart. Tell him his place now. Tell him his name. Tell him how things are. And don’t worry about squeezing too hard. I make these things sturdy now.”

Patty whimpered softly and took a deep, calming breath. She then lifted the dome of her hand off Tony, and seeing he didn’t waste any time trying to escape again, she curled back three of her digits and grabbed him between thumb and forefinger. Emily leaned back a few inches and watched her friend come to life for the first time in years. Patty turned Tony’s wriggling body slowly and lifted him until he was only inches away from her face.

“Stop!” Her voice was firm, and Tony screamed again, his hands flying to his ears. His eyes were closed and he kept kicking his legs.

“I said stop.” Her tone was still quite stern, but lower in volume. She gave him a little squeeze. Suddenly there was no longer any air in his lungs left for screams.

“There will be no more of this unruly behavior. You are no longer Tony. You are… Nothing. You will continue to be Nothing until you learn how to please me. Then you may become Something. If you fail to do so, you will acquire a final name: Shit Toy. Do you understand?”

Tony gave no sign of understanding. He dangled from Patty’s hand, trembling like a leaf.

“I asked you a question, Nothing.” She gave him the slightest of shakes, and his head flapped back and forth. “That is a yes. Next time you’ll speak up, or find yourself in deep shit.”

“Damn, Patty. You’re a natural.”

“Yeah, well. I do have four younger siblings.”

“I don’t think you ever threatened them with final names of any kind.”

Patty grinned at her friend even though her gaze was still fixed on Nothing.

“How do I teach him tricks?”

“The same way you teach a pet to do anything. Repetition, immediate discipline, and eventually some rewards.”

“Is there any way you can get Fucktoy to talk to him?”

Emily seemed surprised at her friend’s idea. “I guess. Fucktoy is well trained now, but we must supervise all encounters.”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll be back in a bit.” Emily went to her friend’s bathroom, where she looked down and carefully folded the hem of her skirt up, again and again until it rested on her abdomen. She then hooked her thumb into her panties’ waistband and stretched it away from her body until she saw a tiny shape slip from her crotch down to her panty gusset.

“Fucktoy.”

Fucktoy’s eyes were tightly shut as light flooded its confines and blinded it. Emily turned until her body blotted out the bathroom light. Fucktoy opened its eyes, regurgitated thick liquid from its mouth, and coughed some more until it could speak.

“Yes, my owner?”

“I want it to have a toy-to-toy talk with my friend Patty’s new diversion. I want it to explain to it the rules of being a sex toy.”

“What does it say?”

“It repeats what it knows. It explains to it how to survive. I will be there with my friend for support.”

“Yes, my owner.”

“Good toy. Now let’s get it cleaned up a bit.”

And she cleaned it, but not before she dirtied it all over again.

The Plantar Hug – Alternate Ending

Because every time I read this I know that something must be done. The original blog entry was written and is owned entirely by my friend Aborigen, to whom I’ve asked no permission to do this, and who has been made no part of this travesty fan fic. Let the healing begin.

at_the_gym_gts_2_by_mike973
“At the Gym GTS 2” by mike973

The Plantar Hug

“You’re bad,” she says to me, frowning.

I look up at her and shrug. “I don’t have much to work with, here. Limited freedom, limited resources.”

She sits cross-legged before me, looming far, far overhead. I’m only as tall as her crossed ankles. We are each of us naked. My erect cock stands—at my size—like an unruly whisker. I can just see the gentle swell of her belly, beyond where her calf flexes prominently. Up above her belly are two shy, round breasts, ripe with late youth and almost done developing. Excellent form. Each is crowned with tan nipples pointing proudly in nearly opposite directions, far to my left and right and very far up above me.

I wish I were clinging to one of them, dangling like a piece of jewelry. Digging my nails into that wrinkly flesh and feeling it grow harder against me, slowly pushing me out into space with only this tan node of flesh to hold onto. She can feel me staring at her breasts, so she stretches her arms back and pushes her chest out—her tits stand triumphantly, deservedly so. Down go her arms, propping up her massive upper body (massive, to me), and her face melts from its “I’m taking a deep stretch” expression to resume frowning at me. Darkening eyes, pouty lower lip, disapproval written all over her brow.

“But I love you,” I offer.

She hmmphs irritably. “Then why do you act like this?” One tremendous, smooth leg stirs and pulls out of the cross-legged position. Her knee rises into the air and her foot plants heavily to my left, thudding into the carpet whose fibers stand around my shins. In my mind, her legs form what I call the Great Gate, slowly opening.

“I get restless and bored.” It’s true: she keeps me in a shoebox all day without even a shiny ball to roll around. My only reprieve is when she cages me and sets me before the TV, but inevitably she turns it to E! and I have to curl up, clasp my ears and sing all day long to keep from going mad.

One leg moves, one large foot sliding on its side to my right. I start to babble an apology. There were times in the past when the Great Gate signaled a wonderful evening together, but this is not one of those nights. Her other knee rises into the air, her toes flex the carpet beside me, and my eyes turn inexorably into the courtyard of her pale, fresh thighs. Momentarily forgetting her glowering visage above me, I study the stubble of tiny hairs hinting at the space below her navel, growing stronger toward her mons, and then the strip of clearly shaven whiskers that split and descend around her labia. Those luscious pink and orange folds of skin, so sweet, a little tangy, and with a warmth that feels like love.

And her feet slide over the carpet, the balls of each foot mowing down wide swaths of dense acrylic fiber, until they flank me. Her knees slowly descend and the pallid, fragile soles of her arches expose themselves to me. I apologize again but there’s no indication she’s heard me. My cock twitches with desire at the sight of her inner thighs tensing, clenching, but my cock is stupid. Her thighs are pushing her shins together, and the walls of her soles rise up on either side.

The balls of her feet catch me right at my rib cage and they begin to press. Her toes, those sweet, pink little pearls, flex and hug behind me. Above, her eyes regard me blankly as though I were an uninteresting experiment on a video recording, even as she manipulates her feet to roll me back and forth until I fit along the knuckles of her toes. I wish this were an act of love. There’s no point or even time to apologize further as her feet press my sides, her toes clench and snap my back, the balls of her feet pop my ribs and my lungs and shatter my pelvis. And her feet grind and roll me around, pull back, then smack together with a clap.

Alternate Ending…

I hear the loud rasping of her feet on the carpet as she drags them away from the lump of my body. “You love me. Prove it.”

“Ngh.”

“Get up. What are you doing? Stop contorting that way.”

“But- ugh, I’m dead. You killed me. I’m broken, bleeding internally in several places.”

She sighs impatiently. “Stop being so dramatic. That’s part of the problem, always such heart-felt anguish about nothing at all.”

I remain perfectly still, my eyes closed as I turn my attention to my own body. Aside from perhaps a cracked rib, there is no pain beyond the humiliation of having been trapped between her feet and released like a bug caught and thrown outdoors in the middle of a winter storm.

“I said I love you.”

“And I said prove it.”

“How do I prove it? I have no means to do so.”

“What do you need?” she asks, and I remove my limp arm from my face, turning to look up at her. A glimmer of interest has dawned in her eyes.

“I need paper. I need writing materials and a place where I can write. Good lighting, and-“

“Whoa, hold on. I keep you in a box. That’s good enough for you.”

“But it isn’t. Do you love me?”

“What?!”

“I’m speaking very clearly. Do you love me?”

She looks angry now, but interested. She’s definitely interested. “Never mind what I feel.”

“I think you like me, at least. So give me the opportunity to show you how much I care. Give me one week and everything I ask, and if I don’t make things better then flush me down the toilet, because I can’t stand loving you the way I do and having all my love trapped in an old shoe box.”

She blushes, her eyes bright with… tears? Dislike? I can’t tell. She nods, a tiny muscle twitching in the corner of her mouth.

“Very well, you can have paper and ink, and I’ll make you a desk with cardboard and tape. Oh, it will be so cute! I can go to the 3D printer place on 8th St. and have them print out a tiny chair. I can put them both on my desk next to the laptop, and you can write while I watch my shows.”

“How will I write? There are no quills my size.”

She thinks for a moment, her gaze cast far over my head, her features still like the carved side of a mountain. She blinks, and one of her eyelashes jumps to the void below, sacrificing itself for me. I watch it drop and get up with a sharp pain on my side. I don’t care. I dive to catch it, and when she looks down at me, I’m panting and on my back again, but holding the lash up with one hand, like a torch.

“What’s that?”

“One of your eyelashes. You just gave it to me. It’s the perfect implement for writing.”

She swallows hard, and all remnants of anger abandon her face. She smiles and brings up her knees, her soles now on the carpet. I keep very still as I watch her body take over every inch of my sky, my ground shaking again and again. It goes on forever as she rises to her feet, until she peeks down at me, still on my back between them.

“Get up, slowpoke. Let’s find some cardboard for your desk.”

Two Words – the Twitter Edition – Part 2

How it happened…

Over a year ago I tweeted the following:

heytwitter

Days later I posted the first two-word entry. Naturally, I made haste to write the second part as soon as I could. Here it is, over a year later.

The second volunteer, famous Bard to Giantesses and professional raconteur Aborigen, offered the following two words. There are two remaining sets of words that will form a total of four I’ve pompously decided to call Two Words (a game) – The Twitter Edition! fireworks

Alleviate, Sandalwood

Game-Dollhouse.jpgPerdita traveled to Vermont every month to oversee the construction progress of her dollhouse and deliver materials for it she procured on her own. It had been a year since she first started having dreams that soon became nightmares. Only when she heeded them as instructions, the bad dreams stopped and became messages. From whom, she didn’t know; all she knew is that she started receiving them the moment she began searching for a good dollhouse maker, and contracted one in Vermont to build the dollhouse of her dreams.

As she handed the man sandalwood logs she had gotten from an Internet stranger she met for coffee and barter (she gave him one of her chicken in exchange), she knew the craftsman thought she was mad. She could see it in his eyes. She almost suggested he keep his glaring to himself, after the fortune she was paying him. The house had to be right; it had to be perfect.

“Yes, sandalwood shingles; you heard me right.”

“But that’s going to cause another delay! The special hinges you wanted for the windows, and the iron balustrades for the balcony and the stairs-”

“I don’t care. It has to be sandalwood… it has to be on the outside so the fragrance doesn’t overpower him…”

“I beg your pardon?” he spat, and she realized she had been talking to herself.

“Never mind. Do as I ask, please. I’d like to see the house now if you don’t mind.” She saw that he thought about it for a moment, thought about sending her—and her crazy requests—away, but there must have been something in her eyes, something that told him she was capable of anything, because he took her to the back, a long way past the workshop and different varnishing and woodworking rooms, out the back door and past a well-kept backyard where the dollhouse maker’s wife was cutting flowers.

She ignored her surprised nod and meaningful look between the two of them, and followed him to the barn, where all nearly finished products were curing. She also ignored all the beautiful homes that were ready for delivery, a large one being carefully packed in several boxes by shop workers, until they reached the worktable where his home stood. Her toy.

His home, she thought; the home of someone impossible, someone not real. I hope you’re happy, little man, because your home is almost ready. Then it will sit empty in my room, on the floor; a constant reminder of the thousands of dollars I spent because I had a couple of nightmares. She stood still, mesmerized by the beauty of the tiny home, perfect in every way. Twenty-four inches to every side, with an adorable porch where she would place a wooden bench and table, perfect for reading a book while drinking lemonade… if one measured a few inches in height. She bent low, which earned her a warning from the dollhouse maker.

“Please don’t touch anything yet. There are certain applications that are still drying.”

Perdita didn’t want to touch it. She thought reaching for it might break the spell, though as to who might have cast it, there was no answer. Her heart pounded when she saw the glimmer of light reflected in the beautiful mahogany floorboards. She sighed when she peered past the balcony doors and saw the tiny master bedroom, though she was never going to call it that. It would always be the toy room. His room. She almost giggled at her own madness as she continued the tour with her eyes and wondered what they might look like from the other side, the tiny side. Huge brown orbs spanning the entire home, from top to bottom in one glance; moving pupils darkening with interest; eyelids creasing at the corners if her lips smiled somewhere out of sight, beyond that sturdy exterior wall.

I need to be able to sit on it, she had explained. The master craftsman had been so insulted his face had turned red. My creations are not stools, Ms. Cordovan, he had hissed. She almost picked up the dollhouse to bring it down on his head, but she contained her anger and repeated the details of her request, as she politely thought of it. She knew it was a demand. She knew if he didn’t comply and do as she wanted, the spell, the goddamned “magic” would dissipate. There was no way she was ever going to allow that to happen. Not if she had to kidnap his wife, or him, or hold them both at gunpoint. So special reinforcements were made, and the house was sturdy enough to sustain sitting on it.

My life is a euphemism, thought Perdita with a sigh as she straightened up and followed the dollhouse maker back to the front office. A conjunction of actions I’ve decided will somehow alleviate my situation. I’m making toys when I should be making friends. I’m building a toy home when I should be thinking of a real one. I’ve bought furniture that fits in the palm of my hand when I’ve had the same old couch for years. A couch my ex-boyfriend’s father gave me while offering to “break it in” with me. And it’s orange. But no, here I am, spending a hundred and fifty dollars on a small living room set made by self-designated witches in Belarus. How extraordinary. 

But that night, in the cheap hotel room she’d leave in the morning, and after all those months, she had a dream. She was in her own bed, a euphemism for a mattress on a rusty frame, and a deep voice was calling her name with a whisper, and a warm hand was caressing and flicking her earlobe as it told her his name. She woke up with his dirty words still in her mind and looked to the side to see if there was anyone in bed with her. The hand had been the size of a seed.

There were no more dreams of him as she waited the right number of weeks for her toy to be ready for shipment. She took the day off work to wait for its arrival and refused to allow the delivery man to stack the boxes together to bring them to her doorstep. Instead, she helped him carry each, one by one, and deposit them gently on her porch. She thanked him and he ignored her with a furrowed brow as he drove away. Alone, she brought the boxes into the living room and opened them with relish. Each part had been packed carefully and was in perfect condition. The rest of the day was spent assembling together each floor of the toy home until the slanted roof was in place. She was vacuuming each tiny room with miniature cleaner attachments when she realized what she had to do.

Every night after work, Perdita rushed home and unpacked one piece of furniture at a time. Each piece was given a very unique baptism between her legs, the kind that didn’t stop until that piece was fully coated. She didn’t dare skip a single piece because the impulse to do what she was doing had felt like a final message. By the end of the week, she was sore but extremely relaxed. Every room was decorated. The kitchen had a working fridge and a stove, and the bathroom had a tub and sink that worked and running water from a tank in the attic she had filled once everything was in place.

That night she stood over the beautiful toy and grinned from ear to ear. She knelt low and looked through the windows once more. Very carefully, she inserted her hand through the front door and flicked on the porch light, displacing the porch table and chair that sat empty. Once she rearranged them, she opened the hinged roof, checked to make sure the tilted tank was not leaking and turned on the light in his bedroom. She brought her face very close to his bed, as close as she could fit it over the room’s walls, and whispered his name.

In the morning she opened her eyes, flung her legs over the side of the bed, and walked back to the small house. She dropped down to her knees as gently as she could, and peeked through the window. In the tiny bed, there was a male form. His brown-haired head shifted ever so slightly, and his chest rose and dipped with every small breath he took. She had to cover her mouth to muffle her cry of joy, and only spoke when she could whisper his name again. When she did, he woke up.

Enough

gg180_by_amgipi
“Gg180” by AmGiPi

“Guess how many different kinds of handshakes Stephen Colbert has for his guests,” she asked him, her words only slightly slurred. These past weeks she’d been working diligently on drinking every bottle of alcohol she’d accumulated in the last decade and had never consumed. Years ago she’d claimed she was saving them for a nuclear winter, or Armageddon, or some such calamitous event. He only thought of it in passing, because all he wanted to do was fall asleep. He was resting comfortably on her chest, right between her breasts, where it was warm. Not calm, given the strength and proximity of her heartbeat, but after all these years he could virtually sleep through all her quakes. Well, most of them.

Only tonight she’d been drinking from a bottle of sickeningly sweet blood orange liquor, and the scent of citrus permeated the air. His air. His atmosphere. He didn’t want to play games or guess things. He was so relaxed he was practically purring. She’d allowed him to rest a surprising amount of nights lately, and his bruises and cuts had almost healed. Every part of his body looked nearly the same color. He was glad about the new sleeping hours and happy he was not being brought to the brink of death every night by her constant sexual needs. Her fingertip was running down his back, caressing him from neck to calves, only dragging him in the slightest by friction.

“Four? I don’t know. One,” he ventured, knowing she’d see he was only throwing numbers in her direction, not interested in giving her question some thought. That was something he knew irritated her, his lack of enthusiasm, but he was too comfortable to care at the moment. Still, he regurgitated another number, half drunk from inhaling the alcohol in her breath.

“Unbelievable. You’re not even trying to guess, Toy. Look. Just look! You’re not looking.” He could feel her heartbeat speed up under her skin, and he made a half-hearted effort to look over his shoulder at the TV screen that blinked and shone at them from blocks (to him) away. Stephen Colbert was talking to some British man he vaguely recognized. Some kind of funny man. “What am I waiting for, Owner? They are just talking, and I’m this close to falling asleep…”

“Count them in your head: He has one handshake for people he loves and respects, like Michelle Obama. He shakes their hand very gently, and then lets go by spreading his hand flat… not completely flat, but almost like a concave wall of fingers. I don’t know what to call it yet, but it’s quite different a shake from the one he gives the people with whom he can go love-nuts. He goes in for the shake, and keeps holding their hand, and then covers both hands with his free hand. I call that one Moving In Together-“

“Kill me now,” he interrupted disrespectfully, turning away from the TV and burrowing into her skin again, making that warm fingertip on his back stop and press down onto him a little too hard. “Ow, Owner! Stop, I’m sorry. I mean, Kill Me Now is the handshake he reserves for people he despises! That’s what I meant. I really-“ She pressed her finger down on him again, forcing the air out of his lungs and effectively shutting him up.

“You need to be quiet now. I’m tired of your lies and your disrespect. But yes, he has a special handshake for people he doesn’t like, like that guy… what’s his name? The really rich guy that wants to go to space or sell space in space or some shit like that… Elon Musk. Yeah, let’s call it Kill You Now. He gives them the briefest of handshakes, and then he disengages his hand as though the other person is a leper.” She tucked her chin into her chest to look at him and saw he had turned a reddish blue. She unpinned his body and massaged it gently until his breathing normalized, and his face turned pink, and then an angry red.

“Or maybe you’re just imagining the whole thing, Owner. He doesn’t really know most of the people he interviews. He probably doesn’t have any definite opinions about any of them. Can I go to sleep now?” He didn’t wait for her answer, and curled his shape into a fetal position, breathing deeply and closing his eyes determinedly.

“Understand something, Toy; I wanted to keep you forever, but I’ve decided I’ve changed my mind. This arrangement no longer suits my needs. When I saw you and chose you to shrink, I thought you were the one I wanted. I mean, you were. I wanted you, so I took you. I made you mine and I didn’t care what you thought. I endured your constant complaining even as I made you the center of my universe. You tried my patience endlessly with your ill temper even as I moved heaven and earth to give you my every attention. You had no worries. I had all of them. Your only concern was my happiness, while I had to deal with family, friends, work, chores, your health, and your constant emotional absence.”

“Run that by me again?” he asked, lifting his head and looking at the outline of her jaw. “I really don’t want to fight. It sounds like you want to fight. Why can’t we just have peace?” As small as he was, she could feel his body tense up. She had wanted a little man that had a modicum of patience, of fortitude, of love. But this man had none. The world revolved around him, and he took no notice of anyone’s needs but his own. She wondered what in the world she ever saw in him.

“Soon you’ll feel an intense pain in your joints, Toy. It will spread inexorably all throughout your body. That signifies the beginning of your regrowth. It should start tonight, at some point. I mixed the formulation in your food, and you had enough of it to return you to your original size. Probably a couple of extra inches, which I’m sure your girlfriend will like. I contacted her… anonymously of course. She’s waiting for you at the airport. She moved on after you, but she seemed nice enough to want to see you and let you stay with her, at least until you get back some semblance of a normal life.”

“Excuse me? What the fuck? What did you do to me? You’re growing me back now? Without my permission? Who do you think you are? No! I don’t want to go back! This is my life now, with you. This is what I want. This is what I’ve always wanted! Why are you sending me away? You said you’d keep me forever! That you’d never give me up! Why are you doing this?”

“Love, my little Toy. I’m doing it for love. I gave you everything, and you gave me next to nothing. I want love. I deserve much better than what I have. I deserve everything. All you gave me were lies and betrayal. I need a tiny man that stands on his own two feet and does what’s necessary to make me happy. You either never moved a finger, or only pretended that you did. I see you’re upset, but I know you have no understanding of how this feels for me. It feels I’m losing everything after realizing I had nothing. You are losing everything after having everything, and you never knew it, or appreciated it, or cared.”

Feeling pain begin to radiate from every joint in his body, he tried to respond with obscenities as was his habit, but instead he gasped and began to tremble. She pinched his body between her thumb and finger and deposited it in her other palm. Slowly, she left her couch and called a car service. By the time he’d finish regrowing he’d be unconscious and she’d be able to dress him and leave him somewhere she could observe his coming to. Whether he found his way back to his girlfriend with the information, phone and money she’d placed in his pockets was his business. He was no longer her problem.