Singer

singer_by_teaquill.png

Because I’m convinced we’re all very busy writing or plagiarizing or parodying songs about tiny men and giantesses, I decided to create a contest about it. I begin to suspect that only a few of us ever entertain the thought of composing original songs about people of different sizes. An even smaller number does it credibly. I’ve heard a couple of amazing works thus far.

My own songs are childish and mediocre, but you don’t see that stopping me from putting them together! Nope. I’ve also become interested in promoting my Size Tunes 2017 contest with commissioned images, the one above being the first of… I don’t know how many. Let’s see how addicted I become to DeviantArt artists. This one was made for me by TeaQuill, who is currently accepting commissions. I’m very happy with it.

I’m also quite sure we all like to be sung to, simply because I do. The idea of a shrunken man that serenades his giantess has always struck a deep chord with me. It doesn’t matter that he sounds like food cans being crushed, or that what he sings is the ABCs. What matters is that he does it; that he stands there and entertains her, and earns her heart by exposing himself, and giving her an offering that is part of who he is.

Speaking of who we are, this is who I am:

(Just the lyrics. The song file is just too much to share.)

(Hmm. Where’s my Dollhouse song?)

(I’ll post it later. I can’t find the lyrics right now.)

(But enjoy the image, and think of words to sing to your giantess.)

(Or your tiny man, if you have one that inspires you.)

 

Mistpouffer

Mistpouffer.jpg

It all started with a tweet, like so many things I write. Giantess Tina said something to me, then I said something back to her, and I thought I should use my Pixton account to make something of it. There’s no mist or sea foam in the Pixton edit menu, so I had to pull those out of my Internet magic hat. I’m sure that’s a fascinating detail. So… what’s the story here?

It’s very simple, really: Mistpouffers are always sounds giantesses make. In this case, it’s Tina who’s found a boat and its tiny (to us) navigator, and while he’s busy realizing those booming sounds he often heard coming from somewhere in the blue were made by a giantess living her life, she’s busy delighting in having found a precious… meal? Plaything? Companion? Friend? Lover? Who knows… in any case, he always transcends from human being to something else, something new.

When it’s me, the result is always life continued, only slightly modified by my giant whims. Why should I break such a wonderful toy? I’d never think of it. It’s my tendency to want him to live a long life. Once I pick a toy, it’s extremely unlikely I’d want to give it up. Therefore, his health is very important to me. Things like the state of his spine, and lungs, and legs. His puny brain, though materially useless, is also a fair diversion.

So, pay attention. When you go to the beach this summer, you’ll hear them in the night. When you go out at night to walk the dog, and listen to the waves crashing, don’t be distracted by the foam and the crabs dancing in the moonlight. You might miss that giant silhouette breaking the horizon line. If you don’t stop and look for the source of those booming sounds, you won’t see that feminine mountain range swimming your way, and extending one hand to pick your body from the shore.

Anyone else would say, “You’ll never be seen again,” but the truth is, you’ll finally be seen.

 

Sacrifice

Sacrifice

Honestly, I think I only create these because I love handheld images so much. And then I like to overuse filters. In the past I’ve spent time online just looking for Photoshop Elements filters, no matter how useless they end up being. The original image is here. And what’s behind it? A number of things. As usual, I sat here and opened up my Pixton account with nothing in mind; but as soon as I slapped my avatar in the frame, I knew it was a handheld image. Then it came to me it was a conversation between a 203.5′ tall giantess, and the normal-sized man with whom she’s been having carnal knowledge.

As I typed the words, what I wanted to see was revealed. As always, I satisfy the impossibility of a relationship between a giantess and a man through these bursts of creativity. She holds him in her hand, and she’s only known him for a few days, but she’s heartbroken to leave him. Naturally we assume he is also distraught by this separation. At least they were together, while she… and here’s where I become a sitting cliche. Yeah, the giantess is an alien.

She’s an extraterrestrial being who’s there to explore and survey and find food for her people. And the little ones on that planet are the food. I don’t like vore (except the gentle kind), but that’s where the story went. She promises she’ll be back with some hungry friends (naturally), and that’s when, finally, the little man gathers enough courage to tell her that in all the confusion and passion of the last few days, he neglected to tell her that he’d prefer if she didn’t annihilate his race.

At that point she’d do anything for him, including subjecting her entire race to an eternal diet of klumpus (suffice it to say, it tastes like off-brand Cheetos –or worse, crunchy cheese snacks made by a health-food brand– at least until her kind realizes she lied in her report). That’s her sacrifice. And his is to leave everything behind for her, because that’s what you do when your beloved packs up and climbs aboard a spaceship to never come back. You go with her. Any other response would be rude.

And I love that super non sexy idea (well, probably for most) of transforming your entire life for another person, because of what they are. Sure, when the time comes to shrink someone, that man has no choice but to realize he’s now entering a new time in his life, and everything is different now. Nothing he knew before, he’ll be able to bring into his life when he becomes the possession of that woman who now owns him.

But… guess what? She’s also making an enormous sacrifice. That small life depends entirely upon her care. All the worries! She makes one simple mistake, and he dies, and there is no coming back from that, no matter what the stories tell you about going back to the pet store and buying another little man. In my world, the bond between owner and toy is unbreakable, and irreplaceable.

But yeah… her friends can eat his neighbors, I guess. What do I care?

Sameness

Handsy.jpg

It’s Saturday, so that means…

RANDOM COLLAGE TIME!

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

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

What did you say?

What did you say?

“Hey, giantess!”

Hey is for horses.”

“Uh, OK. So…”

“So?”

“I’m here!”

“So I see.”

“So… what are you going to do to me?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

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

“Oh, fuck. Not another freak.”

“W- what?”

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

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

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

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

“What!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…”

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

“Wait!”

“What?”

“My name is… er, G- Gonzo.”

“Really? ‘Gonzo’?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

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

“Why is that?”

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

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

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

“Nor will you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You? You can die now.”

* * *

Collaging Notes

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

Size Tunes 2017

Serenade
Lah lah lah

I’ve had this idea for years. I contemplated it, and never did anything about it, until now. Back then, because I used to go to boards and talk to a lot of people, I got to know a few of them a bit, and as it turns out, nearly every one of them had some musical ability. When I published the collage above, I received a file composed by a blog reader, inspired by it… so the idea of songs inspired by size differences is not at all outlandish, and it’s certainly something a few of us have thought about, and done more than just think about.

So… it’s high time we have us a music contest: bit.ly/SizeTunes17

I’m just going to sit here quietly, and while I wait for songs you write about giantesses, or tiny men, or gigantic/tiny feet, or micro-robots, or foxes the size of the solar system, to come my way, I’ll mess around with Garage Band, and see what I can come up with. I can sing my own songs, but when the time comes, I might get someone at fiverr® to do my singing for me. Everyone in my family knows my voice. Or I could just use Audacity to alter my pitch… oh this cracks me up!

The Building Thing

TheBuildingThing
She likes buildings. She just doesn’t *like* like them.

Nope, I see very little chance of getting any sleep right now. I did doze off a while back, but woke up 45 minutes later, fully awake, and there’s nothing for it. I’m listening to very good music written by a good friend, who is some kind of genius composer, and can write incredibly brilliant songs in a matter of minutes, without any effort. I wish you could listen to it, because the lyrics are a very simple, direct message that could have been destroyed by the wrong tune, but my friend enveloped it in beautiful notes in… what… less than two hours, and what’s left is something that keeps playing in my head.

The song is about love, of course. What else is worth writing and singing about, except giantesses and tiny men and people that find themselves changing in size? I don’t know that there is anything else, except a good sandwich. And buildings. I love buildings. I love climbing them inside and out. I love heights. I suffer from no vertigo… imagine a giantess afraid of heights? There’s a story there, and I’m sure someone’s written it… I can’t remember who, but it was someone important.

When I was less giant, about 75 feet in height, my dad would put me next to him in his truck, and would take me to work with him. I had to wear a helmet that was far too big for my already gigantic head, and while he carried me, he’d supervise work that had been done and continued to be done on a building or homes or whatever was being constructed. I can’t remember his words, but I do recall the tone of command in his voice. I’d struggle to remove that ridiculously large hat from my head, and he’d tell me to keep it on. I remember the smell of metal and cement and tiles; the scent of steel coming from the building’s skeleton; the crunch of debris under his shoes as he walked. And I loved it. I knew, even at that pre-verbal age, that something important was happening: a building was being born.

So imagine my shock when I entered the giantess community, and witnessed my beloved buildings (any of them, really – even the ugly ones are pretty) being abused and tormented in ways too terrible to relate here. But you know what I’m talking about. Every time I encountered one of those images I’d close my eyes and whisper a promise. If I ever grow hundreds of feet, or thousands of feet or miles or universes, I will make it my mission to “discourage” any giantesses from assaulting buildings in that manner. And by discouraging, I mean the kind that is immediate, and terminal. It’s the only way to get it to stop, since talking and blogging about it does very little to forward my cause.

Everyone seems to disagree, but buildings are not for sexy times. Can you picture it? All the gargoyles and sharp corners, and the radio antenna? And all the cracking glass? No, no, no! Those sorts of materials are things that don’t belong inside very delicate, tender tissue. What belongs in there? I’m sure that depends on the giantess, and I’m certainly not going to discuss such crass topics here, but I’m sure a building does not go there. That’s simply not how I raised myself. Shit. These disagreeable thoughts are killing my buzz. I’ll be right back.

(A minute later…)

There. Much better. All I’m saying is, if you have to watch a sweet, tender-fleshed giantess go at something giant, then peel and polish her a tree, for chrissake! So easy nowadays. Look, sure, I can’t possibly claim I’ve never arranged myself fetchingly against the facade of a building in order to get some flirting done. There have even been some times I might have accidentally shaved a few feet off a building with a wayward elbow or knee because I was distracted, but that’s always some little guy’s fault, and never mine. And there was that one time, a very long time ago, I…

Hm.

Never mind.

Carry on.

As you were.

P.S. Also, did you realize the… shit. The collage shadows are all wrong. Oh, hell.

Gone Shopping – Part 2

Gone_Shopping_2

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

* * * 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, stop! Stop that right now!”

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

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

“My what?”

“Tell me your story.”

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

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

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

“Someone?”

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

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

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

“Let’s go where?”

“Let’s go get your brother.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?” I asked him.

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

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

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

“Of course we eat!”

“Yeah, we’re real people, lady.”

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

They hesitated and looked at each other.

“We don’t… I don’t remember.”

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

“Neil.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

To be continued…

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.

Gone Shopping

Gone_Shopping

Not sure where I’m going with this. When I went to Pixton to try to create something to distract myself, I just kept slapping one thing after another, not sure of what I’d come up with. There’s a story there, but I’ll probably get back to it much later. Or never.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Apparently neither. Here it is.

* * *

You remember that part in movies when the main character finally emerges from the ashes of whatever happened to it? That hopeful moment that augurs everything’s going to be just fine? That moment is bullshit. There is no such moment; at least not for me. My life is full of piss-in-my-beer moments. Brimming with gum-in-my-hair moments. I actually emerged from a movie theater once with gum in my hair. Someone had seen fit to gently deposit freshly chewed gum in my beautiful red tresses. But that feeling of societal betrayal was nothing compared to how it feels to break up with someone you love because it turns out he lied about everything. Except that one bit about the sex. The sex was great. The sex was addictive, which is why it took me so long to wake up.

So I wound up in the ashes, covered by them, tasting them, breathing them in until everything felt bitter, and my meals consisted of looking through a pile of trash in the living room to find something to eat, because I knew there were still two slices of pizza leftover from a couple of night before, and I couldn’t be bothered to cook anything fresh for myself. And I found them. And I ate them. And I didn’t care. Sorta the same way I didn’t care there was a wasp in the room while I was watching one of the Cornetto Trilogy movies to try to feel better. Anything with Simon Pegg or Jason Statham tends to lift my spirits. But it wasn’t working. Just looking at Statham kiss Jessica Alba and I wanted my ex’s hands and lips on me again.

Reading the news only made me feel worse about everything. The Queen was at it again, passing more idiotic laws about the toys, and taking more money away from education and defense to pour it into science. She’s always going on about how she’s going to save us all when those crazy experiments yield a final result. And the little mounds of living flesh that are the result of those experiments are no proof she’s in the right. But who’s going to go against a being that measures hundreds of feet in height? That stopped religion in its tracks? That can kill any opposition with her brain? War and famine are over, but there is something stranger in the air; a feeling of enforced change that makes me feel we skipped that part of evolution that teaches us how to be better human beings. But maybe that’s what she embodies. Even now, after everything that’s happened, I’m scared to think ill of her. What if she decides I’m a rebellion that need to be squashed?

Somehow it angers me to imagine she doesn’t see me as a threat. It makes me feel small, and I hate feeling small. She’s not who I want to talk about anyway. What I want to talk about is what happened when my vacation time ended… time I spent at home eating shit and drinking and crying and not sleeping but at least no longer calling him on the phone and ignoring his emails and even that one time he came by at three in the morning because that’s when she goes to work. When I finally showered and shaved my legs and detangled my hair and de-fuzzed my upper lip and went back to work, there was no relief to be found in breathing fresh air, or being busy. Oh, that’s another lie: “Work distracts you”. It doesn’t. Work feels like the times between stabs during a knife fight. I sat there and went through the motions, and then it would come back to me, flood my mind, and pierce my heart. He wasn’t in my life anymore.

I still have to remind myself to breathe, and when I do, my chest still hurts, but at least I have them now. And I’ll keep them, and I’ll help them, no matter what. I don’t care if the Queen shows up and stamps her giant foot on my house, crushing us all. I don’t care if she’s reading my thoughts right now. I have to do something. I have the feeling she won’t stop people like me. The toys exist because she willed them into existence, after all. She’s not keeping them hidden in some lab. They are out there, available now wherever toys are sold. But I could only afford to buy three.

It all started with that email. My “promotions” mail folder had grown, and when I began to mark them for deletion, my eyes stopped on the one from my local toy store. “Big Sale!!!” it advertised. I still don’t know why, but I opened it, and printed out the coupon. After work, I drove to the strip mall where it sat, all bricks and mortar, and uncommonly busy for a Tuesday. But not as uncommon as my thoughts as I considered buying something I didn’t need, and not only that, but contemplated an idea that until then, had felt repugnant. I don’t care that most people think that the miniaturization of something renders it adorable. It doesn’t. Well… it didn’t. They’ve grown on me.

But if I have to be completely honest, what was on my mind that day was probably more repugnant than the idea of them had felt until that moment. They are sold as sex toys, after all. They are sold as objects, and they are not. But that day I thought they were, and I walked into that store I know well, and towards the sports equipment and electronic toy department. I walked over to the Fun 5ex Toy (that is how it’s spelled, and I wonder why… since there are no indecency laws anymore, not since the Queen turned cussing into an official sport) display, and stared at them for a while. There were no visible On buttons, but they all seemed to be expressing some sort of emotion, and they were all in the middle of saying something. That’s when I first had the thought that they all appeared to be set on “distress.” It seemed an odd choice for a toy that’s supposed to be fun, but then I figured that setting would be right for the sadistic realm. The idea gave me chills, and I was in the middle of shuddering when an attendant that probably misinterpreted it asked me if he could be of any help.

“Yes”, I said. “How come all these toys are on at the same time?”

“I think that’s how they’re programmed. When I got the manual on them, I remember reading that because of how they are engineered, their words are random, but come from the same part of that little mass they have for a brain.”

“So there are no electronic parts to them?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe a chip, in case they get lost? But they aren’t that expensive.”

“The hell they aren’t. Three hundred dollars? That’s a lot of money for someone of my meager means!”

“Well, I was just about to put this sign up, if you’ll excuse me…”

And he picked up a sign I had not noticed was on the floor next to him, and placed it in front of the Fun 5ex Toy display case. I blinked in surprise when I saw the price reduction. Before he walked away he added, “Let me know if you have any more questions. I’ll be at the register.”

I nodded, not even looking in his direction, because I was now staring at the little toys. My mind was suddenly invaded by thoughts. I’m ashamed to admit them, but I had been “inactive” for over two weeks, too depressed to put new batteries in my non-flesh toys, and too sad to think between the legs. But when my eyes fixed upon the shape of that one little toy, I became lost inside myself. Kinda where I wanted him to be. A dark-skinned, dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty, he stared right back at me, and kept screaming for help. I just stared at his legs. I noticed the other two toys that were left seemed to talk to me at the same time. I smiled, even giggled to witness how well they worked. They knew I was there.

“How fun…” I said to no one in particular, and I don’t know what it was about the way I said it that made my little brune beauty’s lips freeze mid-word. The terror I saw in his eyes was now aimed at me, somehow. It made me feel… guilty. I decided to buy him at that moment. Yet, when I started to walk away with him in hand, he appeared to regain his earlier temperament, and started screaming something about “going back for his brother”. Wow, I thought. What a dirty trick. Just to make you buy more than one, I guess. I ignored it, and brought it home, with the store employee’s words still ringing in my ears. Instructions about the “little ones”, as he called them. They made me think of that old movie with the pets you don’t feed after midnight.

“Don’t pay any attention to what they say.”

“Their tiny minds only have access to primitive emotions.”

“None of what they make up is real.”

“They require a firm hand at all times… especially when-”

And that’s when I thanked him very much and left, mostly to rescue him from himself, as he seemed to have fallen into the murky waters of explaining to a woman how to use a sex toy. During the entire ride home, my toy seemed to wail in great distress, and kept mentioning his brother. It was distracting, so I switched on my iHeart, and cranked up something screamed in German. I immediately wondered how well their ears worked, so I turned it down, and on the next red light I looked inside my shopping bag, and saw that he was covering his ears as though he was in pain. I ordered my radio to turn itself off, and was in the middle of whispering what I imagined were calming words to the little thing, when I heard cars beeping at me. The light had turned green. I peeled off and he started to go on again about his sibling, when I yelled at him to shut up, as I was driving. He did.

When we got home, sat on the couch and  removed him from his container, and the instructions slipped off the back cover. I held him in my hand as I tried to open up the pamphlet, and gave up, as it was tightly folded. I finally had to set him down on the coffee table to manage unfolding the instructions. I needed to know how to name him, or if he came with a name.  I read the instructions, which shockingly enough, were as brief as the register attendant had been, and only pointed me to the Queen’s website, slash Fun 5ex Toys, slash how-to’s. I tossed the instructions aside, and faced him. He flinched. I was surprised at that. These little toys seemed to run high on alarm. I cleared my throat and tried to remember how I used to talk to my cat, Kitty.

“Hey there, little fella. How’s your name? I mean, what-”

“Can we please go back for my brother?”

I sighed. Very tricky. “Look, little toy, that’s just a marketing ploy that’s been driven into your cerebral cortex, or whatever it is you have inside your head.”

“It’s not! He’s my real brother! We can’t leave him behind!”

“Well, I can’t afford another toy. Besides, I only need one.” The look he then gave me before he collapsed and burst into tears made me feel like the biggest pervert on Earth.

To be continued…