What did you say?

What did you say?

“Hey, giantess!”

Hey is for horses.”

“Uh, OK. So…”

“So?”

“I’m here!”

“So I see.”

“So… what are you going to do to me?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

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

“Oh, fuck. Not another freak.”

“W- what?”

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

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

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

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

“What!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…”

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

“Wait!”

“What?”

“My name is… er, G- Gonzo.”

“Really? ‘Gonzo’?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

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

“Why is that?”

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

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

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

“Nor will you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You? You can die now.”

* * *

Collaging Notes

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

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…

 

 

 

GentleApril17: The Results!

Running this contest was a great deal of fun for me. I’m a Gentle giantess most of the time, so I was in my element. After the contest was announced, every time an author added their name to the list of contenders I felt an added sense of gratification to see confirmation of what I’ve always suspected: people love gentle stories. Readers of all sizes enjoy imagining gentle scenarios, with subtle (and sometimes not so much) changes in the definition of Gentle.

I’m very proud of everyone that entered the contest. The same as what happened during the vanguard contest when Gentle writers entered Cruel January 2017, writers that specialized in the Cruel genre announced they were going to try their hand at writing a Gentle story. That not only seemed wonderful to me, but to their fans, who expressed a deep curiosity to see what their favorite authors would create. It was also a great pleasure to see writers from Giantess City, Giantess World, and deviantART want to participate.

Thank you all for making this contest a fantastic reality; for sitting down and creating worlds from your minds; for sharing those worlds with everyone. And the greatest thank you goes to Aborigen, for not only thinking up these contests, but allowing me to host the Gentle April one. And now, the results. Spoilers abound. Be forewarned.

The Authors

Best Story

With only one week to vote, people made their choices as follows:

“Making Adjustments” by Little Comrade was the winner with nine votes, followed very closely by “Duty Calls”, written by Taedis, which earned eight votes. This contest was such a close call, with such terrific stories! Again, another entry very close to the winning line was “Lovers and Dreamers”, by 0neGenericWord, with seven votes. Giantess Tina chased them all with six votes for her “At the beginning of all great things”. Tied at five votes were “Born in a Flash” by me, “She Lifted Her”, by Will Edgecomb, and “Trust” by Versusterminus7. I’m in such good company!

“Bus Buddies” by Aborigen and “License” by Olo both got four votes; and “Keep You Posted” (Nemo), “Mystic Mercy” (growmcmilitary) and “Therapy For The Titan” (MoonlightUmbry) received three votes.

At two votes were “Gentlefuck” (CrushedBoyWonder), “Growing Enlightenment” (ryan the rebel), “Grow Some Balls” (Nostory), “Pursuit” (Nyx), and “The Helper” by Pedro Fellini.

It was only in the last day, and during the last few hours that the winner was finally decided. Before that it was always a tie, then the appearance of a winner, then another, until we finally had a definite one. It was madness to observe! You see how close it was.

As to the other categories, look at how they were all over the place…

Story with favorite macro character

“Duty Calls” received eleven votes, nearly half of all the votes. Everyone loved that tiny little giantess in a holodeck. End program. It was followed by “At the beginning of all great things” with seven votes, because it is clear every tiny reader wants a giantess they can roam. Don’t lie to me. I know it’s true.

“Trust” was the next favorite, with six voters that chose to be found in a purse by a great, loving lady. After that, five votes were given to each “License”, for lab work executed by a caring professional; “Lovers and Dreamers”, for a huge guitarist and singer that sends her love to sleep peacefully with a song; and “Making Adjustments”, for a Minder that stops at nothing to make her ward happy.

Four points each went to “Born in a Flash”, by yours truly, who wanted to write about someone who really cares when a tiny man is in trouble; “Mystic Mercy”, for a good witch who collects Manna through love; and “She Lifted Her”, for Miss/Keyasha, who goes to any length to be with the one she loves.

Three points: “Bus Buddies”, for the friend with a beautiful mouth; “Growing Enlightenment” for Aurora, who grows and displays kindness at the same rate; “Grow Some Balls” for the rich giantess who goes after what she wants.

Two votes: “Gentlefuck”, for two ladies that share a hot night together, but not alone; “Keep You Posted” for the therapist that helps traumatized little men recover; “Owen for the Win” for a woman that rewards patience deeply, and kindly; “Pursuit” for a lone giant that reveals the unmistakeable truth, and “Therapy For The Titan”, about a very tall man that finds a path away from evil.

One point went to “The Day Off” for a woman that puts her little man first, and before anything else; and “The Helper”, for two ladies that are unaware they are being observed, and cared for.

Story with favorite micro character

The winner in this category was “Making Adjustments”, with ten votes. People really liked Laura, who is only 3.24 inches tall, and adorable. “Lovers and Dreamers” received eight votes, because of the tiniest accountant in the world. With seven votes, the share is equally divided between “Born in a Flash”, and the little lost guy with no memory I created; “She Lifted Her”, and infinitesimal little Speck/Millie; and “Trust”, because of itty bitty dirty purse foundling Wyatt.

“Duty Calls” got five votes for Kevin, the human sacrifice. Four votes went to “At the beginning of all great things” and the giantess-roaming husband; and Ewan, who finds himself shrunk and unseen in “The Helper”. Owen of “Owen for the Win” fame, received three votes as he talked to a pretty lady and didn’t know how or why.

Two votes: “Bus Buddies” and Ryan’s extreme mouth-play adventure; “Gentlefuck” and Brad, a toy between two women; “Growing Enlightenment” and the passengers of a train in trouble; “Grow Some Balls” and coming-of-age Todd; “License” and N2524, a terrified yet cooperative little pet; and “Pursuit” and the coolest sniper this side of that galaxy, agent Delia Melki.

One vote: “Conversion Therapy” (Mark, an immensely brave hero); “Keep You Posted” (Vic, a silent man that finds his words after terrible suffering); “Mystic Mercy” (Jake, who loved when he could have feared); “The Day Off” (Harry’s peaceful, loving day”; and “Therapy For The Titan” (fearless Dr. Myers).

Favorite introduction between size-different characters

There were four winners in this category, with eight votes each. “At the beginning of all great things”, where the Wife lifts her tiny husband out of her pocket; “Born in a Flash”, where a woman about to start her day meets a very small man that desperately needs her help; “Duty Calls”, where a giantess watches her gauntlet come to life; and “Trust”, where a woman finds a little man in her purse during her daily commute.

“Making Adjustments” got six points this time, as Minder Azin shakes the foundation of her little charge’s world.

Five votes went to “Pursuit”, and the sniper that fails to hit her target and finds herself in great peril. Or does she?

“Lovers and Dreamers” and “She Lifted Her” each received four votes, with an artist coming back home to her tiny girlfriend in a very playful way, and Speck finding herself lifted by her Miss, right from the get-go.

Three votes went to “Grow Some Balls” as we listen in to a conversation between one of the two only giantesses in the world, and her classmate; “License” shows us an epidemiology student as he meets a tiny that has a number for a name; and “Mystic Mercy” demonstrated by a kind witch as she heals a severely injured man.

Two votes: “Bus Buddies” (Ryan shares an extraordinary ride with Julene); “Keep You Posted” (Ana meets her patient as he sleeps – and he measures less than two inches in height); “Therapy For The Titan” (all a giant needs is another session with his beautiful therapist).

One vote: “Conversion Therapy” (Tracy notices Mark, and instead of crushing him, she talks to him); “Gentlefuck” (Madelyn is already wearing Brad); “Growing Enlightenment” (Aurora doesn’t particularly introduce herself to anyone, except the city’s transportation system); “Owen for the Win” (Owen introduces himself to a total stranger, because he can’t let her get away); “The Day Off” (Jane wakes up Harry, who sleeps in her jewelry box); and “The Helper” (Ewan never formally meets them, but has caught a ride into their home).

Sweetest story

Guess how many votes “Lovers and Dreamers” received, for being the sweetest story. C’mon. Try. Twelve votes. So it won the category, hands down.

“Making Adjustments” got nine votes for being so sweet.

“Trust” earned eight votes.

“At the beginning of all great things” and “She Lifted Her” both got six votes.

Five sweet votes went to “Born in a Flash” and “Duty Calls”.

“Keep You Posted” got four votes.

Three votes went to both “Gentlefuck” and “Therapy For The Titan”.

“Bus Buddies”, “License”, and “The Helper” received two votes.

And at one vote we see “”Growing Enlightenment”, “Grow Some Balls”,  “Mystic Mercy”, “Pursuit”, and “The Day Off”.

Sexiest story

Earning over 50% of all votes, “Gentlefuck” won this category with thirteen votes.

“She Lifted Her” received eight votes.

“At the beginning of all great things” got seven votes.

Six votes went to “Owen for the Win”.

“Making Adjustments” received five votes.

“Born in a Flash”, “Keep You Posted”, and “Mystic Mercy” earned four votes.

At three votes we find “Bus Buddies”, “Duty Calls”, and “Lovers and Dreamers”.

Two votes went to “Growing Enlightenment”, “License”, “The Helper”, “Therapy For The Titan”, and “Trust”.

And one vote was received by “Grow Some Balls” and “The Day Off”.

Unexpected concept of gentleness

I like this category, as I’m a big proponent of Gentle expanded in definition. A Gentle story isn’t only about a tiny man being loved and kissed by a woman. It’s also about an insignificantly small person disappearing from this world, and her partner doing everything she can to make sure that departure is happy. Which is why “She Lifted Her” won this category, with nine votes.

Following it with seven votes is “Conversion Therapy”, in which a woman believes a tiny man when he tells her she is being destructive, and stops right away. She could have gone on fucking up buildings (or just… never mind, I’m not even going to say it), but instead she pays attention to the words of someone whose size should render him irrelevant (though not in my opinion)…. And “The Helper”, where a man who finds himself shrunk, also finds himself inclined to be of use to people who don’t know he exists. Is that why you voted for it? That’s how I see it, anyway.

Six votes went to “Mystic Mercy”, and I actually discussed this story with people, because I was impressed with how it newly defines gentleness. Sure, for most of the story he suffers, but he doesn’t die. In fact, he is rescued and healed to perfection. The story fits into my own definition of gentleness, which is… “Well, he didn’t die, did he?”

“Born in a Flash” (I honestly don’t know why y’all voted for this one in this category); “Duty Calls”, and its various displays of forms of gentleness from a giantess that isn’t, and a tiny man that isn’t; “Pursuit”, and a giant that could have easily killed, but chose not to; and “Therapy For The Titan”, about a reformed force of destruction, all earned five votes.

Four votes: “At the beginning of all great things”; “Bus Buddies”; “Gentlefuck”. The lower the vote count, the blurrier it gets for me. Why are these three stories unexpected in their content of gentleness? In the first one, a loving wife talks with and cuddles her husband; in the second, a man experience the time of his life in the gorgeous mouth of a friend; and in the last one, a man is a sex toy, and pretty much nothing else.

Three votes: “License”, where a student goes through the motions of a job that can be rough on tinies, and finds himself feeling things. Yeah, I get this one.

Two votes: “Growing Enlightenment”, and “Keep You Posted”.

One vote: “Grow Some Balls”; “Lovers and Dreamers”; “Making Adjustments”; and “Trust”.

Story with most interesting twist

Earning eleven votes, “Duty Calls” won this category.  Did you ever think that what was happening was not really happening? I didn’t.

“Making Adjustments” got nine votes, because the boyfriend got himself shrunk. Surprise! What a loving, irreversible, unexpected thing to do.

Six votes went to “Born in a Flash” (I have a couple of theories why it even exists in this category); and “Pursuit”, with a twist interesting enough to make me want it to be a movie or a TV show.

“At the beginning of all great things”; “She Lifted Her”; and “Therapy For The Giant” got five points.

Four votes went to “Bus Buddies” and “License”.

Three votes: “Conversion Therapy”; “Growing Enlightenment”; “Keep You Posted”; “Mystic Mercy”.

Two votes: “Gentlefuck”.

One vote: “Grow Some Balls”; “Lovers and Dreamers”; “Trust”.

Story that struggled with concept of Gentle

Let me start by saying that I don’t agree with some of the choices in this category, and I know neither do some of you. This is a subjective category, so…

“Conversion Therapy” received twelve votes in this category.

Eight votes: “Mystic Mercy”.

Seven votes: “At the beginning of all great things”.

Six votes: “License”; “Pursuit”.

Five votes: “The Helper”.

Four votes: “”Gentlefuck”; “Growing Enlightenment”.

Three votes: “Born in a Flash”; “Bus Buddies”; “Grow Some Balls”; “Keep You Posted”, “Owen for the Win”.

Two votes: “The Day Off”; “Therapy For The Titan”.

One vote: “She Lifted Her”.

Gentle April 2017: Time to Vote

BetterVote
I can see it in the audience overview data shown with Google analytics. You’ve been reading the stories every day. Lovely, gentle stories written by:

Undersquid
Aborigen
Nyx
Will Edgecomb
Crushed Boy Wonder
Little Comrade
Pedro Fellini
MoonlightUmbry
Taedis
Nodqfan
Nostory
Giantess Tina
Versusterminus7
Nemo
0neGenericWord
Olo
gruffmcmilitary
ryan the rebel

Now it’s time to choose your favorite stories. Pick your three preferred in each category, and hit the submit button to make your voice count. There are still a few days left to do this, but only a few. Go vote!

Gentle April 2017: the Stories

GentleHearts
The time is finally here. After months of thinking about this moment, which came to life soon after its progenitor was birthed, we can finally gather ’round and read these Gentle submissions. How did this all come to be? It’s very simple: my very good friend Aborigen and I were discussing Cruel Jan 2017, and how it had taken shape after a single Twitter comment. During our back and forth he casually said something about following up the barrage of cruelty with something more befitting our gentle station. A Gentle story contest.

Yes! I exclaimed. Of course! That was what I thought long before I squeezed my heart dry to produce a Cruel story, and after I’d done that, I consulted with my friend as to running the contest myself. I really wanted to be a part of this, a massive tsunami in the waves of change he’s causing in the size community. I wanted to participate. It’s all about me, you know?

No, of course it isn’t… but it is all about Gentle content, which is my favorite content, the kind of material that exists for me. No matter what others tell you, it is also the content most people prefer. That I always insist that is true, is part of the fuel that propelled me to run the Gentle story contest. One of Aborigen’s Twitter poll proves it as well (at least in my mind, it does).

Now that May has arrived, all stories have been posted, and all are now available here.

The evaluation form that determines the winner of this contest will be made available soon. In the meantime, keep track of the stories you read and your feelings about them, in whatever form is most convenient for you.

The Tiny Man and the Giantesses

I don’t know how it is for you, but in my case, I have my fantasies, and I have my real life. When I’m out in the world, there are things and people that tickle my giant spot, so my fantasies and real life are forever laced together like a successful Ripley clone. My alien queen always roars in the background. The following are a few wall-crumbling sounds of my soul.

The Dream

edificios

In the South America of the 50s and 60s, interior walls were often painted a frightening Cambridge blue that chased me into a dream a couple of weeks ago. I was arranging my dinner plate and cutlery next to other settings at a very large rectangular table, long enough for about fifty people judging by the number of plates and glasses and napkins, when I looked around and wondered where the rest of the party goers were. I was alone in the blue-walled room when I caught the sound of wild cheering coming from outside. I rushed out the front door, and down the few front steps to the cobblestone street that shouted “South America!” as loudly as the colonial-style, three-story building from which I had just emerged. The street was not designed for vehicular transit, but human. It was night, but it wasn’t dark, and it felt like 9 o’clock, because that’s the time I remember people would leave their homes after dinner, and fill coffee houses and pubs to hang out for a while, or promenade along a palisade that always smells of salt and rotting fish. But those are memories, and not my dream.

In my dream I looked across the narrow street, and realized that the sounds of conversation and cheering were coming from the roof of the house on the opposite side of the street. When I looked up I saw a group of party guests cheering and holding sparklers. They all looked in one direction beyond the house I had just exited. I knew I could not look over it, so I decided to grow. And grow I did. I lifted off the ground and expanded in heigh very quickly, and soon was able to see over houses and roofs. In the distance sat a huge stadium filled with the unmistakable sound of thousands of people cheering at the same time, punctuated by louder screams when something interesting happened on the green. I was about fifty feet tall now, and listening to all those little people was the best part of the dream. I only stood there, but just standing there when being that tall and feeling… something for that crowd of tiny people I could have reached within seconds was… nice.

The tiny guy

LoveAndContemptHe wasn’t really tiny, but he surely acted tiny in my head. The taco place wasn’t crowded as I sat there, watching people, when I saw them arrive. A young couple stood waiting in line to place their orders, and as they waited, I watched. I immediately noticed the way he looked at her. His eyes had nothing but pure love in them. I don’t see that often, so I might have stared. When she talked, when she stood there quietly, when she did nothing at all, he watched her as though she was oxygen, the sun, and life, all combined. He watched for the entire time as they waited, and I realized the way she saw him did not contain the same fervor. The way she looked at him was exactly the same way we look at a possession we enjoy. It’s a look I reserve for a loaf of freshly baked bread, or a pair of shoes I adore, or a book I enjoy. It’s a true feeling, but I can do without those things.

As they moved to the front of the line, he advanced tethered to her by an invisible thread, and once there, she proceeded to place their order without consulting him, or giving him a single look. I think that got to me the most, because… what possessor of a tiny guy would do any differently? Would you, as the shrinker, look into your pocket and ask that little guy what he wants for dinner? You know he’s not going to make wise choices, so you do it for him. If he happens to ask for something sensible, you choose to listen or ignore; but you know what’s best. As the shrunken person, you have a voice, of course. A voice that remains unheard if you ask her to get you a thimblefull of tequila when you know very well that you’ve had your alcohol allotment for the week. Foolish tiny.

And then I noticed the way he looked at everyone else around him. It was either contempt, or boredom. That’s when I smiled to myself and started to imagine what their intimate moments are like. How she shrinks him when they’re at home, alone. How he follows her everywhere, always looking at her (or her feet, because looking up all day long gives him such a crick in the neck) with that same expression of love; how he silently submits to her every important decision; how he glues himself to her when she finally lifts him off the floor, and places him on whatever part of her is a favorite that moment. So, nothing to see there, except for what my brain interprets as a Size moment.

The niece and the daughter

BandB These last two involve minors, so I thought about not including them… but I’m not going to be overly descriptive or inappropriate. All that needs to be said is that I was at the store getting groceries, and a storm of a girl (the niece, from what I overheard) walks by pushing a buggy and issuing orders to both children and grownups with her. I instantly thought, giantess in the making. I know her being a bossy child doesn’t instantly mean she’ll grow up to think about being hundreds of feet tall. It only means I like to imagine she will, because of the utter authority in her voice.

She was instructing everyone what to gather for purchase, and how to pick the proper items, what to look for, and in the meantime, she also managed to tell the adults exactly where to stand. She wasn’t barking words, but the conviction that she would be obeyed was as palpable as the cereal her little siblings were commanded to fetch. I was impressed, and secretly wished I’d run a Hogwarts type of giantess school. I would have sent her an owl right away. Or a teleporting mouse. Whatever familiar I decide to use in that universe.

I saw the daughter from a distance last night as I got out of my car at a grocery store’s parking lot. This particular place is a two-story building, and the store is on the second floor. She climbed the stairs to get to it, and when she got to the upper landing she looked down and exclaimed to her little sister and father, “I wish I was this tall!” She said it about three times, all the while fearlessly looking down at thirty or so feet of distance to the ground. I wanted to hug her and welcome her into the giantess world. She looked to be about eight years old, but I don’t care. She’s getting a teleporting mouse tonight, and if her parents don’t matriculate her immediately in giantess school…