Undertoy – 3

Under_Toy_3_by_flagg3d.jpg
Under_Toy_3 by Flagg3D

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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…

 

 

 

Born in a Flash

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

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

Born in a Flash

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”.

Brownies, by telebot

chocolatechocolatechipbrownies_by_aschrei

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brownies

Sick As Fuck

More Kissing by Flagg3D
More Kissing by Flagg3D

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

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

 + + +

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve had enough soup.”

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

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

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

“Open your mouth.”

“M- no!”

“Open. Your. Mouth. Now.”

“Please….”

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

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

“Did that hurt to swallow, poor toy?”

“It did.”

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

“Can’t you put me in the dollhouse?”

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

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

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

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

“Toy! Toy, answer me! Are you OK?!”

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

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

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

“Roll over, Toy.”

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

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

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

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

“You are my toy

When you break and feel no joy

I will take care of you

You’re in my heart

We will never be apart

I am in charge of you

You-“

“Owner, stop! I’m trying to sleep!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 + + +

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.