Brownies, by telebot


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.



Triangle, by Nemo

Does a shrunken man ever truly know how lucky he is?

I’ve waited for a long time for Nemo to write something again. Years. During the years we “raced” to the finish during NaNoWriMo several times, and he invariably produced a fully edited story shortly afterward, while the abominations I excreted sat on my hard drive, destined to be forgotten (so far, anyway). He’s not only one of my favorite authors, but a respectful, sedate, wonderful person I consider a friend.

So, imagine my surprise and delight when I saw this:

And the story is classic Nemo, with a very easy flow and language. It’s like him. With a rhythm that lulls you the way a soothing voice forwards a completed conversation, but there’s no chance you’ll fall asleep, because the tension of what happens is so very real, so relatable, so it-could-happen-to-me, so oh-wait-it-did-happen-to-me.


Because what Nemo describes crosses our minds, at some point or another. I know it did mine, years ago when I wished I could have two things going on at the same time, with men that were friends. It would have never worked out, but I thought about it quite often during that time period.

This little guy… I shift from thinking he’s an idiot, to realizing he’s just like most any other person that exists in reality. A few lucky people never have doubts about the choices they make in life… and in my world shrunken men have as much a choice about anything as they are allowed to have by the woman that keeps them. But the rest of them think there’s more to be had.

This story could have gone many different ways, including that one of utter loneliness for that tiny man if his girlfriend had not decided to ride out his wave of… wavering. If could have gone badly if Linnea had decided to take him, and dump him again when she got bored, which she invariably would have… probably the following morning.

As it turns out, not one character in Nemo’s story is an idiot. The girlfriend allows him long enough to realize the dream is only a dream, and nothing will ever come of it; he sees this as well, even when the ex admits that he would be the only shrunken man she’d ever want; and the ex, who perceives she’s meaningless to him. Any smart woman knows when she truly makes no difference in a man’s life.

Such a worthy read. Good work, Nemo!

Something from Nothing, by Pedro Fellini

The best stories are the ones that change us. You remember some from your childhood, I’m sure. Tales that shaped your mind, instructed your understanding of the world, and guided your absorption of language as a tool to make yourself known as a sentient being to those closest to you, but most importantly, to yourself. This is one such story. Pedro Fellini is one such writer.

His words transformed me when I thought it was’t possible to do that with a story, much less a story springing forth from the size community. Sure, there are excellent writers out there. I only know a handful. Now I know one more, and one that has the power to change the way I think and feel, especially about things I thought were canon in my mind, immutable facts about how I see the size world.

This is how that happened:

  1. The story brings us back to the world of The Change, where all men have been reduced to a manageable size, and… well, time has passed, and one tiny man that has managed to survive in this world is placed in the path of a woman that only has to take one look at him to behave in exactly the same way I would behave, given the slightest opportunity.

  2. There’s gentle, and then there’s GENTLE. The kind you find in this story is the latter. Sasha is a tender woman, but that doesn’t mean she’s a pushover. Her gentleness is a force of nature. A man sits in that hurricane like a blooming leaf, and where the male character thought himself a shapeless lump of clay before, he begins to take shape under Sasha’s care. And what a beautiful shape it is.

  3. The tiny man is, also by my definition, a force of nature, and dear goddess, that’s how I love them. I love a tiny man that makes his way in the world, that struggles with all his might to understand what’s around him, that is tireless in his dedication to his Goddess, that knows when to thrust his heart and body into her, and adopt her shape, while at the same time… bringing his own shape into her mind, her body, her soul, over and over again, until she sees them both as one. I can’t tell you how pleasurable it was to read about that man in Something from Nothing.

  4. I abhor cruel stories. I reject them. I don’t seek them out unless I have some personal connection with the author. The idea of a small man suffering brings me to tears, and can devastate me for days, like a nightmare I can’t forget. But here’s what I mean about the power of a transformative story: Something from Nothing changed that in me. It had to be the right writer, using the right words, and Pedro is that writer. Now, under his carefully held prism, I can see the value, the very indispensability of crushing a man to a pulp. Sometimes there is no other way, you see? I would have never seen that way if it hadn’t been for Pedro’s magical spell.

  5. Another mind-bending moment was that one of making me see smallness as a desirable size. Now, if you tell this to anyone, I will deny it. I’m a giantess. I will always be a giantess; but Pedro writes, and he conjures up such delight, such wondrous enjoyment as to be found in the heart of a man because he’s small, and he’s beloved… that I could not help, for just a fraction of a second, but wonder and wish that joy for myself. That is not something I had felt before, when reading any story. Transformative. Mind altering. Pedro.


The Change, by Pedro Fellini

I’ve given myself some time to read stories, these last few days. I used to read, and frequently. Then I allowed change to remove me from one of my favorite activities. No more. There are special people in our community that are compelled to tell their stories, and I want them to. I admire them for it. They can’t help themselves any more than I can. We see these people in our minds, and they are doing fascinating things; we want to tell you about those events.

The first thing that attracted me to this story is the fact that Pedro Fellini wrote it. A fellow alumnus from, Pedro had been reading my blog (the first one, the one Shrinking Violet started) for some time. I checked out his blog from time to time, and one of those times I saw that he had published a story. Oh, crap. I’m not giving you a review. I’m giving you a timeline of events, and who gives a damn about that? Bear with me. This reviewing thing is new to me. I did it once for a local newspaper, but that was for children’s books. A different game.

Now, the review, for crying out loud. It’s not a story about gentleness, or love. It falls under the jurisdiction of extreme cruelty. I was cheated by the sweet beginning, a description of a recently shrunken man that wakes up, is surprised by his new, diminutive size, and proceeds to explore his surroundings. It sounds hot, doesn’t it? Extremely hot. I could have read those descriptions forever, but then Pedro shows up, and he’s wielding a knife (figuratively, as a writer). I took a deep breath, and kept on reading. I only kept on reading because Pedro painted a fascinating world, and people in it that take an extremely drastic choice. I’ve thought about that choice before. I wonder if it would make the world a better place. Maybe it would.

The Choice used that question in my mind to hook me, so I read on. I read on despite the flips my stomach took, and the times I grimaced at what was taking place on the bloody pages. If you enjoy the story of a shrunken man, and the extremely violent behavior of the women that have now become his world; if you like graphic depictions of shocking, lethal behavior; if you like a good tale of revenge… you know what to do.

I think it’s splendid that one can also get the audio book. No one’s paying me to say that, by the way. But who wouldn’t like a favorite audio book read to them?

These are the people in Pedro Fellini‘s mind.

The Change

[UPDATE] One can now get the audio book download for free here:

Thank you, Pedro!