Happy Mother’s Day!

The way the movie should have been...

Were-rabbit my @$$.

What? You know you thought about it too. Bring us the size-different claymation porn, film industry!

I’ll be back later to delete these terribly crass words and compose a sensible message. In the meantime, call your mother.

(A week later…)

As it turns out, I won’t be deleting any words from the above; otherwise Trinket’s evil cackle in the comment section won’t make any sense.

For weeks this day visited my mind as I wondered what sort of entry belonged here on Mother’s Day. I mean, who in their right mind would attempt to establish a connection between motherhood and the giantess (or shrinking) fetish? What sort of abominable direction would thoughts have to take to direct a man to the sort of situation that reduces him to the size of a small child; that shrinks his abilities to the scope of a baby’s; that threatens to take away his manly manhood until he’s nothing but a fragile bundle of flailing arms and legs in the hand of a woman?

Don’t play coy. I saw that look on your face.

What?

You’ve never thought of such a thing? You don’t know what I’m talking about? I got some ’splainin’ to do?

Nothing simpler. The relationship between a man and a much taller woman comes in many sizes, and they don’t always have to do with height. Sizes can have to do with emotions, maturity, physicality, etc., and the perception of them, whether it’s enforced or volunteered. There has never been a blurrier line between having no choice but to experience something and offering to do so, than in these fantasies.

In other words, if a woman wakes up one morning and smiles at the little bundle of joy still sleeping next to her, and she decides that tiny pile of hairy limbs that also comes with morning breath and face bristles is going to play baby that day, there is nothing that shrunken man can do about it. Gone are his pants, to be replaced by a diaper she will probably insist he uses; absent are his meals, and instead he’s obliged to struggle in the folds of a baby blanket, and to open his small mouth to accept whatever food she decides he needs; disappeared is the dollhouse and all its accoutrements, replaced by a crib, or a baby pen; and so on.

Why are these terrible things happening to this perfectly mature little guy? What possesses his lovely lady to forget his age, the years he was allowed to spend in school, his ability to speak? Why does he struggle in her grip, and fight her every move with all the strength he has, knowing full well all his efforts are in vain? I don’t know. Don’t ask me, I only blog here.

I found a set of Harvey Nichols ads that utilize Wallace & Gromit characters, and I was left with no choice but to alter them. When I watched The Curse Of The Were-Rabbit DVD extras, they included footage of the tiny village in which the claymation characters interacted. Guess the sort of things I was thinking then.

If I worked in the film industry, and got to erect those small towns, with all those little streets and buildings, I’d come to the stage late at night with my camera and film myself interacting with the miniatures. I’d be fired the next morning when my DNA is found all over them, and it would all come out after I become a famous author, completely ruining my chances to publish children’s books… or maybe improving them.

While watching the movie I had some thoughts about a tiny Wallace interacting with Lady Tottington. They could not be helped, which is less than I can say about her hair. I transformed her into a brunette, and decided it would make for a nice greeting card.

Mother Mother – Wrecking Ball

Adventures in collaging: example files

The two images that accompany this entry are extremely low-res, and for a reason. Back when I had the old blog at Giantess.com, there was a series of entries I began to develop titled, “Adventures in collaging”.

In the two that I was able to post I discussed a couple of collaging aspects: splashes (as in those produced by the feet of a massive giantess), and shadows, lighting and reflections. I thought I’d enjoy doing the same thing at this blog, and from time to time discussing different things about what I consider the incredible waste of time of my choice, collaging.

The reasons these two images are of such low quality and only of medium size is because they are “example” files. The first thing you do when you collage giantesses and shrunken men is acquire material. For the most part this material is saved from the Internet, which makes this first thing an extremely easy task.

What I do next is group material in folders that end up containing the layered Photoshop file, the raw materials, and the final jpg. There’s one last image that has become part of my standard operating procedure when collaging, and it’s the example file. When I’m pairing raw material, I do it with Photoshop, and not with the naked eye, and when I’m done pairing raw material, the resulting image is reduced in size, named Example, and saved.

It’s a very quick, rough version of what I imagine the final image will look like. There are pixels leftover, mismatched skin tones, wrong shadows, etc., but the purpose of the example file is to allow me to see the potential of the raw materials, and the amount of work I will have to do to get it to look good in the end.

It helps me, because sometimes I decide the end result is not worth the effort. Another thing it does is allow me to recall what the heck it is that I wanted to do with that raw material in the first place. I forget sometimes. In the past I’ve opened a folder months after saving it, and it’s happened a few times that I have no idea what I was thinking when I downloaded its contents.

Sure, it’s not really difficult to puzzle it out, but an example file makes for a time-saving template. Simple, and effective.

Ozzy Osbourne – Dreamer

Choices

They're all good.

I was poking around the Series of Tubes looking for sexy ads with shrunken men in them, and instead I found something* about relationships that made me roll my eyes. and then imagine my own, as I often do. So I saved it, made a series of spectacular improvements, and now I present it to you.

1. In both cases, male and female, this represents a relationship with your hand as compared with the examples that follow. Calling it “bad” is extreme, considering how often men and women engage in entanglements with their hand even if there’s someone special in their lives. A woman in that universe in which little men are available would still do better to go out and buy one at the nearest iPet store.

2. Of course I think my natural inclination is more than “alright”. A woman and a man, and just one of each, is great! But I’m looking at it through the glass of my fantasies. The Undersquid that lives there thinks that normal-sized men are nice, but shrinking a man very small and carrying him to her bedroom where she proceeds to manhandle him in a thousand wonderful ways is what she prefers.

3. What I just mentioned. This is the basis of everything that takes place in my mind. There’s one woman, and one shrunken man. He’s very special, and every day she lets him know she’s aware of how wonderful he is. Alright, plenty of times they are just writhing in the sack… but there’s always something, some little sign that shows them both there is no one else they’d prefer in bed.

4. Forget everything I just said. No, truly the above is the core of my thoughts, but there’s this collage I’ll be working on until the year 3009, about a woman, and a little guy, and… a man. The elements for it kinda fell into my lap. The initial image showed a woman and a man about to kiss, so I thought I’d shrink the man and have the woman bend low for a sweet kiss. She’s grabbing his shirt with a coiled fist that suddenly looked great for a handheld collage, and months ago I found a man that looks down in a grumpy, concerned manner. Somehow, a story began to unravel in my head.

5. The last sign shows what I think Snow White should really be about. Forget the prince. Who the hell does he think he is, arriving suddenly and taking her away from her lovers friends? When I was very small, I actually thought the “dwarfs” were little men only a few inches in height. I was about two or three years old when my mom first read me the story, and although I couldn’t vocalize it, I clearly recall thinking about these seven tiny men, and wondering how in the world Snow White could fit on their beds, even if they were all lined up together.

Needless to say, I was enraged when she left with that normal-sized jerk.

Keane – Everybody’s Changing

*I didn’t spot it at deviantART, but here’s the original image at the creator’s page.

Nothing to report

Good luck, Lobot.

I figure this old image has been seen by shrinking and giantess fans at least three million times. I live in the back, so I only spotted it a few days ago. Shirley you understand I had to sneak it in here and show it to y’all. I’m not sure if it’s an ad, but it was taken by Helmut Newton, who clearly had a giantess fetish, or maybe a G.I. Joe fetish.

Either way, I like the image despite its blatant display of shoes I would not be caught comatose wearing, and because I’m a proud owner of a G.I. Joe sex toy myself. It reminds me of scenes in that movie I have yet to go see, Monsters vs. Aliens, and it reminds me of the humor in that sort of situation.

Ya know, little guy with a puny weapon thinks he can take on a woman many times his size, and before you can say “squish”, he is. In my mind, bullets of any caliber tickle. In fact, missiles, aircrafts, meteorites, alien mother ships, hurling planets, swirling galaxies, they all tickle when they make impact on the skin of a giantess the various sizes I’ve imagined myself to be.

And I like his Lobot gear. What sort of input would a shrunken man get through that sort of apparatus? “Proximity warning! Alert! Alert! Danger is afoot! Warning, warnihhhfffzzzzggh- ” . I’ve mentioned to you before I’m not fond of violently crushing a little man, but every once in a while I’m in a position that helps me see the bright side in that sort of situation, particularly when I’m dealing with people that say one thing and act another, or refuse to provide me with excellent customer service, or sell me something that will break after one use.

In other news, I love my friends even though they send me endless email forwards, and choose to date / marry the wrong person, and go through silly and unnecessary cosmetic “enhancements”, and make me add one Facebook application after another.

Tell no one I reached level 17 in Mafia Wars. It’s our little secret, yes?

This is my song this week:

Anjulie – Boom

The Evil-Giantess Thing

What to do when you stop liking that little man....

I don’t know, but I’ll be working on a list to share here later.

Juanes – Camisa Negra

Quickie

But perhaps not quickly forgotten.

“Can I call you sometime?”

She just smiled as though he was a little pet performing a trick, and slipped back into her dress, which cascaded down her body like a black waterfall.

“Well, can I?” he asked again as he zipped up his pants.

Still no answer.

“What’s your name?”

“Little one, what do you think happened here?”

“Well, I was trying to reach the hors d’œuvre tray, and when no one was looking you invited me here-”

“I think I just grabbed ya.”

“Well, yes. You… nudged me into this room.”

“I picked you up and didn’t bother to remove your shirt.” She had finished smoothing out her hair, which had fallen in fetching disarray not ten minutes before. His neck began to pinch painfully and he stopped staring up at her. His heart sank.

“I take it this was just a one time thing then.”

“Now you are catching on,” she said, and smiled again as she winked. She didn’t look back before she left the room to rejoin the party, her high heels echoing in the hallway and matching the pounding in his chest as they melted into music and chatter.

Alone in the room, he stared at the moving arms on his Mickey Mouse watch, knowing he had to wait a couple of minutes before following her.

I don’t think so, he thought as he waited. I bet I can make you come back for more.

* * *

No, I’m not watching the Superbowl thingie. I had two choices: Watch the Superbowl thingie, or work. Naturally, I chose to blog.

I found the background for this image nearly two years ago, and finally matched it with a little guy when I searched the gallery of a photographer that specializes in Spanish soap opera (telenovela) actor portfolios.

I don’t know why, but his male subjects are often looking up, or adopting defensive or fearful poses, while his female subjects can be found sprawled on the floor looking at no place in particular where I can easily insert* a little guy. Imagine how excellent I think that is for my perverted collaging purposes.

*Oh, stop. Not that kind of insertion.

As always, while I collaged those two kept chatting it up in the manner described above, so I thought I’d share it. OK, back to the coal mines.

Music, maestro!

The Pipettes – One Night Stand

Confession

And he better tell the truth now.

I saved the background for this image a long time ago… many months. I found it at Flickr after I had started saving information about the sources for my collaging material (which is—after that point in time—clearly marked under Creative Commons as work that can be remixed).

It is the original work of Konrad Roziewski, and it has always seemed to me to be such a sweet image, the capture of a woman’s tender smile in a way that makes me think the photograph was taken with great care, perhaps with love. I kept it, and every once in a while I thought I should leave it alone, because I was never going to be able to find elements that would help me tell a story with it.

But I found a little guy. I spotted him at one of the best places to find collaging material: a gay blog sans nudity. It is perhaps unfortunate that the greatest admirers of the male form (via the Internet) seem to be men, as that leaves us women way behind in the race for objectifying respectfully drooling over the opposite sex through Internet websites and galleries.

As it’s generally the case when I’m collaging something, a story with dialogue began to play in my head. Once upon a time there was this woman, and she was in bed, not because she was tired, or sleeping, or sick. She was well physically, but in emotional turmoil. As she lay there, she was wondering what to do next. Her little man had lied to her, you see.

It hadn’t been a big thing. He isn’t capable of big things, she half joked to herself now, but it stung nonetheless. As she remained there, almost not moving, she saw the slightest tension stretch a section of her bed cover. He was scaling up the side of the bed.

Slowly, she thought. Hah! There have been plenty of times you’ve made your way to the top much faster than that… but now you don’t really know if I’m about to flush you down the toilet, or pack your little things, which I made for you, you little rat- And then she stopped herself. C’mon, he’s not a rat. That’s mean.

To rats.

They are bigger than him, after all.

She had to contain a giggle compounded by the emergence of his little head by the side of the bed. It was blue, covered as it was by a beanie she made him from one section of a toe sock, and it matched his eyes. His lying eyes. The Eagles song attempted to begin playing in her head, and she smothered it with a mental punch as she watched him take toy steps toward her.

She moved a hand and derived great pleasure from seeing him stagger from her movement as she tucked it under her cheek. Maybe he had thought she had been about to slap his body, or maybe it was just instinct driven by remorse, or fear. She allowed herself a little smile. She wanted him to be sorry, not frightened for his life.

He reached her side and stood on the bed, only inches away from her face. He was still panting from the climb, and any other time she would have scooped him up into her hand and placed him on the softness of her chest for a nice pretense of rest, but now she remained still, and waited.

His hand traveled the minimal distance to his forehead, where he wiped sweat off his brow. He then pressed his knuckles on his beanie-covered temple, as though that would help him think. His hand was still there when he muttered softly, “I’m sorry”.

What to do next?

The Pierces – Lies

Caged

Another scenario I like.

A shrunken man kept in a birdcage, or maybe trapped there for a certain amount of time: As far as scenarios go, it’s a usual dish in my mind’s menu, but every once in a while I try to put myself in someone else’s shoes, someone that might have no idea these thoughts exist, and I bet that someone else figures the thinker of such thoughts has to be insane.

But… no. After all these years exploring the Internet and every so often encountering things that seem crazy, I have to say I’m as normal as anybody ever is, at any given time.

Here are some online activities I think are truly bizarre:

• Flame wars. There are many things in my life I prefer doing in order to waste time. Provoking others to type words so I can retort with other words seems outlandish.
• Comments in news articles. There are very few people in this world whose opinions have any weight with me. Complete strangers beseeching others to leave a celebrity alone or bickering about spelling… man, it makes me tired just writing about it.

OK, I lost interest in typing about that. The point is that everybody falls into weirdness when beheld through the spectacles of other people. What others might perceive as my weirdness happens to be loving the idea of a shrunken man in various situations often precipitated by me. Thinking of him in a cage, any cage, especially a birdcage, seems mundane to me, normal as normal can be, and nothing at all extraordinary.

So next time you are out on the street and catch a woman eyeing you intently, it’s possible she’s pondering how well you’d look at only two inches in height. Think outside the box and imagine maybe she wants to put you in one. Perhaps she’s remembering that cage in her living room, the one with newspaper on its bottom, a little swing that dangles from the top, and a door that barely fits her hand, but ample enough to fit your body.

Then she’ll forget all about you and get on with her errands, because she’s normal, you see. As normal as you or me or the rest of the world.

Except those vore folks. Dem is far-out wack, man.

The Strokes – Heart In a Cage

Cast Ashore

Giant mouth-to-mouth kisses should have him up again soon.

Today is Saturday, so that means…

RANDOM COLLAGE TIME!

This collage is a shout-out to the event of finding a shrunken man, of suddenly seeing a small man come into view, without warning and certainly without knowledge that such little creatures exist. It’s a fictional setting about the beginning of a shrinking fantasy, as they all have to start somewhere, and some of us like to imagine them from start to finish, slowly and with a great deal of detail.

For me it sometimes starts with a walk on the beach, the kind I’ve enjoyed since childhood, but during those nothing extraordinary happened, and the only things I ever found on the sand were shells, seaweed, tiny crabs, and polished pebbles.

The woman in my imagination (who always happens to be me) finds much more than that when she sees a little body sprawled on sand darker than the rest, and she quickly comes to understand that every wave that rolls into shore played a part in pushing him to land. So where did he come from?

And why in the world is he so small? Is he alive? Is he real? He certainly looks real, but she invariably asks herself if he is exactly, in every way like men her size, and maybe she should rescue him and then he’ll be so grateful he’ll show her how real he is.

And sometimes she finds out whether he’s grateful or not. Sometimes his little chirps of protest and fruitless struggles are all the thanks she needs after bringing him back to life and taking him to her hotel room, but the kind of gratitude she prefers are words that sound like capitulation, and surrender. In my mind, sweet acceptance always follows futile resistance, if the latter is ever there at all.

Why lie. The latter is often on my mind.

Erasure – Breathe

Evil Lil Dracula

Or is he just a lil pet...

Yes, he’s just a pet, and that’s just ketchup. This poem came to be because I forced asked little squid to write it over two years ago. He kindly acquiesced and posted it as an entry on his blog, together with the collage above. I was so obsessed with shadows (I still am) that I forgot vampires cast none. I’ll just leave it there as a lesson to me.

This was a very amusing collage to work on. I changed her head three or four times until I was satisfied with the amount of red paint and deceivingly vacant expression. In honor of tomorrow’s full moon, I’m posting both collage and little squid’s poem today.

‘Tis I dear Violet, we meet once again,
My spell of evil darkness, you’ll be helpless to defend.
The fact you’re so Tall, can intimidate the many,
But I have no fears, for my powers are such sweet candy.

Oh you’ll try to resist, you’ll try with playful jest,
You’ll denounce me by size, you’ll use your words to your best.
Giants are so arrogant, they believe themselves so Superior,
But I know about you dear Violet, You can’t resist me thought inferior.

Just my size makes you weak, why I can see your knees trembling,
Am I such a little toy to you Violet, my undead spirit so interesting?
Do I tempt you to reach, to show me such colossal comparisons?
Why now your words fail you, can’t your Giant Mind find its direction?

I am eeeevil don’t you know, it is MY power you can’t resist,
I’ll convert now to a bat and buzz the tower of your fist!
I’ll giggle and laugh as you swat with mighty blows,
Why I’ll even tease you at first, with tiny bites to your toes.

Oh you like that idea? As I’m vacuumed in torrent tumble,
Hurled about in midair, nothing but a fly in your turbulent rumble.
But I’m faster than you, and I have you right where I want,
Standing 203.5 feet Tall, Your towering neck shall I haunt.

Like a mosquito I take aim, your fingers seeking so adeptly,
And my mouth begins to water, to the pulse of your throbbing artery.
But before I take my purchase, I send you a spell-casting gaze,
And in that instant your eyes close shut, and your world becomes a haze.

I mount your column neck, like a window-washer clinging to a building,
Then sink my sharp teeth into you, and drink of your elixir; red, warm and filling.
“You are MINE now,” I speak, “You’ll be slave to me for all eternity,”
“And your size will strike fear, in all those mortals so unworthy.”

“You’ll live through the ages, undead and all Mine!”
“And I will RULE THE WORLD with you, One Continent at a time.”
“You’ll awaken now Violet, and hear only MY commands,”
“You’ll do what I say, and fulfill all my demands.”

But something I hadn’t thought of, caught my attention without a chance,
A soft booming chuckle, took me by surprise as I glanced.
Upward I saw, you awake and startlingly wide eyed,
A gleam I did see, a curled smirk you didn’t hide.

Before I could react, I was plucked like a fly,
Carried up and away, from my prize in the sky.
I dangled and twisted, caught in your finger’s giant capture,
And all that I saw, was the Mountain of your face’s sculpture.

“Oh Dracula, so cute, so tiny your little display,”
“Now be a good little bat and show me, how you’re not afraid?”
“Your powers are no match, for my kind so Giant,”
“It is YOU that is MY slave, It is YOU who will be compliant.”

“Now tell me again, how eeeevil you boast to be?
“You said you have power, are you Dracula or just a flea?
“How DARE you?” I spat, “I’m the Prince of Darkness!”
“Shhh… say no more my little thing, your power is now MINE to harness.”

The NESkimos – Vampire Killer (Castlevania)