Category Archives: things I like

A mega giantess dream

A few nights ago I dreamed I received a pair of boots. I don’t remember the rest of the dream; only that the boots were brown, lace-up, ankle high, and had a thick, soft lining of make-believe fur. Last night I was at a birthday reunion and someone there pulled a pair of boots from a bag, and gave them to me. The boots looked like the ones in my dream. I didn’t say anything about the dream, or thought much about it, because I no longer place any value in premonitory psychic “bites” I receive in my dreams. They’ve brought me nothing but meh, as they are inconsequential at best. Remember that Christopher Walken skit where he spoofs his “Dead Zone” character as he predicts inane events? That’s me and my dreams about the future. No lotto numbers, no presages about terrorist attacks, nothing important or meaningful or useful.

A while back I had this dream that I was watching TV when a news announcer interrupted whatever regular programming to inform viewers about the sudden emergence of two volcanoes somewhere in central U.S. I’m not going to embarrass myself by showing my ignorance of U.S. geography and admitting that when the dream TV showed satellite photos of the two volcanoes, I thought they were in Utah. The material point is that the event was cataclysmic in nature to the degree that mass extinction was imminent, as the volcanoes’ craters were hundreds of miles in diameter, and their ash clouds would eventually cover us all. Naturally I decided to use my growth powers to save the day.

Normally that is the moment in a dream when I feel myself grown, and all manner of tingly fun takes place. Instead, the next second I found myself an ultra giantess. I’d thought that if I also grew the ice cubes in my freezer, I could put them in the craters, effectively extinguishing them; so I found myself carrying a cumbersome amount of ice cubes cupped in my palms and against my body. I looked at “Utah” (really Kansas), and to my dismay I discovered that someone had already dumped ice cubes in the volcanoes, and done a piss-poor job of it. Some of them were scattered about, crushing neighboring cities, and there weren’t enough cubes to counter all the lava beginning to bubble forth from where Topeka and Burlington used to be.

Never mind that my feet crushed thousands more as I approached the pot-sized volcanoes and put them out with my ice cubes. In a normal giantess dream this would have been the time to come on to a city and make out with it, have my way with its citizens in a gentle fashion, kill almost no one as an inevitable consequence… but no. I completed my task and woke up, feeling frustrated and wtf’ed. To prevent this terrible dream from ever coming true, I’m abstaining from making ice cubes for the following twelvemonth. That ought to take care of it.

Paper cities

Behold how I shamelessly add this one to my pile of incomplete posts. I’ll try to get back here tomorrow if I have the time. I probably won’t, but I will say that ever since I was a child I’ve experienced great enjoyment from creating little things out of paper. But enough for now. Tomorrow I will expound upon my latest fascination with Mother Mother, and how this video makes me think of little people. Not that I need help with that.

 

Another dream….

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"Stopping By" by Mity Mite

A few nights ago I had a dream about a shrunken man. Sadly, I wasn’t in the dream, but I don’t think I let that bother me. I’ve had a few dreams about little people living inside the walls of homes for humans my size, and they always stay with me. This little fellow had brown hair, a nice body, and a happy disposition. He made a nice living as a tour guide for other ones his size, and the tour consisted of visiting the various rooms of the gigantic house that was his home, unbeknown to its huge occupants.

The really cool part about the dream is that his friends were all bugs. A roach, a cricket, a slug, various unidentified invertebrates, they all spoke and walked on two legs as they maintained the tour, which even had “rides”. He was the little boss, and in the dream he would bark (nicely) orders: “Wipe that clean!” “Fix that door!” “Repair that matchbox side!” And they would all scurry and tend to every aspect of their job.

During the dream they were only preparing for the next set of tourists, and I got the feeling (it was my dream, so I suppose that feeling came from my natural inclination) that for the little people it was forbidden to enter a giant home. Outlawed, even. This made my little guy a bit of a bad boy, and of course it meant his tours were always packed with curious folks willing to pay top crumb for the dangerous treat.

(Yes, crumb, as it appeared no one paid him with real currency; it was all bolts of gossamer fabric, or earthen bowls of food, or building materials. It was simply adorable.)

*sigh* I wish I could meet a little one just like him, reckless, disobedient, and hot! :) The dream was over before any “giant” people made an appearance.

Minimiam

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http://www.minimiam.com/en/goen.html is a website I found yesterday when I was doing a search for “shrunken men” but in Spanish. Minimiam, as I understand, means “mini yum” (I’m sure the vore folks will love that) (yes, we do), and it’s a duo of food photographers that place miniatures on edibles in such interesting ways that one can’t help but think of a story behind the image. As you can imagine, stories that involve small men are always going to interest me.

The two artists, Pierre Javelle and Akiko Ida, are also married. It crossed my mind for only a second, that though unlikely, it would be fun if these miniatures interacting with food and creating situations that are similar to some of the scenarios I describe to myself, are more than professional tools for the couple. I wondered if they use them for role-playing… probably in the same foolish way some have felt a temporary ray of hope that Pamela Anderson is really into vore. :roll:

The ABC’s Game – C is for City

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"sci-fi3" by Tencyo

"sci-fi3" by Tencyo

I wanted to write something new, as well as create a new collage for this weekend’s ABC’s game entry. I didn’t have the time to do either, so it’ll have to keep. I’m happy with the way I think it will look, but in the meantime I’ll recycle a spectacular dream I had and shared at my old blog a few years ago.

C is for City. I have somehow connected part of my enjoyment of growth with a desire to protect the man for whom I have feelings, and the city in which he lives. That connection manifested itself in a dream I had once. I was shopping in the commercial center of a city, and the streets were packed with people as they entered the shops and skyscrapers that clustered to great heights every way I looked. I was moving along the sidewalk when a large crowd of people turned the corner ahead of me, screaming, running away from something, and heading my direction in a stampeding rush.

This vision was immediately followed by a thunderous blow to the ground, and an arch of rubble and crumbled cement that blasted away from the building that towered to my right as a huge fist hit its corner. As more booming footsteps shook the ground, I turned and ran with the terrified crowd, except I was groaning to myself, realizing I would have to deal with this monster. I didn’t mind the fighting; it was the changing into my superhero costume that I dreaded. See, I carried it in my purse, and I would have to change into it right there, in front of all those people. Funny how I was more affected by modesty than I was about being crushed by an oversized creature’s foot.

I fled for about two seconds before I stopped dead on my tracks; people flew past me without stopping to watch me undress (OK maybe one of them did), and take a slinky, pink satin suit that looked more like something one would swim in, out of my purse. I turned to face the humongous beast, who was a rampaging brunette (colossal humans have made it to every B-movie monster list I have seen) that rose 200′ from the pavement, wearing a pink fuzzy thing a la Edison. She stood and growled on that intersection while stomping madly on people and cars, bending to grab handfuls of victims just to fling them against surrounding buildings.

The dream changed from that sequence of events to my imagining (in the dream) what would happen once I put on my suit. I would grow instantly (the reason why I could not wear it underneath my clothes) to a height that matched this destructive creature’s, and the growth of my suit would “activate” the growth of my teammates, an Asian lady that wore a green suit, and a Caucasian blonde that wore a blue one. I pictured them both rushing to my side, and helping. Sadly, the dream ended with the certainty that the three of us would battle the female “monster” and save the city, but it didn’t move from dream imagination to dream action.

Because of the way it feels to imagine and dream of growing and fighting a scaly, furry, or skin monster, I would do it in an instant. Anything to protect my guy and the city in which he lives.

The ABC’s Game – B is for Brownies

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A little crumb would be enough for him.

A little crumb would be enough for him.

B is for Brownies. I published this recipe at my old blog about eighteen months ago. I only have a few old ABC’s entries left to publish, and playing the game—even if only with myself—means I will be following the order of the letters of the alphabet from this point on, when I create new entries for this series.

I’d been planning to create a collage to accompany my brownie recipe for quite some time, but only after I found a suitable shrunken-man source image was I able to figure out the sort of photos I wanted to take of my brownies; so the image you see above is of my window, of a curtain I sewed years ago, and of brownies I baked. I think this is the first collage I’ve published that include raw images I created, instead of stealing downloading them from the Internet.

Underbrownies

  • 7 T. butter
  • 1 c. sugar
  • 1 t. vanilla extract
  • 2 eggs
  • 1/2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour
  • 1/3 c. cocoa
  • 1/2 t. aluminum-free baking powder
  • 1/4 t. sea salt
  • 1/2 c. chopped, toasted walnuts

1. Heat oven to 350° degrees. If you have a toaster oven then you don’t have to heat up the entire kitchen to make these.

2. Grease and flour a small pan of any shape.

3. In food processor, combine butter and sugar until well mixed.

4. Add vanilla and mix until incorporated.

5. Add eggs and mix until well blended-

-Or add it all at the same time, for all I care. The result is the same when I blend it all lovingly and in order, than when I dump it all in the processor (I do recommend mixing the butter and sugar first), nuts last, and pour into pan.

6. Bake for about fifteen minutes. Don’t overbake, or you’ll end up making chocolate rock.

7. Cool, cut in sixteen pieces, and eat one with your sweetie before you kiss him/her. Brownie breath is a guaranteed shrinking potion. It only works on men, of course.

If I receive one single philistine comment about how baking is women’s work, I’ll crush ya like a twig and snap ya like a bug. :)

* * *

As I chose the elements for the collage above, a scene played in my head. Some will understand when I tell you that events between a shrunken man and a woman don’t always have to include sexual activities. Daily routine can become their prelude, and activities such as visiting, making friends, listening to music, cleaning the house, etc., can lay the foundation for an emotional state ripe with the right kind of tension.

In this case, the emotion I use to color interaction is a deep sense of trust combined with size-related frustration. A man that shrinks to a mere few inches in height will remember a time his wife might have baked him brownies, and he would have polished the entire plate as he watched TV, later burning those calories in the yard, or in the bedroom.

He will recall there was a time he could have closed his hand around his wife’s delicate wrist when the doorbell rang announcing relatively unwanted visitors, and he could have pulled her into his arms as he whispered, “Let’s pretend we are not home, and maybe they’ll go away….”

There is a weight pressing on him that has nothing to do with his wife’s finger or toe; a heavy feeling of helplessness as he watches his life shrink and be absorbed by his mate’s actions. The only thing that rescues him from despair is the absolute trust he feels in his beloved. It carries him as safely as her hand during moments when it seems even the air he breathes is something she allows him to have, and can take away if she so desired it; those times when his responses to disappointment regress to a child-like state; those instances when events slip away as he’s shown a shrunken man may control only that ever-changing sphere the woman that loves him declares his province; those times such as these….

“They are mine,” he said, his hips pressing possessively against the brownie closest to his hips, the one sandwiched in the middle of the stack. That tiny thrust was almost imperceptible given his size, and he seemed too angry to have meant it to be seductive, but his naked body was glued to those baked goods as though they were some sort of salvation; and that moist, warm brownie molded like clay to the shape of his body sent her thoughts adrift to other times he had moved similarly against her body.

“Honey, I can bake you more brownies after they leave, ” she said placatingly. She could see wet chocolate stains beginning to spread onto his torso and his delicious thighs, and forced herself to look away from his midriff, up to his chocolate-colored eyes. He looked good enough to eat, and he would probably taste delicious at the moment, but that sort of fun would have to wait until they were alone in the house again.

She looked over her shoulder at the bedroom door, and listened to her friends chatting in the living room. Again his voice, as diminished in volume as it now was, seemed to somehow get louder. She faced him again as he stood next to the brownies on the plate.

“I don’t want different brownies later; I want these, and I want them now!” his words ended with the whine of a child threatened by willpower much greater than his own. “You baked them for me. I’ve been waiting for you to bake me these brownies for weeks! You are going to have to give them something else to eat.” He stretched his arm along the edge of the top brownie, and his little fingers clasped it greedily. They hadn’t been out of the oven very long, but he didn’t seem to mind their warmth.

“Unfortunately I can’t help the whole house smelling like them, darling. If I had known they were coming I would have baked a double batch. Sweetie, be reasonable! You are too small to eat them all anyway! One of these little squares would last you a month- alright, a week, the way you eat sometimes.” She threw him a playful smile, but he didn’t return it.

“They should have called you first, before butting in and interrupting our weekend!”

Beginning to feel a touch of annoyance, she sighed, and watched his hair be blown back by gust of wind she had created. “Sweetie, this is the South. People don’t do that. They expect to be able to drop by casually and be served iced tea and comfort food in an impeccable home. They expect impromptu politeness, and hospitality at the drop of a hat.”

“But you are Hispanic. They can’t expect you to behave that way.” He realized immediately he had put his little foot in his mouth when her lips tightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was little more than a squeak.

“Tell them they can’t have-”

“What do you mean ‘they can’t expect me to behave that way’? And do you see me doing that? Do you really think I’m going to go back out there and tell them ‘Sorry ladies, my tiny shrunken husband is a greedy, selfish baby, and he refuses to yield even a single brownie square. We’ll have to scavenge the fridge for any leftover Chinese food that hasn’t turned, and whatever cheese we can slice away from mold we can put on Ritz crackers.”

His gaze, no longer blazing with anger, dropped for a moment.

“Well, er… um-” He shook his head softly, sinking his chin into the brownie corner the heat of his body had rounded out. His fingers dug into the still warm mass of chocolate like fish hooks, as though he could still prevent her from taking the plate away from him.

“I’m offering my friends these brownies, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it. They will stay in my house for as long as they wish, and they they will eat anything they want from my fridge. And after they leave I’ll come back here and we’ll have a long conversation about your manners, and your small place in the grand scheme of my things.”

She reached for the plate, and he barely had time to jump off it and onto the bedside table where the stack- his stack of brownies had been cooling off. His pressed lips turned into a pout as he watched her walk away with them in hand.

Only now did he begin to realize there might not be any sort of sweetness headed his way this Saturday night if he didn’t work his way to her good graces. He looked down at his body. Almost the entire front of it was painted brown with melted brownie marks. He thought they could be useful.

Careful not to accidentally wipe clean any of it, he sat on the lamp base. In the distance, in the living room that felt as though it was a town away, he could hear laughter and womanly conversation, interrupted by moans of culinary appreciation as his wife’s friends devoured his brownies.

Alone, he waited.

* * *

And here‘s the example file, the way I initially composed the image. There isn’t that much difference between the former and the latter.

Menicure, not manicure!

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Because more than one little man is necessary.

Because more than one little man is necessary.

Last night I was reading MattyBoy’s latest Math post, in which he used a ladder to illustrate his point. So I’m reading about the ladder and given how my mind lives in the gutter- in fact, sometimes I think the gutter is in my mind, but never mind.

So I’m thinking a ladder is what a shrunken man needs to climb up to those hard-to-reach places that are a woman’s… well, every part of a woman except her toes and heels, because every once in a while she grows so tall even the arch of her foot is a distant domed ceiling. Anyway, I was thinking about that, and then just a few minutes ago I tripped on the Flickr image above.

It’s fun when the universe conspires to divert me. Thank you, universe.

There are other similar images (just a few) in the author‘s photostream, if you wish to take a gander. Here’s another effective use of a ladder I really like.

"Ideas32" by Kassandra

"Ideas32" by Kassandra

Tiny USB vacuum cleaner

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Now get to your chores!

Now get to your chores!

This is a cute little thing. I saw it and I couldn’t help thinking of a shrunken man running out of excuses on why he can’t possibly do chores around the house. The tiny appliance is several inches in height, so a small man would have to be the size of a tallish doll to get anything done with it.

But under my scrutiny, it wouldn’t matter what size he is: flea or cricket-sized, there’s work to be done. And onto a serious matter, what’s wrong with you people? Why aren’t there more collages of tiny men cleaning giant things, polishing shoes, scrubbing jewelry, that sort of thing?

Get on with it. Chop-chop! ;)

"Better Clean Well" by The Borrower

"Better Clean Well" by The Borrower

 

O Shoes

Love 'em.

Love 'em.

I was [browser] window shopping for shoes last night when I found this pair of purple Mary Janes. I’m aware you are not exactly the sort of target audience for women’s shoes and clothes and jewelry, and while this is the sort of thing I usually share with my family or at Facebook, I wanted to place a little man between the shoes and I can’t do that for any place but here.

For $28.30, this is a really cheap pair of shoes and that means I would get what I pay for… so I’ll probably wait until I can find a pair of better quality, though no one can stop me from dreaming of them, and fantasizing about the clothes I would wear at the same time. I picked a purple blouse, and looked for plaid mustard-and-purple pants, but impossible to find. A second best is a lovely black skirt.

Look

And since I love/hate jewelry, I would either wear a very simple silver chain, or now that my hair is a bit longer, either of these barrettes with red stones. Yes, red. Purple stones alone would be too easy and boring. Then I’d grab my shrinking spray and I’d be all set to conquer the world in style.

Marquis Spray Barrette.Marquise Crystal Barrete

Please ignore that last line. I was just typing out loud. :)

In Her Hand

Such a tiny little guy...

Such a tiny little guy...

It’s Saturday, so that means…

RANDOM COLLAGE TIME!

Except it’s not random at all, because having very few of my own collages left to post means whatever I do upload for an entry is anything but random… and because I fully intended to show you this collage on a Saturday.

Mø†h3®ƒµ©∑3® took me over two years to complete, not because it was difficult, but there were many things to correct in the original background, which I found in the Handluva place. In its raw form it’s an image of two hands holding a large number of grapes or beads or pearls, so in March 2007 I started editing those out, working on and off for a long time as I like to do, until all I had was one mutilated hand on a clean blue background.

Later on I built me a couple of fingers, ring and pinkie, to complete the hand. I already had a shrunken man from working on another collage… actually I initially saved the Orlando Bloom image for this handheld image. I edited one of his arms, and voilà, I was done.

Or so I thought.

I was about to save a copy for web use when the idea of placing a bracelet around that giant wrist began to gnaw at me, so I searched through about a dozen websites before I magically stumbled upon Forkometry, and marveled at the squid-looking cuff bracelets. I have a love/hate relationship with jewelry and a love relationship with recycling, so at some point I have got to get me one of those. They are so pretty!

But not as pretty as a shrunken man sitting in the palm of my hand. I’ve had that vision in my head for a very long time, and I love to find collages that depict it with romance and gentleness, that show a little guy that feels perfectly safe in the cup of his girlfriend’s hand because that is the safest place in the world for him.

Well, safe until she starts feeling frisky and commences to tug and rip off his clothes. It’s his fault, for provoking her with his hot little doll-sized body.

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