Well, you’d think that copying and pasting a few paragraphs would make posting these every Wednesday a bit easier. As it turns out, there’s an insane level of busy that doesn’t permit such simple blogging maneuvers. These two words were provided as part of the game by a giantess community member by the name of IncredibleShrinkinI. Wherever he is, I send him a warm hello, and my thanks!
* * *
Backseat, Piano
The polishing cloth scratched the palm of his hand as he worked, its interwoven threads thick as ropes to him. He stopped long enough to switch hands. His discomfort took a backseat to her needs; she had always made that very clear. He looked up and over his work to watch her apply the finishing touches to her hair and makeup. She was ready.
“Is it done?” she asked without looking at him.
“Nearly.”
“Nearly what?”
“Nearly… mistress.”
“That’s a good little man,” she said, getting up and walking towards him. He braced himself for what followed, yet still felt his every bone rattle when she set her elbows on her dresser to give his efforts a closer look. The shock of her descent plucked a steel tooth inside the music box mechanism, as large as a piano key to him. The vibrating note tickled his ears, and he shook his head.
“It looks great! Thank you, little one,” she said, her breath a wind that played with his hair. He stood up and away from her reaching fingers and she picked up the ring he had been cleaning. His heart felt heavier now that she was leaving.
“Will you be out very late?” he asked, hating the needy tone in his voice. She was walking away, leaving him on top of the dresser when she turned her head and answered.
“I don’t know, little one. It’s a blind date, after all. Don’t wait up for me.”
D is for Dollhouse, the little place I build and furnish in the land of my imagination, and have begun to do so in real life as well.
A tiny home for a tiny man, it’s a place with miniature rooms, fixtures, bed, dressers, books, pots and pans; everything with a design faithful to the purpose of their comparably giant counterparts, but small enough so he can use them without my help.
This small house looks like a young girl’s toy, but it’s wired to provide him with a minuscule amount of electricity, and it’s connected to a water source as well, because a man needs to be able to shower and flush the toilet, no matter how reduced in size he’s become.
The doors and windows of this home are large enough to allow my hand entry when the time comes, and it always does, especially after kneeling on the floor to peek in, to spy on his little activities, especially those that relate to his need for water.
It’s also a home small enough that I can move from room to room, that I can lift with my hands and take with me wherever I go. If I never build one of my own in reality, if I never buy another miniature for it for the rest of my days, I’ll still have the one in my imagination to give to the little man that lives there.
* * *
P.S. I used to think the image above was a collage, but the little guy in the shower looks too much like a shrunken G.I. Joe, so I don’t know. Whether it’s something produced by one of us, or a publicity shot, I still like it!
Edit: Well, I found what seems to be the original image, so I’m inclined to think it’s (at least) partially a doll, given there’s a visible neck joint. It makes me wonder how effective it would be to use both doll body sections and images of real men to form a composite element for collages. Again, that’s something I’ll find out after I win the lottery, end world hunger and all wars, and enforce peace on Earth (or else).
I found these yesterday, and what woman wouldn’t love the idea of little ones in public service, protecting those things she needs throughout her daily life? This is a neat set of ads that also answers that age-old question: What careers would extremely small shrunken men be able to choose to earn a paycheck? Now we know.
If I had my own ad agency, this is the sort of ad I would be constantly compelled to churn out, and I would get paid the big bucks to do it. Now that would be a terrific, effortless way to earn a living!
It’s a game. I used to play it at my old blog in the way of entries, and at my favorite board as a thread. Possibly at other, conventional boards too, but if asked which ones I will deny it emphatically.
It’s certainly not a new idea, but back then I had not seen it done at giantess boards, and it (they, because it happened more than once) got a lot of participation that showed an intense level of creativity on the members’ part, and well-known authors in the community made it amazing to read.
I thought I’d publish one game entry here every Wednesday, until I run out. The first post described the rules, which were fairly straightforward (no collages will be included, just for variety… unless I happen to have something fitting at hand):
Describe a short scene using the two words (verbs, nouns, whatever) the previous member has provided for you.
You must use the two words that you are given in the previous post. A coherent manner is appreciated , and even better if silly and funny.
Make your scene as short as you wish, but it has to be about the reason we all are members of this board. I’d say the shorter it is, the cleverer it needs to be.
Don’t make it too long. I’d say no more than 200 words, but I ain’t gonna fuss at you if it goes over that a bit.
Leave two words (no more, no less) for the next member to use. Don’t make them too easy. Example: I give myself the words sock, and antenna.
Sock, Antenna
On Christmas morning he woke up excited to see what she had gotten for him this year. He jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, turning around the hallway corner that led him to his living room. He could not help but smile and shake his head when he saw that she had filled a red sock of hers with his gifts, instead of using the stocking that hung empty from his chimney.
He moved along the side of the sock toward its opening, and jumped in alarm when a whirring noise came out of it, the stretchy fabric rippling as something moved underneath for a moment, and then stopped. Curious to discover his first present and the source of the noise, he leaned closer, and shrieked as a huge insect came to life and walked out of the sock toward him, emitting terrifying sounds.
Staggering backwards, he shouted, “Turn it off! NOW!” and from outside his home he heard the thundering ripple of her amused giggles as the remote-control bug’s glowing eyes went dark, and each antenna and leg stopped moving.
* * *
Hmm… maybe when I run out of entries I’ll threaten ask my gentle readers if they would like to provide me with two words for each weekly entry. Nothing like a challenge to give me an excuse to write, although no word ever proved difficult for me to use in a vignette, given the extraordinary size of my brain.
(Which should make it easy for me to stop using the word “thundering” in nearly everything I write, goodness gracious.)
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.
1. The female presence is sorely lacking. What’s the meaning of that, Samsung people? Don’t you know I now begin to feel the want for an MP3 player, and because you didn’t have the foresight to include a womanly ear in which to place your little guys, I will dream of spending my money on a different brand? Agonize over that.
2. The uninteresting match between listener and music. Only a well-dressed guy listens to opera; the man with the inverted cap and bling must certainly be listening to rap, and the cliché sideburns belong to the Elvis fan. Boring, and absurd. Again, Samsung, weep as I plan to spend vast amounts of money on another player.
3. The little performers are slightly amorphous, with large heads that reach within the realm of caricature. Don’t you Samsung fellas realize that a well-proportioned little man would have done wonders to facilitate my fetishist thoughts desire to try your product?
Still, these ads are appointing in that they do show little guys thrusting their tiny heads into much larger orifices. Behold the great stretching of my imagination as I unfold it like a carpet upon the wasteland of their advertising failure.
* * *
Advertising Agency: Cheil Worldwide, Seoul, Korea
Creative Director: Joungrack Lee
Art Director: Jaewon Choi
Photographer: Junghoe Kim
Published: February 2008
I found these ads at Ads of the World as I have found others. While the existence of an ad doesn’t mean it was ever put to publicity use, it’s still nice to see that in many places there are creative people thinking about these things, and seeing potential in the visual message of size differences.
* * *
Advertising Agency: Storåkers McCann, Stockholm, Sweden
Art Directors / Copywriters: Jonas Frank, Sofia Ekelund
Photographer: Petrus Olsson, Adamsky
Published: April 2009
A few days ago there was a tiny black ant creeping on my DVD player’s remote control. I had placed the latter next to my keyboard when I spotted the little thing carrying a crumb. I don’t know what came over me, but I decided to flick it off to the floor. I did, but all I accomplished was to wrench the crumb from its grip.
I sat here, looking down at this insect which stood in exactly the same spot after my giant finger had slashed the air before it, and I realized I had only moved it close enough to take away its food. My mind, being what it is, had a lovely time picturing a shrunken man standing there, dumbfounded, after I do the very same thing to his food.
“Hey! What did you do that for?”
“I’ve told you before, dear: no food near the Mac.”
“But it was just a little crumb! I was gonna sit here on the remote, and watch you work while I ate my snack.”
“Rules are rules, little one.”
“But you could have hurt me! Your finger almost hit me! What if it had been me flying off the edge of the desk, and not my crumb?”
“I didn’t hit you.”
“You could have missed!”
“I never miss.”
“But-
And then he gives up, because I’ve already resumed my typing, my mind drifting to giant thoughts. He knows the power of accuracy, of physical dexterity when dealing with small objects is like a drug to me, and displaying it to him, making him feel how much taller I am than him with the simplicity of a finger speeding past him like a bus gives me such a high.
Sigh. Back to reality, I did experience an exquisite buzz when I saw what I had done, and imagined the above. And typed the above. And imagined typing the above. And….
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.
A comment by Petronius in this entry brought to my attention the works of Rafał Olbiński. I know some of us enjoy not only stories and collages about giantesses and shrunken men, but other types of media as well. For my part I love books, and I love art; and I combine those and collect art books when I get the chance to do so. I was a little surprised to never have heard of Rafał Olbiński, especially when… well, look at these images!
La Dolce Vita
La Dolce Vita – I wish I could tell you the reason behind the creation of this poster, because on one hand there’s Nino Rota, who wrote the music for the Fellini film with the same title, but on the other hand Krzesimir Dębski, a classical music composer, also has his name on the poster.
There’s no mention of a Dolce Vita ballet on the Internet or on a list of his works, so I’m just going to concentrate on the fact that there’s a giant ballerina wearing a coliseum as part of her dancing attire, and three men are carrying ladders in her direction.
That blue sky (actually the style of the whole painting) reminds me of Magritte’s work, sans the apples and the faceless.
La Traviata
La Traviata – Was the first opera I ever went to listen live. I love the opera. I sit here thinking of it, and my heart pounds. This poster was created for the New York City Opera performance of Verdi’s La Traviata in 1992.
Considering Violetta’s fate, it’s interesting to see her portrayed as larger than life, with whom I assume is Alfredo taking the place of her mouth.
Madama Butterfly
Madama Butterfly – Another magnificent opera I have had the bitter pleasure of seeing live. The poster was created for the Utah Opera 2000’s performance of Madama Butterfly.
If only she were that size, then Pinkerton would have some sense of regret for his cruel actions. He would most likely feel this sense of regret between his legs, from what used to be there.
It’s also possible that a giantess Butterfly would have rearranged Pinkerton’s face instead of killing herself and allowing another woman to raise her child.
The Tales of Hoffman
The Tales of Hoffman – An opera by Jacques Offenbach based on three short stories by E.T.A. Hoffman, and the poster was created for the Opera Pacific, which doesn’t seem to exist anymore.
I’ll skip my rants on why that might be, avoid an enraged diatribe about the state of music in this economy, and instead mention that this is a lovely poster. It reminds me of Kinuko Y. Craft’s illustrations, although not as exuberant.
Innocence of Courteous Intentions
Innocence of Courteous Intentions – A painting and not a poster. It makes me think of the Clash of the Titans movie, in which gods can see the little mortals through some sort of mirror or glass on a table.
I can’t remember it well because I haven’t seen it in so long, but I bet you know what I’m talking about, since in it the gods are giant.
Dammit, now I won’t be able to rest until I see what it was for myself. I’ll be back later. Gonna fish it out of my DVD collection.
(Later…)
Alright, it was some sort of toy amphitheater where the gods would play with the little clay people and thus change their destinies. There’s nothing about this image that implies this, but there’s something godlike about looking down at a city through the window of a kitchen table top, and observing the little people’s lives as they scurry about from place to place.
Tosca
Tosca – I assume this is another performance poster, as Tosca is an opera. Those puppet strings make for great interaction.
There are a few other images on the Internet byRafał Olbiński that show the size difference we like between men and women, if you would like to conduct a search for them.
I always thought Adrien Brody was creepy, but now that I've read the fuckface is a Polanski supporter, I'm steering clear[er] of his flicks. 4 days ago
Dear NBC, howya doin'? Rotting in hell going well for ya? Also, Rot in hell again for releasing "Life" sans original soundtrack. xxxoooxxx 4 days ago
I just bought my first mp3 online! Wow! I've finally joined the 90s. (And it's a Rap song, by the way. ) 4 days ago
Oh, and I had this great dream about a shrunken man. I'll try to type it up later, tonight maybe... unless I don't have any time. 3 weeks ago
I find it endearing when people say "irregardless" (thought it's a "word"), but want to beat them to a pulp if they type "should of". 3 weeks ago
