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.”
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.
Another old entry from my defunct blog I found in my Jedi archives! And the same as with the fictitious “computer series“, Theth has never mentioned anywhere that the following collages are part of any set of images, much less that the shrunken men in them are bots. It just so happens that my mind classifies them that way, but either way they are wonderful images.
* * *
"mpbed_a" by Theth
Of all the images I have added to my collection, Theth has created over a couple of dozen, and I can see a story behind every single one of them. The tale behind the image above came to me partly because of Jar Jar Binks.
Unlike what seems like the majority of Star Wars fans, I love Jar Jar. I was never one of those people that claimed George Lucas had “raped their childhood” with the way A Phantom Menace and Attack Of The Clones developed the story of the earlier films. There are other things in life I choose to be upset about.
Before APM was released, I did my fair share of Star Wars-related shopping, and one item I had to have was this:
Muy muy, I like it!
He measures nearly twenty-four inches in length, says a great number of phrases when I squeeze his hand, and vibrates to wake me up. Or used to, before I got tired of being snatched from slumber thinking a wrestling raccoon had slipped between my sheets. The most important thing is that it makes me smile.
Theth’s image made me think of a woman and the life she shares with her little toy robot. It inspired a poll about robots at GDC, and the following scene.
Little One
Amanda woke up at once, and the dim light in the room told her it would still be another hour before she would hear music coming from her alarm clock. Her cheek rubbed the pillowcase’s soft fabric as she cast her gaze on the small shape that lay next to her. Wrapped in her arms and legs, he looked asleep, but was not. Robots did not sleep.
She stared at his back, and the way it rose and sank in a way that emulated slow human breathing. She knew he would stay in that exact position until she moved him, and would continue to act as though he slumbered until the alarm clock went off. She had programmed him that way seven years ago.
Pleasure models could do almost anything these days. Hers was not one of the latest versions, yet she could have fixed it so he would wake her up; but after the first few mornings of his inhuman-yet-human hands pressing on her shoulder and his lifeless voice whispering in her ear, she had gone back to her clock radio, which didn’t begin to pretend to behave as a human.
Is this how it feels to go insane? she wondered. To know that I’m functioning at a normal capacity, and then it all snaps into disarray when I start thinking about him? It. IT! Dammit. There I go again. Seven years with no repairs, not even one maintenance check, no oil changes for you, she though. No wonder you are malfunctioning. But I’m “malfunctioning” too. Who’s gonna fix me?
"kk-lax02a" by Theth
Little One had always malfunctioned, though. Pleasure models were never supposed to ask “why” or its derivative questions, neither as factory preset, nor after customizing downloads. Only Logic models could do that, and Amanda could have never afforded one of those, but when she brought Little One from the store and began to dress him, he looked at her with those deep dark eyes, and asked her why.
“Why are you dressing me?” he had asked. She had been squatting like a mother tending to her child when he spoke, and the shock caused her to fall backwards. She could have sworn she heard him giggle but when she straightened her body and looked at him, his face was calm. Then he started dressing himself.
Itself.
All those years ago Amanda had thought of taking him back to the store to get a replacement, as she was sure they had given her a Logic model by mistake, but in the end she kept him, and she always thought her feeling of guilt over keeping something she had not paid for prevented her from having his processor checked.
His brain, as she helplessly thought of it. His behavior had been startling since the beginning, and she had always thought she should feel more alarm than she did. She had tried to feel some kind of revulsion at his random displays of humanity, but maybe her loneliness and the fact that he had made her writhe with pleasure in bed as no fully sized human ever had, made her decide to put up with what must have been a bored assembler’s joke.
"as_6" by Theth
Now she looked at his neck, at the code imprinted on it, bars and dots that meant nothing to her. She was dozing off again when he rolled over into her, startling her into a scream.
“Aah! What are you doing? You are not supposed to move yet!”
“I’m sorry. Amanda. I woke up, and felt you were awake too. Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Surprised, Amanda felt her mouth open in the shape of an ‘o’, but no noise came from it. When she thought of her morning breath and how it would bother him, she felt anger, and pushed him away, fighting with sheets that seemed to wrap around her legs like moving vines.
“Listen, Little One, you don’t move until the music comes on, alright? That’s what you are programmed for! And you don’t ‘feel’ anything. You are a thing, like the teddy bear my dad gave me on my eleventh birthday. I talked to it, but it was just a toy! It couldn’t smell my breath, and- STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!”
Little One was rubbing his chest where she had shoved him, his face expressionless, but his eyes… was that pain? Was he hurt?
“I’m sorry, Amanda. I won’t do it again.”
“Will not.“
“I don’t understand.”
“‘I do not. I will not. I am‘. Why have you dropped your contractions? I never programmed you to do that.”
He was silent a second too long. She could have sworn he looked as though he had been caught lying. A very human response. But he was supposed to be silent when faced with input he had not been programmed to process, right? She slapped her forehead with frustration. He imitated her. It was so unexpected, to see him do that, to hear that little hand hit what felt and sounded like skin, she burst out laughing. She rolled onto her back and did not stop laughing until tears filled her eyes.
“Little One, you are driving me to madness.”
“Are you angry?”
She wiped her tears with the balls of her hands and stared at him for a moment. “Yes. No. I don’t know. You confuse me. None of my friends’ toys act the way you do. Not even the Logic models. Do you understand what I’m saying? You act in a way that’s completely unexpected.”
“Have I displeased you?”
“No. But sometimes you frighten me.”
“Will you send me away?”
"eh-hug054" by Theth
“Of course not! I would never! Why would you think a thing- See, this is what I mean. You aren’t afraid I’ll send you away. It doesn’t matter to you. You don’t have feelings.”
Little One said nothing, and Amanda hated to think she had hurt him, his heart, whatever part inside of him that made him behave in this way. She shook her head, disgusted with herself.
“I’m not going to send you away. I paid a fortune for you. You are mine forever. And you keep costing me a fortune with all the metal you eat! Man, what a thing to do, to design a toy that runs on metal. I suppose I should be thankful my energy bills are low, and that stainless steel is so cheap these days.”
A whisper from him.
“Because you love me.”
“What?”
Amanda stared at him, at his unmoving lips, and thought she had imagined what he said. Did she imagine it because it was true? She pushed away the thought. It would return.
“Fix me some breakfast, Little One. Oh, and I got you these handcuffs. They were on sale for five dollars a pair at the pawn shop. I got you enough food for a whole year. Here!”
She stretched over the side of the bed bed and picked up a pair from the floor, where it had fallen from a cardboard box filled with them, and tossed it in his direction. He caught it effortlessly, his hand moving in a blur common to hummingbirds.
Such speed. Of course he’s a robot.
She smiled to herself and tossed his little tuft of hair before she got up and walked to the bathroom.
She did not see the distant smile on his face as he examined the cuffs.
You know it. Old blog repost. These four collages were the ones I liked the most back then, but now there are new images I enjoy from this excellent collager! There’s a bit of a puzzle in the mini-scenes, but I’m not sure it’s very obvious. What is clear to me is that I used naughty words in my old blog far more frequently than I do in this one.
Here’s a link to TheShrinkee’s Flickr gallery, the same one found in my blogroll.
* * *
Some time last year [2006] I was visiting Mystic Crunk’s board to see if Gcode had created anything new when a thread by TheShrinkee caught my attention. The title included the word “chess,” and since I enjoy the game, I took a peek to see what he had produced.
A few are not my cup of tea, but plenty are just fabulous. The images I’ve inserted here are my favorite. Just look at all the instant mini-stories they inspire.
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"shrunk-20" by TheShrinkee
“Look at him, dancing like an idiot.”
“Stop it. And be quiet, the rest of you. Don’t you see he’s about to die? We could be next!”
“Nah. We’ll be OK. We weren’t stupid enough to climb her body and arrive at her foot as though it’s some great reward.”
“Well, he does have a foot fetish….”
“If a fetish makes a person willingly- Did he just drop his pants? And what’s he doing to that giant toe?”
“I think I liked it better when he was dancing.”
“Speak for yourself- Oh my god, look! She’s seen him! She’s reaching for him!”
“Lloyd! Lloyd! Jump! She’s spotted you!”
“Lloooyd! Oh, I can’t look!”
“He’s gone.”
“Do you think he died happy?”
“I don’t know. I’m just glad I’m not in his place.”
“Yeah. We are lucky we found this nice, dark, safe place to hide.”
“And smar-”
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"shrunk-23" by TheShrinkee
“e4. Let’s try the Sicilian again.”
“In English. I have no idea what that means!”
“She moved the king’s pawn two squares forward.”
“OK. Now what do we do?”
“See if we can lure us a decent Wing gambit.”
“Just tell me what piece we are gonna move, fuckwit.”
“You have no idea what a Sicilian defense is, and I’m the fuckwit?”
“Gentlemen, may I remind you this is a timed game, and we are playing for our freedom?”
“Yeah. Like she’s gonna let us go if we win.”
“How many times have we won, exactly?”
“Zero.”
“We would have won last week if our genius Lloyd here hadn’t forfeited the game for a foot massage.”
“Hey, it was worth it, let me tell ya… Her big foot on me like that? I’ve never had so many orgas-”
“Shush! Help me move this pawn to c5. Oomph!”
“Damn, this is heavy! Humph- humph- Lloyd, I- humph- curse you! Humph- I hope her sister visits again, and she grows you a bit- humph- and then kills you while you are distracted fucking her toe! Hrrrmph!”
“There. Whew! Let’s see what she does n-”
“Oh, yeah? And I hope that right after I die happy, she sits her ass on you, and turns you into mush!”
“You know, little ones, I’m right here. I can hear you. Play quietly or I will disqualify you. In the toilet.”
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"shrunk-13" by TheShrinkee
“Run, you guys! Run for your life!!!”
“Dammit! Ever since that shrinking ray was invented, we men can’t even get a full day at the office in peace! Kinda funny, actually. Hahahahahahah!”
“Why are you laughing? Hahahahahahahah!”
“I don’t know. You are laughing too, actually. Oh, no! Wait! Lloyd has fallen, and he can’t get up! Hahahah!”
Lloyd: “Oh, yeah. Foot. Shoe. Lower that shoe on me, pretty foot… Hahahahah.”
“Lloyd, you IDIOT! Get up or we’ll be captured! Ouch! Now I’ve fallen. Hah.”
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"mega-17" by TheShrinkee
“So, why are we vacationing in Mexico again?”
“Because of the pretty pyramids like this one we climbed, and ruins and stuff.”
“And the fact that it’s the only country with giantesses makes no never mind to you, does it?”
“I’m just wondering why I’m away from the office for two weeks out of the entire year, and I choose to hang out with you guys.”
“That’s because you couldn’t get any woman from the office to travel with you. You are always creeping them out, the way you stare at their feet.”
“Yeah! You better not get us in trouble with the giantesses here! Here’s comes one now. Wow. Wow… hold on to something, guys. Man, she’s so tall….”
“Oye, mujer giganta! Yo piense su pie muy erótico parte de la humana! Yo quiere hacer cosas a su giganta dedos con mi órgano masculino!“
“Oh, no. Where did Lloyd get that translator? Quick, take it away from him! She looks angry!”
“Here she comes! Run! What the hell did you tell her, man?”
“I was just being my charming self! Aaaargh!”
“Let’s just hope shrinking rays are never ever invented, especially when we get back to the States!”
How can he ride tied up like that? Well, that's not my problem!
Motorcycles are in my blood. My father and uncles have owned and loved them, and consequently so do some of my brothers. Women in my family, not so much, unless I count that scooter my cousin rode for a while.
I’d like to think my love for motorcycles is in my blood, but I’ve never owned one, so I’m not sure. I am positive, however, that my dad is surprised he’s alive after all the accidents he had in his youth, back when helmets were for chickens. He stopped rolling under trucks and leaping over cars after he got married and started sprouting, as did my uncles after losing a few body parts. My cousin had a scooter accident as well, but I’m not counting it, since she hardly bled at all, and the scars don’t cover more than 0.1% of her body.
I probably never will own a motorcycle, and if I ever got the money to buy one I’d spend it on guns, but that doesn’t stop me from loving the idea of owning one someday and including them in my collages, so here’s my first motorcycle-related one. There are more in the works, and I repeat, they will be ready about the time we finally elect our first female president. Well, when you elect, since I can’t vote.
As to the inspiration for motorcycle collages… it falls smack between the adventurous and the ridiculous, and as a tall fan of both I felt prompted to write this little scene.
La Moto
I love having motorcycle races with my Little One. He has his own small one that looks like a toy that runs on batteries, one that couldn’t possibly catch up with the sleek monstrosity I ride, its engine too inadequate for the speeds mine reaches. Yet, invariably, he beats me every time.
How? I never know. All I know is that every weekend we get wake up and get ready for another race. We dress in the meanest fabrics we can possibly find, and wear the cruelest boots imaginable. We forget about the studs, though. He’s the only stud I need, in any case.
We ride to the dirt road where we always compete (you see, my Harley Goliathson is also a heretic dirt bike), and before we take off, we place our bets. If he wins, I have to make him dinner, and if I win, he has to do the same for me. You can imagine that at that size, the idea of cooking a meal for his giantess is terrifying.
Somehow, he never loses. He always takes off at the same time I do, and when I finally reach our dusty goal, he’s always there, pretending he’s napping, he’s been “waiting for me for so long”.
Until I discover he’s been putting Super Special Mega Giant Fuel in his little toy machine. When I find out this treachery, I decide to teach him a little lesson as we prepare to race again, and tie him up on his tiny motorcycle after its tank’s been filled up with toy petrol.
Somehow, he still wins anyway.
* * *
And this song is more appropriate for an entry regarding snipers, but it always plays in my head when I look at my collage.
Years ago I decided to play a word game at my old blog. There were rules, and basically it amounted to using any excuse to write about giantesses and shrunken men.
I played it with another GDC blogger who goes by Little Squid around these parts, and I’d give him two words, daring him to use them to come up with an interesting group of paragraphs, a poem, anything that would include interaction between a little guy and a much larger woman.
After completing his entry he would give me two words, and dare me to use them, and so on. We went back and forth like that for a while, and it was fun while it lasted.
This fake newspaper article is something that came to me as I was trying to figure out how to use the words stanchion and febrile for the game. I lifted some online newspaper article sections and Firefox browser elements because I was too lazy to come up with every single pixel on my own. I changed link names, logos, dates, and whatever error I might have missed is there to stay, because I’m done with it.
It was great to imagine a world where little people use something I think is called “The Pipeline” as their own little Internet, because everything web-related has names connected with their little underground routes, sewer passage ways, grass-level roads, etc.
I closed my eyes and I could see those little computers that aren’t PC or Mac compatible, but use their own insignificant operating system called Vereda (“sidewalk” in Spanish), and bitty people sign on to get on the Pipeline via Speedroach, their browser of preference.
And here’s what I imagined shrunken folks would see if they looked up “giantess Corelia”- Oh, and I love those fake ad links next to the fake article. I saved them a long time ago when they were entries during a contest at Giantess.com, obviously about fake ads. The first one was created by Dharker Syde, and I can’t remember who did the second one. If anyone recalls who it was, please let me know so I can make mention of it.
“Lie” is Gcode’s 34th collage. I like collaging and looking at collages, but every once in a while I see an image—mine or otherwise— that makes a scene explode into my mind, and in the best of scenarios, that scene becomes a story. I don’t have a large collection of collages, but the ones I’ve collected tend to be a window to an imaginary event that unfolds in my head, sometimes instantly. Those events are part of the reason for this blog.
Gcode is one of my favorite collagers. The elements he chooses for his images, the ways he puts them together often have a way of ending up in my head as a story. I’m not sure Gcode is still collaging, but many of his works can be found at Giantess City. I first saw the quality of his images at Pete’s place, where I found “Amazed”.
I was, indeed. After all those months of visiting boards, after all those collages that didn’t really do anything for me, here was an image that hit me just right, that was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to see more of. I’d have to say “Amazed” awakened the collager in me and sent me in the direction of Photoshop more than any other work at that time.
I love it. Seeing such great focus on the shrunken man; a great deal of care in cutting and blending; awesome edit work of light and color; the excellent combination of elements (that gorgeous sandal!)… it was new to me and just my cup of tea, so I started looking for his uploads.
"34-Lie" by Gcode
When Gcode shared this image at Giantess City, a few members of the community wondered who was doing the lying. When he responded in a thread, he mentioned he had created the collage as an acknowledgment to one of pintsize’s stories, A Truly Small Life. When I saw the collage, I thought of a much different setting, and I posted this at my old blog a long time ago, back when I was way fonder of the ellipsis.
I imagined the lady had entered a very exclusive store, the kind of place that can only be found in a world where people of reduced size find themselves caught like little animals, and sold to be used by those of comparatively immense size.
She went in looking for something very special for that night, or maybe even a little toy that would last the entire weekend. As it a normal occurrence when a woman enters a place filled with tiny men, many of them—the ones that don’t know what awaits them—clamor for her attention, desperate to be chosen and plucked from a life of loneliness and abuse, hoping that where they are taken they will be treated with some respect… or maybe they imagine being bought will afford them a chance to escape to those nooks and crannies where sewer rats live, to places where that giant light doesn’t reach, to freedom.
So she strides slowly, her heels sending shock waves up all those glass cages where the little ones sit or stand in display… she looks at them, considering her needs and rejecting one after another. The store owner, a man with unkind hands that have terminated many men that didn’t “sell well”, follows her greedily with his eyes, and asks her if he can be of any assistance. She ignores him, partly because she’s lost in thought of her plans for the night, and also because women like her feel above answering questions by men of his kind.
She moves to a different section of the store, where the tiny ones are caged individually. Ah! This is more to her taste… these are clearly superior specimens, bred to please the eyes and body of a woman, grown to live longer than one night. She stops her gaze on one particular model, a delightfully shaped man that happens to think she might be his only way out of slavery, and death. So he positions himself next to the glass in a way that causes the latter to make certain parts of him seem… bigger. Anything to catch her attention just a tad longer than any of the other little guys is to his advantage.
It works. She gasps, and comes closer. His trick doesn’t work for long, of course. She easily discovers his true girth once she lifts him for a closer look after giving the store owner a significant look… but it’s alright. She wants him. His body is the right size, after all.
I wrote this for the thirteenth day of the month of October in 2006, which fell on a Friday. I posted it at my old blog, and here’s the repost. Don’t eat too much candy, and stay warm.
I’m a fan of the horror genre in movies, books, and probably all possible media. It isn’t that I enjoy being scared, because I don’t. The horror genre doesn’t frighten me, and I derive great pleasure in depictions of fictional events that tend to cause the opposite reaction in others.
When I was very small and my mom took my brothers and me to see Alien, she struggled to cover three pairs of eyes every time something terrible happened to each member of the Nostromo’s crew. I struggled to stop her from doing that.
One could argue my mom shouldn’t have taken such small children to a horror movie of that sort, but I’m glad she did it just that once, because I loved that movie. You know that thing in children that makes them scream and avoid scary things? That fear mechanism that reacts to scary books or violent images never worked inside of me when I was a young girl.
I can’t begin to count the times my little brother (and sometimes my older brother too) begged me to let him drag his mattress into my room, because he was too scared to sleep alone, a concept alien to someone that had invariably been doing that since the age of two.
I was always giggling when Freddy was slashing and smiling when Jason was chopping, and my inclination for fiction of that sort permeates my thoughts as a giantess and as a shrinker of one tiny, defenseless little man. Not the sexy thoughts, but the ones that belong to the reader, the writer, the storyteller.
So don’t worry about the scalpel in my hand… shh, ignore the chains wrapping around your ankles and wrists, and listen as the slow drip of my words trickles down your spine.
Or your funny bone.
* * *
She wept, his side of the bed a colorless desert in the moonlight that filtered from the window she hadn’t closed in weeks. The little dunes of cotton that the sheets that should have covered him shaped blurred beyond the flow of her tears. The cold of October moved the curtains in the room, and she shivered, but refused to reach for the quilt that had fallen on the bedroom floor many unmade-bed days before.
If he was cold underground, so would she be, above it.
I’d do anything to have you here again. Anything.
She had the same thought all the minutes of each day. She had begged him to wake up when she saw his broken body on the cold slate of the morgue’s cold chamber. She had prayed to every god to return him to her, her promises shapeless words in her mind, but no god responded. Somewhere in the darkness of a world that no sane person can see, something heard her. It woke up with the smell of her grief tempting its appetite, and waited until she thought the word
-soul. I would give up my-
to act.
She woke up as though a gun had gone off in her head. She turned to look at her alarm clock. 3:34 in the morning. The quarter moon’s light had been swallowed by the same hunger that had taken the wind. She sat up, disoriented by something she couldn’t name. She looked at the clock again. 3:34 still, and she noticed the seconds blinker wasn’t moving. The only source of light in the room, its green glow looked like a photo. Her heart started pounding painfully as she realized she couldn’t hear anything.
Then it was over. Moonlight came to be again, and the clock’s light began palpitating in the room again. And she saw it.
In the white flat of his side of the bed was a small shape. She stared at it in recognition of the sweep of that shoulder, the narrow of those hips that had fit perfectly against her many times. It was him! No, it couldn’t be. This body was only a few inches in height. She covered with her hand the sharp gasp that her lungs forced from the air in the room when the tiny body moved to turn in sleep in that same manner he had always done. His arm moved to find her, and she thought she could hear him breathe.
She watched him without moving until her soul was collected from her body the moment he woke up.
He stretched his arm to seek out her warmth and felt the offense of thick, crisscrossed ropes scratching his skin where he lay. He remembered nothing of the accident, and opened his eyes and saw nothing but black. Where she should have been, his fingers touched the strange material that was their bedding. His throat felt dry as he spoke.
“Honey?”
There was no answer, but the silence in the room was heavier than words.
“What- what’s this on the bed?”
He looked toward her side of the bed and saw nothing but a mountain of darkness haloed at its summit by a green glow that pulsed behind it. Then the mountain moved. It sent a shock wave that hit him from underneath at the same time a cold wall of fingers coiled around him and lifted him in a tight embrace. Her voice ran through his body like a shattering glacier as the last word he ever heard guttered from her and her teeth closed around his neck.
Dear Santa, I would like to find some time to blog under my tree this Christmas. Awesome dreams, cool ads, nice thoughts, all awaiting. 20 hours ago
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. 2 weeks ago
Dear NBC, howya doin'? Rotting in hell going well for ya? Also, Rot in hell again for releasing "Life" sans original soundtrack. xxxoooxxx 2 weeks ago
I just bought my first mp3 online! Wow! I've finally joined the 90s. (And it's a Rap song, by the way. ) 2 weeks 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. 1 month ago
