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.

Those Korean Air ads!

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I just had to. Love them!

(Ten days later….)

This is what “I just had to” means: I had to post the video even though I still don’t own my own computer, because I really enjoyed it when I saw it on TV. Remember that poker face I’ve mentioned before? The one I sport when I spot media that relates to “this”? The kind that makes me hope no one notices what I’m thinking. Well, when this ad came on, I was so into it that I never noticed people in the room calling my name once, twice, three times. Nope, I was in my own giant world, wishing I was roaming those little cities, thinking That should be me one hundred times before I realized someone was trying to get my attention. 

The man in these ads should either be much smaller, or not there.


R.I.P. Vanya

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My Mac  that I had named Vanya (I name my Macs), is dead. No more posts until he’s replaced.

(I wish this was an April’s Fools’ joke, but it’s not.)

I’d choose the guy on the left

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Back when I was a moderately cute teenager with the kind of bottom that stopped traffic and compelled some men to pleasure themselves in public*, I met a man at work that called me shortly after he left, for no professional reason. He wanted me to go out with him. When I said “no, thanks” he mentioned he was rich. Rejected again, he started to list his possessions until I found it impossible to stay on the phone. I never asked him if what he did worked with other women, but it probably did.

The EstablishedMen.com ad is repugnant for a few reasons, mainly that I wasn’t raised under the impression that I had to find a man in order to enjoy the good things in life. I always imagined I’d get those myself. I never dated for money, I didn’t marry for money, and while I’m not going to pretend I know or understand every particular that makes joining such a website inviting to some women, I find it alien to my nature, and emotionally unpalatable. To have a good time with a man I have to like him physically, and mentally at least a little bit. I’ve had buckets of fun in a van down by the river, on a mattress in a house with no furniture, in a cheap hotel, in my goddamned front porch.

If I wanted Italian food, I’d cook it myself; if I wanted to got to a U2 concert, I’d pay for the tickets the way I’ve always paid for concert tickets. If I was in a situation as shown in the video, I’d go for the guy that can shrink when frustrated. He’d be far more capable of showing me a good time than the other fellow. The guy with more money can find himself a whore. He can afford them, after all.

*Though that probably happens to many female ass owners.

Explorer II

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Explorer II

Mustn't disturb her slumber. Or is it the other way around?

Once upon a time, when I was around eleven years old, I was in my room, reading in bed instead of sleeping. I did that frequently. This time was different from any other time because as I lay there with a book in my hands, I saw movement on the floor out of the corner of my eye. I’d like to tell you it was a tiny little boy my age who came out of the walls from his enchanted world to play with me, but instead it was a very cute gray mouse that thought it was alone.

Instead of shrieking or fainting as many stupid movies about women portray them doing, I simply observed it in disappointment. I had a dirty mouse in my supposedly clean room! It had to die. I moved an inch and it went back into my closet, where I could not find it. The next morning I hired assassins (brothers) to kill it, and the mouse was found and dead within minutes. None of that hippie “catch and release” crap.

But now, years later, I wonder what that mouse saw. No, OK, to tell you the truth I don’t give a damn about the mouse, but if it had been a little man, what would it have seen in my room? The idea of a shrunken man exploring my house has always had a great amount of appeal to me… and I think I like the notion of his exploring me a little better. The former scenario involves my finding him and learning about his adorable experiences in a world giant to him, and the latter is much more personal, as I’m his terra incognita.

Not for long, as he has nothing more important to do than learn about me, now that he’s only a few inches in height. Some of this higher learning takes place when I’m asleep, and he has temporary free reign over my body. I’m no longer taking gigantic strides away from him to go to work or do chores, and my actions no longer take place at a plane so much loftier than his. Now I’m his chain of peacefully rolling hills he can climb, explore, name, and love.

Sometimes he starts his ascent at my feet, but the hands are slightly easier. I can see him stopping to catch his reflection on the mirror of my fingernail. He can see his entire head and neck on it, and when he touches that glossy surface he feels my heartbeat pounding beneath it like a seismic promise; but my fingers are his friends: they are almost always what he sees first when he wakes up, and what caresses him last after I finally allow him to sleep at night. He’s not afraid.

I’ve pictured all the paths he can follow after he conquers my summit, and what he does as he travels there, but the end is always volcanic.

Collaging Notes

I found the background for this image a few days ago when exploring new collages at Giantess City. I didn’t save it because the image was very good, as it wasn’t: the tiny man was one we’ve seen countless times carelessly pasted onto images; his original background still visible as white pixels surrounding parts of his body, a drop shadow that didn’t have a thing to do with the rest of the collage, and his skin tone also unchanged. If I had any cojones de mujer I would have left a scathing comment, or at least some suggestions, but part of me feels people know that when they spend three minutes on a collage, the result isn’t going to be a fair prospect. Besides, there will always be GC visitors that like poor collages no matter what. Those one-handed comments make for a nicer read than any acerbic rants about lack of technique.

I saved the image so I could use the background, and give it the treatment it deserves. The original measured thousands of square pixels so I shrank it a bit, and then I added the shrunken man, a fabulously hot male model by the name of Radoslav Vanko. I was sorry to have to blur him a bit so he would match correctly with the rest of the image section in which I placed him. I also had to add a grain filter to his crisp image because the background was grainy originally. The rest was fun with darkening and lightening areas, adding shadows with the Drop Shadow Brush for highlights at a very low exposure so I could keep adding them until they felt right (especially next to his leg where it makes contact with her pillow), and using the Dodge tool where his body was too dark. That’s it. It didn’t take me five minutes, but I’m very happy with the result.

Shrunken Man of the Week: Andrew Cooper

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He takes good care of my books.

While in real life I have a more conservative taste in men, in my fantasies little guys are drop-dead gorgeous. I’m not above collaging average-looking people, but it’s perhaps unfortunate that these regular folks don’t sit around taking photos of themselves in various poses suitable for shrunken-men collages.

Because of the above fact, and because I refuse to use Underwear Guy in my collages, years ago I ended up looking for material in gay blogs. The men in these blogs are beautiful to an unrealistic degree. As a grown woman I haven’t tried to be superficial, at least no more than the rest of us, but when I’m alone with my thoughts, do you think I’m going to picture Underwear Guy, or Andrew Cooper? My cramped hand can answer that easily: the latter.

(My hand is not really cramped, but if I keep looking up this gorgeous man’s photos and videos on the Internet, it will probably fall off by Monday.)

As to my little bookworm (role that Andrew Cooper is playing beautifully), he’s just my little guy, doing those tiny tasks he loves to do for me. I love to read, so I’ve accumulated hundreds of books with the passage of years. Books get dusty, moldy, and invaded by silverfish. My sweet little man takes very good care of my books. He carefully removes dust and moisture with bitty squares of cloth he’s procured all by himself (I don’t ask him, he doesn’t tell me he cuts them from my most delicate garments), and he hunts down all paper and glue-eating insects that might try to infest my shelves.

You might think there’s nothing sexy about my tiny man’s actions as I just described them, but that’s as much nonsense as my trying to tell a giantess fan that imagining watching a very tall lady pull trees off your backyard in an effort to seduce you isn’t sexy. Not that she needs to do anything but pluck you and carry you off in the vise of her powerful hand, but there is something heart-pounding and magical about watching a being of a different size do something just for you.

Right before they get naked, that is.

I had the Audacity to change my gender…

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…and it only took a few seconds. I was at one of my favorite blogs looking at fun stuff to use later on for various purposes that don’t only involve collaging, when I spotted a video of Andrew Cooper. You probably don’t know who he is and that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that near the end of the video I found out that the fun tune that had been playing during it was sung by a woman (Kelly Clarkson), and not a man. The creator of the video had used Audacity to change the pitch of her voice, and make her sound like a man.

I’d heard of such things before, but in the opposite context of men making themselves sound like women. This was the first time I’d heard an example of the results (that I know of), and I was surprised at how convincing it sounded. I’d downloaded Audacity years ago, so obviously I had to try this! I sound awesome as a man. I’d totally call me on the phone all the time, just to hear my voice… unfortunately my tweaked voice sounds just like one of my younger brother’s, which is a tremendous turnoff. :lol:

No wonder some of you ask themselves if the people you deal with are truly who they say they are. If I had “dealings” with anyone online and it turned out he was a she, I’d not be insanely happy about the deceit. That sort of thing will never happen to me though. I’m fairly sure most of you have penises. :)

I now introduce to you Andrew Cooper, insanely hot man that should be collaged more often (which is why he’s my next Shrunken Man of the Week):


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