tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44391901608209623652024-03-13T14:20:40.900-07:00Fetish VillageThe official blog home of Taedis and Shrink Inc, serving the micro/macrophilia community since 2015. Sometimes smutty, sometimes not. Hopefully always interesting.Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.comBlogger187125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-79165396637680239312023-06-11T07:39:00.001-07:002023-06-11T07:39:37.792-07:00The Out of Timers (A Love Letter To SizeCon 2023)<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Out Of Timers</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A Love Letter To SizeCon</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">copyright 2023 Taedis</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">Tags: suggestive and crude language</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This is the one that fails, right?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. 2023 SizeCon. That's, like, right in the middle of Coven.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Covid. And it's more like the tail end.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But everyone catches it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They didn't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thanks, Professor Exposition.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“One of us had to read the damn brochure, Merci.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“History is boring.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Then why are we here?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's different. This isn't words on screen, this is people.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You got a point.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“People who are about to fail.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They do not fail.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok, they all didn't get … whatever. Just the SizeCon gods.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They were not gods. Ok, maybe Jitensha and Chwani. And you're right they got it. But you're wrong about everything else.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And I suppose I'm wrong comparing Jitensha in her hotel suite to Tantalus in Hell. Or is Ncuti Annveig a dumbass too.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's no way you read <i>Wolf At One</i>.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I have layers.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I thought history was boring.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It is. But my SizeLit 101 professor was hot.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't need …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I wanted her cock so bad I could taste it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I … what do you want to do next?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Get small and ride around in your mask all day.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can't. We left the Kelton back at home.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. Back at home. Real shame about that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You didn't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No!”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Good.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I mean why would we travel through time to the dawn of SizeCon with a machine that could safely shrink, grow, inflate, expand any person or body part with a thought? That'd be awesome. Sorry. I meant 'irresponsible'.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This is why we're banned from the Jurassic.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Those butterflies had it coming.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What do you want to do? That doesn't kick the space/time continuum in the crotch.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This whole thing was your idea. You pick.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We can try the escape room. That ought to be ready to go again after lunch.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is it <i>Revenge of the Puppet People</i>? Professor Hot Cock RAVED about that one.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't blame her, but we're a few years early. The brochure says it's <i>Escape The Toy Chest</i>. They rate it the third hardest one Syrus Durham made before he passed the torch to Aliana and BetterCallSmol.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's one hour.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I figure we can make a swing around the vendor's hall.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We already did that. And we can't buy anything anyway. Even if you had the dimples to pick up anything you know they aren't gonna let us smuggle it back.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Dimples?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You know … gonads.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I think your slang translator's off a couple decades.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Whatever. That room's full of treasure and we can't lick a drop. Like Jitensha in Hell.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want to check out the Size Library and Museum.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I thought we were in New Jersey.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We are.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's in Minneapolis.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's just the Library. The Museum ended up in Concord when they got too big to be in one place. But that doesn't happen till … it's going to be a while. Right now the SlaM's sitting on a purple tablecloth a couple walls over.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That is not the Size Library or Museum.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Everything's gotta start somewhere.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I didn't see any hat. Just some tall lady with a purple fetish.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It was on the table. The AC was straining and she took her hat off. You'd have noticed if you weren't going gaga over Aborigen.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Gammy Campbell quoted him in her wedding vows. You know how much I love Gammy Campbell. And while we're on the subject of gaga … what's the deal with you and sweater dude?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I have no idea what you're talking about.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The dude with the sweater that was clearly made for him. The one who looks completely overwhelmed and totally zen at the same time.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Robclassact?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's him? He looks nothing like his portrait.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“He was 85 when they painted that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So today he unveils his first book.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That room is full of first edition copies of <i>Napalm Rosetta</i>? Screw the fuzz; I'm shrinking a dozen and smuggling them back up my butt.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“He doesn't even start that for another ten years. I thought you took SizeLit.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Never said I passed. Kinda stopped listening after …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>Short Stories About People Getting Bigger.</i> That's his first book.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Never heard of it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's more a 200 level class. Not as well known as his later works, but still a classic.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You sure know a lot about Robclassact.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can the ballon juice and squeal.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do me a favor and don't talk to any of the natives till we can get that translator fixed. That was painful.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Painful shmainful. Talk.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My great grandmother did one of those penny tests when she was a teenager.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If that sentence was supposed to mean anything, I think you need your own translator repair.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She was the last generation to have one cent coins. Called 'em pennies. The government lost money keeping them in circulation, but made up for it with all the genetic samples they collected. Grandma's test showed she was the great great etc grandniece of ButterRiceBooty.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The guy who shot Robclassact?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The woman who married him. The world renowned artist who painted his Smithsonian portrait.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I was kinda close.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My aunt was named after her. I was named after my aunt. So …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's where Butty comes from?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Where is she?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Around. I don't know. I want to get a look, but it's better from a distance. Don't want to wipe myself out of existence. Long as we're wearing these and we don't talk to her, she'll give us a wide berth.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The green wristbands?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She's the Con photographer. Green wristbands mean we don't consent to have our pictures taken. It's like she's a vampire, pictures are our blood, and this is garlic.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I thought they were just real bad at bondage in olde tymes. Like they hadn't discovered knots yet.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You'd be amazed what they've thought of.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Anything else I should know about? Other than you stalking your celebrity ancestor. Alleged celebrity ancestor.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's a lot going on in the world out there. The Tennessee drag ban is about to be lifted.'</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're not making sense again.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Neither was Tennessee. Let's see. What else? … Somewhere out there, Lupita Vega's mom is pregnant with the greatest Size artist to ever walk the planet.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Wow.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A couple thousand miles from here Elle Largesse and Psuedoclever are having there first face-to-face meeting.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“'What if … a tiny person and a really giant person had SEX?' … Best first line ever.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thought you failed SizeLit.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not heartless.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And inside these walls two hundred souls are laughing, singing, and connecting. Alexa Ballon Girl is going to take that magic and make it bloom in South America. They'll be getting their first SizeCon. That himbo in Boy Toy leather is close to being fully recovered from their carpal tunnel. The Assistant'll be drawing and playing video games better than they were before.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How long?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“South American SizeCon or himbo playing Fatal Frame?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Either. Both.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Soon.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's no answer.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It won't feel like it to them. But … soon.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe I was wrong.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Mighty big of you to admit that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't pun me when I'm being serious.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Wouldn't dare.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe I got the dates wrong. '27 must've been the one I was thinking.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“'29? I know it was an odd number in the boring 20's.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know what you're thinking of, but it's not SizeCon.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. You've filled me with the spirit of SizeCon, but nothing's perfect.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Over the years it had its stumbles, but it never failed.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How'd they pull off that miracle?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“All those laughing, singing, connecting people. Here and thousands of miles away. They won't let it.”</p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-81258390334381625892023-06-11T07:26:00.002-07:002023-06-11T17:12:29.724-07:00SizeCon 2023 Post Four: The Meat of the Matter<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAVr8Z97ETkAB3NjO5k0PBwRYPWALgoc8aN6EH6-4E4XUFLNlWZnO-Dk8DKkB6TN5uSSxX13R3HGOlOi3vVouND16Ie1xQALODANSCMX1EW8qpeTbpwcIBxWA43peDXyqd6-wyqkaWPrBgXY9QZnygZoiY2mR05nW15Vqvlqg-jEzMOMAwImVpc-S/s3000/Size%20Con%2023%20Poster_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2666" data-original-width="3000" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTAVr8Z97ETkAB3NjO5k0PBwRYPWALgoc8aN6EH6-4E4XUFLNlWZnO-Dk8DKkB6TN5uSSxX13R3HGOlOi3vVouND16Ie1xQALODANSCMX1EW8qpeTbpwcIBxWA43peDXyqd6-wyqkaWPrBgXY9QZnygZoiY2mR05nW15Vqvlqg-jEzMOMAwImVpc-S/w640-h568/Size%20Con%2023%20Poster_2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Promotional poster made by Capp.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p>Jesus Christ, I needed this.</p><p>So very badly.</p><p>Before I go any further I want to thank all of the people who made SizeCon possible. Jitensha, Chwani, Astra Ebonwing, Penner, Robclassact, Supertinyvicki, Giant Gripper, The Hypester, Praedatorius, and many many more. Cons are never easy things to coordinate and you all stepped up and did so much. </p><p>There were some problems. The sorts of things that might break other cons. I won't rehash all of the bad luck; I'd rather praise the people (listed above and others) who pushed through and made the event not only work, but be magical. You are all amazing. Thank you.</p><p>I've already gone over my experience recreating a vintage Size postcard with Irene Silver and M31. As well as my gender expression during the Con and the SLaM. The first needed to come out fast. I was (and still am) so happy about the way it came out. The others wound their way through the Con experience. I wanted to give them their own posts in order to keep this final SizeCon 2023 post from getting too dense.</p><p>This is about my overall SizeCon experience. I don't own pom poms, but I'll be playing the part of cheerleader in this one. </p><p>Like 2020, this year's SizeCon was held in Piscataway, NJ. The hotel is under new management, has been renovated, but is still at the same address. I personally had no issues with check-in, but I've heard stories about those who did. Overall I think the hotel works pretty well for us. The rates were decent, the space we had was big enough, and the staff seemed ok with people walking around in fetish gear. And the food that came with the meal plan was much better than what we had in 2020. </p><p>Most of my time was spent at my booths. Selling my books and showing off the SLaM. I think that is a perfect way for someone like me to attend a Con. My default mode is introvert. I can be social, but I need a nudge. An excuse. Once I have that excuse ... I make friends and influence people.</p><p>It felt like a light year for me in terms of panels. Maybe that's because it was spread out over three days instead of two. I ended up moderating three (Microphile, Size History, and Diversity) and being on one (Writers).</p><p>It's hard to say which of those first three I got the most out of. Microphile had some interesting topics discussed. I got to hear the thoughts of some Size folks I'd just met (Hollewdz and Kat) as well as old friend Addie.</p><p>The Diversity Panel ended up being the most intimate. With everyone pulling in, it felt a bit more like a social than a panel. With some of the group talking, the rest listening and asking questions.</p><p>Size History was the biggest panel. We were blessed this year to have so many distinct voices. Gary Pranzo, BustArtist, Capp, Losweet, Aborigen, Kat, and EaterJolly. Sadly, Katherine Gates was unable to attend. Tragically, Larry Philby passed away. They were both missed. Not only on this panel.</p><p>The question of diversity came up at the Size History panel. It was (rightfully) pointed out that all of the panelists (and me) are white. It made for some interesting discourse. I honestly think that when this panel is held in 2050, many of the old folk talking about how things were back in the 2020s won't be so monochrome. In the meantime I'm going to see if I can track down the gentleman behind Black Giantess magazine and invite him to the next Con. If anyone reading this knows any other POC Size folks from back in the day, let me know.</p><p>The Writers Panel was good. I ended up sharing some of my issues with writer's block and the work/life imbalance that led to it. Aborigen got to hear more details after the fact when we were unwinding in our room. He is a very kind, thoughtful person and an excellent friend.</p><p>Highlights for me were the SizeCon radio play featuring Praedatorius (who also wrote it), The Assistant, Giant Gripper, Lushaani, Robclassact (who wrote the commercial parody), and Rooster. Everyone had their moments to shine, but Gripper knocked our socks off as the over-the-top pitch man in the commercial. I'm amazed he was able to speak again the rest of the Con.</p><p>Karaoke was also fun. The night began with Brian DVD's rendition of "I'm Too Sexy" complete with choreography. Other standouts include Mabo, Lord Dimitrescu, OnyxKim, KG (who gave us feels even if he didn't want to), Fort, and Kat (who also organized the event). I could go on. It was high energy, fun, and I'm looking forward to attending next year.</p><p>I've mentioned Addie's BDSM presentation in another post, but have to mention once again how informative and interesting it was. </p><p>I'm looking forward to the Size film Praedatorius and The Assistant riff next year. This year's was Attack of the 50 Foot Woman starring Jess (you had to be there).</p><p>Aborigen is starting a Size Riot 'zine. I heartily endorse it. If you're interested, please reach out to him.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisFBDkCe631FJdr3aJBDiESqxr4lo4CTmYzprflBrRUCBTRb4oC8cH1vARP-5Muz49zgCpW6KeEupjc8fnuHhaLzZMhuGyO3PZ9XC0Akr6i_nVwQSWTrZxjNlYkoL6kCrQNGbeYSeWD7K2JXB1t3e6SlO0BNoCcrUPpK1T0ANzpfNOJEF91zRyTrQ/s4080/PXL_20230606_145611482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiisFBDkCe631FJdr3aJBDiESqxr4lo4CTmYzprflBrRUCBTRb4oC8cH1vARP-5Muz49zgCpW6KeEupjc8fnuHhaLzZMhuGyO3PZ9XC0Akr6i_nVwQSWTrZxjNlYkoL6kCrQNGbeYSeWD7K2JXB1t3e6SlO0BNoCcrUPpK1T0ANzpfNOJEF91zRyTrQ/w482-h640/PXL_20230606_145611482.jpg" width="482" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Robclassact released his first book. Copies will be made available shortly. If they haven't already.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimz-ozqvXP3_KnGLENJfl2xVNgrkK-WsANfd4ulqGtkKLmIdxdqvSFGARrcD7tlBb-neHbir9DTMXECCbGL6v138mbri9aiY8lA4X0nUb1T5ggFSvmWcdbHnDUnhSGAU3j_BvgDoSuFrL8RLee4H1AhoAlTlXiX-au-chaZ1bLPTG5ckqFOPGIshsc/s4080/PXL_20230606_145503523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimz-ozqvXP3_KnGLENJfl2xVNgrkK-WsANfd4ulqGtkKLmIdxdqvSFGARrcD7tlBb-neHbir9DTMXECCbGL6v138mbri9aiY8lA4X0nUb1T5ggFSvmWcdbHnDUnhSGAU3j_BvgDoSuFrL8RLee4H1AhoAlTlXiX-au-chaZ1bLPTG5ckqFOPGIshsc/w482-h640/PXL_20230606_145503523.jpg" width="482" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>There were too many friends to count. Several I wanted to spend more time with, but weren't able to. Syrus Durham was running the escape room. Miss Kaneda was being dragged a thousand different directions. BetterCallSmol and Alianaeats got pulled in even more.</p><p>Over the course of four blog posts you'd think I'd have mentioned everyone who touched me, chatted with me, or in some way became part of this wonderful experience. That isn't the case.</p><p>There's (Tasty)Ace, Jay Phylla, Saadow (I hope I got the name right, we shared some meals, and talked about your wrestling career, among many other things), PNGWill, and so many others, I feel guilty not saying your names. If we talked at all last weekend, you made a difference in my life. Thank you.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-49056299182764795842023-06-09T12:45:00.000-07:002023-06-09T12:45:29.410-07:00SizeCon 2023 Post Three: SLaMming<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCszGc1G-6kRSbyXR8V5i1LZTqUxaz9ssuxNpB_UlgSpvRcBWCvRKa1B0NJV054gCC3xoBAxiJhkf0lNqLIwBO0RA2814nqFWkoydJsO1WtIjmL0ORgMKDErT-nB5AYS9P8MI6gBECLIuRel6S-_goLsPKAM1lMBMfrm00ufpsWApVcFo8vnrTjIC/s13200/Capp%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="13200" data-original-width="10192" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCszGc1G-6kRSbyXR8V5i1LZTqUxaz9ssuxNpB_UlgSpvRcBWCvRKa1B0NJV054gCC3xoBAxiJhkf0lNqLIwBO0RA2814nqFWkoydJsO1WtIjmL0ORgMKDErT-nB5AYS9P8MI6gBECLIuRel6S-_goLsPKAM1lMBMfrm00ufpsWApVcFo8vnrTjIC/w494-h640/Capp%202.jpeg" width="494" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just one of many pieces of original art by Capp.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">SizeCon 2023 was the event where the Size Library and Museum (SLaM) made its public debut. Some things worked very well; there are others I want to improve for future Cons. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'll take any blame for anything that went wrong, but the credit for this goes to two men. <a href="https://thereshegrows.net/" target="_blank">SolomonG</a> and legendary giantess artist Capp. SolomonG is the leading expert on Size in both pop and fetish cultures. I've had the pleasure of passing along research to him from some of the niches I cover. We've been in regular contact for years, sharing little gems we've found, bouncing ideas back and forth, and overall nerding out over Size.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Capp and I had bumped into each other a couple times on forums, but I didn't connect the knowledgable Size historian I was responding to with the person who drew some of the most powerful giant lady art I've ever seen. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thankfully, SolomonG set me straight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Over the years Capp has put together a collection of original art. Not only his own pieces, but those drawn by friends in the community. He wanted it preserved for posterity. A wish he mentioned to SolomonG. I'm not certain how my name came into the conversation, but I was asked if I'd be interested in being a curator for them. After some conversations, Capp very generously trusted me with this treasure.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of the things we all agreed on was that this material would be made available to the public. Capp was very keen to have them displayed at SizeCon as well as being made available for free online. The online part is going a little slowly. The art has been scanned, though there are some pieces that were too large for my scanner. Those have been done in parts. Those parts are being digitally sewn together even as we speak. At some point I'll get off my lazy ass and make a website to house them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was shortly before this that I started going down a Size memorabilia rabbit hole. I became obsessed with finding the script to an alleged sequel to <i>Attack of the 50 Foot Woman</i>. (Thanks, SolomonG for putting that bug in my ear. :) ) One that the original screenwriter claims to have written (possibly called <i>Daughter of the 50 Foot Woman</i>). I dug up an obscure reference to a copy being sold in a Hollywood bookstore years ago and tried my damnedest to find it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I didn't.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What I did find was a world of Size movie memorabilia that I've slowly started accumulating. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And the vintage postcards.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And the original film scripts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was already collecting comics, so that doesn't count, right?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of the things I liked about SizeCon '20 was branching out into other areas of Size at my booth. Instead of only selling my (NSFW) books I brought along some size-y mainstream comics. If someone wasn't interested in NSFW content or my particular take on Size (we are big, we contain multitudes), I was still able to chat about the SFW comics. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wanted to share Capp's archive, but I wanted there to be other options. Our culture has been swimming in Size forever. There's an ocean out there; I've got a few drops to share.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was already planning to rent a full booth at the next in-person SizeCon. The half table I had in 2020 felt a little cramped with the comics. It was a no-brainer to get the full table once I knew I had more to share. Through various circumstances I ended up getting bonus space. Two tables, side-by-side. I was effectively running two booths. The one where I was selling; and the one for sharing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Running one booth can be frantic. Two? It was challenging at times. But totally worth it. It felt so good being able to talk to people about this stuff without having to make a pitch or talk about things from memory. You like tiny ladies? Take a look at these pages from <i>Divas and Dames</i>. You've heard about Katherine Gates' <i>Deviant Desires</i>? Flip through my copy. If you like what you see, find a copy online and support her work. And did you know there were a metric buttload of Size postcards?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not only did the SLaM get seen, it grew. I purchased prints and books from my fellow vendors. My budget wouldn't allow me to get a copy of everything everyone was selling, but I ended up picking up more than I normally do. Trying to reach outside the kinks I have, to include ones that other people would appreciate. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I also received donations.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghvKyavM_o8I6x50KdD4Jib8Wki1C_O9dLx6fGRXbSg43rFD7iFKdwcBL0ZH9M5tvqbKBtwB8ZW5ZXPfix2_E6f_NLnt1XxsBy7utr9a2YujXYkxAfDowbDN3FU_TmpTrNJSse7g2iphrJGNuhKMnauk-M6tb8M4GPeKFkVrNba5Ftp0YExDoJkK3i/s4080/PXL_20230606_142901293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghvKyavM_o8I6x50KdD4Jib8Wki1C_O9dLx6fGRXbSg43rFD7iFKdwcBL0ZH9M5tvqbKBtwB8ZW5ZXPfix2_E6f_NLnt1XxsBy7utr9a2YujXYkxAfDowbDN3FU_TmpTrNJSse7g2iphrJGNuhKMnauk-M6tb8M4GPeKFkVrNba5Ftp0YExDoJkK3i/w640-h482/PXL_20230606_142901293.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A complete set of the giant Monopoly money from Syrus Durham's escape room.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-U7aEAHv9C10m0iWXRZRbk5lhS0LdMrLzQpbaEZrJN7_i4Uoijzd9vtsrEg9Iy7lyRoKa4kLt-aAvDkvQTH2e4YSV66tuOmN4Eak2CExR1_D2CPo5h5e5iz8yvrWjQ-eU4Zw5rgXpe19OLuiLKIMqMgotfIRDt4CbSncFDYB2Pc0semhAb0MgIykC/s4080/PXL_20230606_144339837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-U7aEAHv9C10m0iWXRZRbk5lhS0LdMrLzQpbaEZrJN7_i4Uoijzd9vtsrEg9Iy7lyRoKa4kLt-aAvDkvQTH2e4YSV66tuOmN4Eak2CExR1_D2CPo5h5e5iz8yvrWjQ-eU4Zw5rgXpe19OLuiLKIMqMgotfIRDt4CbSncFDYB2Pc0semhAb0MgIykC/w640-h482/PXL_20230606_144339837.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilV_9ymuK-HJ4SEUM4oclQ8JEHE1VLpavfHv0Eq_0MiUrOXt0u9o35ZwOZxXRAUm6iZmJAhZiEUn7qWpSzLQl6VXAUJ7hD7XaC_AOBWHuw5R4NDqwqKqnp3o157P_GLf8YgDiraSPMbc-9B-9bfqrEO7MojlR1MccJ1T01vLVxJw75XScOHr9c4T8q/s4080/PXL_20230606_144405379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilV_9ymuK-HJ4SEUM4oclQ8JEHE1VLpavfHv0Eq_0MiUrOXt0u9o35ZwOZxXRAUm6iZmJAhZiEUn7qWpSzLQl6VXAUJ7hD7XaC_AOBWHuw5R4NDqwqKqnp3o157P_GLf8YgDiraSPMbc-9B-9bfqrEO7MojlR1MccJ1T01vLVxJw75XScOHr9c4T8q/w640-h482/PXL_20230606_144405379.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These cool Japanese sushi girl toys donated by Linkums.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZHY4aoF_8Yf2EBku-1zuUOhR55ZQzSgsu-Njw0EM-fTyT7sETylIPxc_SF47ZX98KZqszSgLrE9ktLpJrBIoBV_oytVXyLHeUiJCBefpdu4fC8YmLtGwfxOixsZ6UfMB4oORveQCl2B_O8_-3HD5uzc2ynFLOVtgxZWXexDEJQETsF1oQ6NNdvAQK/s4080/PXL_20230606_144414601.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZHY4aoF_8Yf2EBku-1zuUOhR55ZQzSgsu-Njw0EM-fTyT7sETylIPxc_SF47ZX98KZqszSgLrE9ktLpJrBIoBV_oytVXyLHeUiJCBefpdu4fC8YmLtGwfxOixsZ6UfMB4oORveQCl2B_O8_-3HD5uzc2ynFLOVtgxZWXexDEJQETsF1oQ6NNdvAQK/w400-h301/PXL_20230606_144414601.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This inspirational placard, also donated by Linkums.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pRT58gIZp9ikxq89s6vV4m-vn3ugzdozlPbLxphpMwPP34aG_x975MCOAfVY3TsXMNkwXk4I5QPDqkKtT602aH0eucft8-caIWuGr11jb0OoccE0QMs7bJi05W9q4wee2qn6KcTknL2DEblAF9TW5v86JVuEnA8N3-5STr5JbXae0CJTrcbxLh8x/s4080/PXL_20230606_145611482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pRT58gIZp9ikxq89s6vV4m-vn3ugzdozlPbLxphpMwPP34aG_x975MCOAfVY3TsXMNkwXk4I5QPDqkKtT602aH0eucft8-caIWuGr11jb0OoccE0QMs7bJi05W9q4wee2qn6KcTknL2DEblAF9TW5v86JVuEnA8N3-5STr5JbXae0CJTrcbxLh8x/w482-h640/PXL_20230606_145611482.jpg" width="482" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new 'zine Aborigen's getting off the ground.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNu7_LGZVBBSQdj8TJRHY_IxcknpV6JlZT3ALpyPK_ij3Z1WPK-6TdA7kCe-XyVD56zC-ofi-yi3SiLrVv2R4h5aZO8hEKWXXy6qnUXdmrIVTolh2j6AXJH3j7bOK99jVadAoDVscuqqk0tcUpCoWeO04sBGOJYA9xn0RrMEDoDkLUBxSB6lCrA0n/s4080/PXL_20230606_145631628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNu7_LGZVBBSQdj8TJRHY_IxcknpV6JlZT3ALpyPK_ij3Z1WPK-6TdA7kCe-XyVD56zC-ofi-yi3SiLrVv2R4h5aZO8hEKWXXy6qnUXdmrIVTolh2j6AXJH3j7bOK99jVadAoDVscuqqk0tcUpCoWeO04sBGOJYA9xn0RrMEDoDkLUBxSB6lCrA0n/s320/PXL_20230606_145631628.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More fun Aborigen stuff.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIthWG3jkCCfXGy3au9RlqOBDxSyd6VVHPvHO4PSqkb65moYg3cFHl6MGgHZN-DDMUSAxAMaIi0vPN-WpOeUqzzcbNrp0ipQAp0zOqCYNslLXRUDqHo-1fwGAKxowyK9-yF3RmAnTQK9T2THpqdaUr3swUVM_bvPwSzuUGC8cIpxiEkP_ZJ8apgY20/s4080/PXL_20230606_145503523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIthWG3jkCCfXGy3au9RlqOBDxSyd6VVHPvHO4PSqkb65moYg3cFHl6MGgHZN-DDMUSAxAMaIi0vPN-WpOeUqzzcbNrp0ipQAp0zOqCYNslLXRUDqHo-1fwGAKxowyK9-yF3RmAnTQK9T2THpqdaUr3swUVM_bvPwSzuUGC8cIpxiEkP_ZJ8apgY20/w482-h640/PXL_20230606_145503523.jpg" width="482" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robclassact's first book. Find a copy. Buy this.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CvD7spMl8BQAP6dLlEKXerWLC4zLaFh4tAjghNZbMcIRjQASRWnwUU3r7k7yrhDyNQHNxmxGpMBPds_ht24_LLV_j_3A-Leglg9mHzwQ99NGY8CkdybaByJAIsHoOwTh2RbqeFuyJaWwEVCBQB-xtgya6w72JshpJlXZD_cax0-8_9WykwpTjDYv/s4080/PXL_20230606_144739708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CvD7spMl8BQAP6dLlEKXerWLC4zLaFh4tAjghNZbMcIRjQASRWnwUU3r7k7yrhDyNQHNxmxGpMBPds_ht24_LLV_j_3A-Leglg9mHzwQ99NGY8CkdybaByJAIsHoOwTh2RbqeFuyJaWwEVCBQB-xtgya6w72JshpJlXZD_cax0-8_9WykwpTjDYv/w640-h482/PXL_20230606_144739708.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candrin's Commission Sheet</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>On the whole, I think it was well received. Things I need to work on in the future (other than getting a website up) are increasing the range of materials covered (a gentleman asked about gay male content, which I have next to none) and displaying the original art better. I have used some of the money I made selling books at the Con to buy some better portfolios. I'm fortunate enough financially to be able to turn the money I made at my table into improving SLaM. Either in getting better display supplies after the fact or buying things at the Vendors' Hall.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you attended the Con and saw my booth, please let me know what you thought of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you're interested in making a physical donation please send them to:</div><div><br /></div><div>Joan Morgan</div><div>20 Highland Street</div><div>Laconia, NH 03246</div><div><br /></div><div>I can be reached via e-mail at mr.taedis@gmail.com</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you and have a lovely rest of your internet.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-1791998746307510712023-06-08T12:53:00.002-07:002023-06-08T13:02:40.652-07:00SizeCon 2023 Post Two: Three and A Half Days Skirt<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8ZxzvFgp84YD77JBT0DPcwVQBJmjV99EFBfVz-mMjhIaCZKuREtICd9B8zJG07F6xpOgMwJ4KMzXVqVB4YYt8vQpER5Na4_HrMQIljJDJ66kffHegSZ9_LxuNIzfwjBbYgpbu23VoWd1XQvRLGbkCVTjjmWKsL27-8x21V8FAXHojvQgcOekR_sG/s4080/PXL_20230606_144727518.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8ZxzvFgp84YD77JBT0DPcwVQBJmjV99EFBfVz-mMjhIaCZKuREtICd9B8zJG07F6xpOgMwJ4KMzXVqVB4YYt8vQpER5Na4_HrMQIljJDJ66kffHegSZ9_LxuNIzfwjBbYgpbu23VoWd1XQvRLGbkCVTjjmWKsL27-8x21V8FAXHojvQgcOekR_sG/s400/PXL_20230606_144727518.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me. Art by Lushaani</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I didn't spend all of the six hour drive to SizeCon staring at my purple fingernails, but I'd be lying if I said they didn't draw my gaze or make me feel happy. </p><p>Gender euphoria is real and I got to experience it for one very special long weekend.</p><p>I took it as an omen when I walked into the hotel lobby and saw Didi Star checking in. A very confident woman who happens to be trans. I knew I was in the right space and had made the right decision being myself for the weekend.</p><p>Didi was having issues with her reservation; I wanted to get to my room to change out of my gender neutral outfit (black slacks and a purple "Nevertheless She Regenerated" t-shirt) so our hellos would have to wait. She DM'd me later and we got to share a hug. More than one. There may have been tears.</p><p>After I dumped my road outfit by the side of my bed I didn't wear a stitch of male clothing until Monday morning. And it was marvelous.</p><p>There are times when I identify as a man (or at least am comfortable with my body). Other times I'm a woman. Most of the time I'm not in a comfortable place to present that way. I think my work and neighbors could adapt (or at least shut up about) to me expressing myself, but I worry about the times I'm male. I don't want to give any ammunition to the "rapist pervs can get away with anything by having a 'transgender moment'" bullshit the right's been tossing around for over a decade.</p><p>But that's about as negative as I want to go with this post, so I'll move on.</p><p>The level of welcomeness and respect I felt from everyone at the Con was amazing. I am so glad I chose to do this. I knew this would be the case. I know people who've had their own transformative experiences at past SizeCons. Miss Kaneda's in 2016 looms large on that list (as does she), but she's not alone.</p><p>I had some great conversations with people further along in their journey and a few who are starting their own. I can't tell you how many trans women, trans men, non-binary, and other gendered people that I encountered over the weekend. I will give some shoutouts to a few. </p><p>I've already mentioned the wonderful Didi and Kaneda. Lushaani had a booth across from me in the vendors' hall. She drew the lovely illustration that starts this post. She was great on the diversity panel as well as the SizeCon radio play where she made transmasculine non-binary hottie (cut-and-pasted from their Twitter bio) The Assistant crack up (but not break character). </p><p>It's going to sound sappy, but every time The Assistant said my name, it touched my heart. Their voice was so full of warmth and welcome. It was like being hugged from across the room.</p><p>Alexa Ballon Girl made me cry. In the good way. I don't think anyone I met loves this Con as much as she does. Her passion for it is inspirational and I sincerely wish that her dreams of a South American SizeCon come true. Soon.</p><p>I don't know how I've made it so far down this list and not mentioned Addie Smith. She is amazing. She was a last minute addition to the Microphile panel I moderated and gave a presentation on BDSM I couldn't say no to. Women in suits are a thing for me. :) She is thoughtful and generous.</p><p>I think I met Kaela Luna through Addie, but it's all a blur. We'd interacted a little online, but really hit it off in person. Kaela enabled my inner MST3K nerd. A lot. It was hard seeing her in a crowd and not tossing out riffs only she and I would get. I think I restrained myself to one high pitched "I'm commiiiiiiiiiiing!" Which is a very fun riff to toss around a fetish con. Especially when someone gets it. Thank you for that.</p><p>There's Janice who I'd met at previous Cons, but haven't spent as much time with as I should. She's braver than I am.</p><p>This was my first introduction to Kat. In-between rocking various flirty outfits, organizing karaoke, and running a booth, they are an excellent visual artist. I got to chat with them a bit before the Con and had the privilege of moderating a couple panels they were on (Size History and Microphile). </p><p>While she's not trans I have to mention ButterRiceBooty. I ended up spending a good deal of time with her and her husband Robclassact and she was a great friend and ally. There were a number of little ways she made me feel welcome as Joan that I know sound trivial, but meant a great deal to me. Thank you.</p><p>And thanks to everyone who said I was beautiful. I probably deflected the compliment, but it felt good hearing it.</p><p>I'm going to post this and kick myself when I remember someone else who should get a mention. My worst, if wiser self tells me that'll happen five minutes after I get back to work and can't edit the blog for 10 to 12 hours.</p><p>The only regret I have was missing the Size Trans Social. Not that I didn't want to go; I honestly got the time flipped in my head and realized I'd missed it about a half hour after it ended. I wanted to hear others' stories. Share a bit. Ask questions.</p><p>There's one I'll ask the readers of this blog. It's about misgendering yourself. Intellectually, I get it. I've been referring to myself with one set of pronouns and another name my whole life. I know old habits die with their owners. When other people accidentally use the wrong pronouns I'm quick to forgive. I know they're trying. I know the body I'm wearing looks extremely masculine. I have more trouble forgiving myself when I slip up. Is self misgendering something you've done? Do you feel worse when you do it versus someone else accidentally dropping a "he" bomb?</p><p>It is the Thursday after the Con when I am typing this. The fingers flashing across the keyboard are still painted purple. In a few days I'll have to wipe it off and go back to the day job. But a few days ago I was at a table sharing a meal with friends, in skirt and blouse when I saw the chyron on the news tell us that the Tennessee drag ban had been set aside by a federal court. </p><p>To everyone who made that moment possible, thank you.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejVdAjp22vuP22UKZ2lEKf6QKvf11Q-lTwBC0QQ4ZHe1r3u169J2Cuyw9mtTDPgbUVpz4VESVJdUBmUFRLz46oVcqtOAO1TKz_J4BFl9rdntpvczvdoB4gMB_mOEHGjxCY5MORmhB1-L4N5K0Tw3jPPeasUylzns6shNrFrhF988kJ2sPD21fcaVM/s1392/IMG_20200215_090616.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1392" data-original-width="1044" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejVdAjp22vuP22UKZ2lEKf6QKvf11Q-lTwBC0QQ4ZHe1r3u169J2Cuyw9mtTDPgbUVpz4VESVJdUBmUFRLz46oVcqtOAO1TKz_J4BFl9rdntpvczvdoB4gMB_mOEHGjxCY5MORmhB1-L4N5K0Tw3jPPeasUylzns6shNrFrhF988kJ2sPD21fcaVM/s320/IMG_20200215_090616.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SizeCon 2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDHOowkTcif2Ansb6aPIKCQtc8F093OdSkt6tyBHMlYg1_2bmIOnENgXo3tO5GM8EHILJV4Db4O8bTwKRupD44j5p-UU9zLwEmWeFqlDE7F09pBeqRx0wtVLqDUO72UcJRqonFxdelPJpD5Kq3JNmoc9e-_CuI3iCm4jsPRWwr01VF71ARsu9lx9j/s800/SizeCon23_Taedis_Fri.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDHOowkTcif2Ansb6aPIKCQtc8F093OdSkt6tyBHMlYg1_2bmIOnENgXo3tO5GM8EHILJV4Db4O8bTwKRupD44j5p-UU9zLwEmWeFqlDE7F09pBeqRx0wtVLqDUO72UcJRqonFxdelPJpD5Kq3JNmoc9e-_CuI3iCm4jsPRWwr01VF71ARsu9lx9j/s320/SizeCon23_Taedis_Fri.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SizeCon 2023</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-44049854567085374062023-06-06T11:25:00.000-07:002023-06-06T11:25:25.855-07:00SizeCon 2023 Post One: A Fresh Fish Every Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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Last SizeCon I made the mistake of trying to cram way too much into one blog. Between euphoria (over the Con and my family situation), exhaustion (no sleep and a round trip drive from New Hampshire to Louisiana), and the WTF? that marked the early days of the Covid lockdowns that followed, I never got more than a few paragraphs in before I gave up. This time around I want to do it in discrete chunks. Part of that to make things easier on me; partly to keep from burying the lead. There were so many leads this Con.
<p>I'm starting with this one cause it was one of the most fun.
<p>I debuted The Size Library and Museum at this year's Con. I'll go into more details about that in another post. For now, all you need to know is that there were pages and pages of vintage postcards at my booth. Most were in a binder; a few duplicates were set aside in my sales area when <a href="idreamofmsirene.com" target="_blank">Ms. Irene Silver</a> dropped by to check things out.
<p>If you have any preconceived notions of what a fetish model is like in real life, let me tell you, they are some of the sweetest, most down to earth people you are ever going to meet. And Irene is no exception. She hadn't originally planned to come to SizeCon, but her plans got cancelled at the last minute and <a href="fetishlands.com" target="_blank">Gary Pranzo</a> invited her to join in on the fun. Actually, he phrased it a little differently. Irene says it better than I can.
<p>It was great geeking out over the vintage cards with her. She zeroed in on The Summer Girl series that came out around 1910-11. They feature beautiful demure young ladies hunting, fishing, or frolicking with a tiny man. There isn't any violence in any of them, just a "I'm gonna get you" vibe that's cute and playful. The card above is part of that series. One that Irene commented on very favorably.
<p>That was Friday. Saturday morning my body clock woke me up at my usual 4 AM. As I tried to turn my brain off to get back to sleep my brain flashed to this:
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifFNkSkuMA0xDqk0BwbqUANcm1e_DBk55Pz08DKTLA-mCbTR6ToGF6IV0yqcCOO3_KYZLXxEucehguQYTF7R1ybuT3GDNnZHe3pEIw7oP_sSMg1XzyLPzUeI3C07waWi2RY-YKZdZdCbea4gcdpK-5wk12lnEyWby7jbio0yObSGJ_fRi5OneZUQy0/s640/service-pnp-cph-3a20000-3a26000-3a26400-3a26494r.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifFNkSkuMA0xDqk0BwbqUANcm1e_DBk55Pz08DKTLA-mCbTR6ToGF6IV0yqcCOO3_KYZLXxEucehguQYTF7R1ybuT3GDNnZHe3pEIw7oP_sSMg1XzyLPzUeI3C07waWi2RY-YKZdZdCbea4gcdpK-5wk12lnEyWby7jbio0yObSGJ_fRi5OneZUQy0/s320/service-pnp-cph-3a20000-3a26000-3a26400-3a26494r.jpg"/></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVFDhSaxftHyvYPxWb4QZ9E-qlFu-c0kGGOPVWTzKfF5YS0UY_cf-V88Y32Tu86rAqop5kiGWWtWkucWfoKwDNCT4TnKwDZwU--Ye9LDx4pJLRTIiSVDE_3u8QHMedTOJiBHGe96sv-GQVyJLEAukzWCOzwZgRRCxdGOOefF-mQvUVtWZtrQq0ozk/s1024/DwbEjxlXgAEEFla.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVFDhSaxftHyvYPxWb4QZ9E-qlFu-c0kGGOPVWTzKfF5YS0UY_cf-V88Y32Tu86rAqop5kiGWWtWkucWfoKwDNCT4TnKwDZwU--Ye9LDx4pJLRTIiSVDE_3u8QHMedTOJiBHGe96sv-GQVyJLEAukzWCOzwZgRRCxdGOOefF-mQvUVtWZtrQq0ozk/s320/DwbEjxlXgAEEFla.jpg"/></a></div>
<p>Many of you already know about the above images. For those who don't, the original Gibson illustration dates back to 1903. The Horst P. Horst tableau was made for a 1948 issue of Vogue.
<p>I knew a receptive model, a photographer, and there was a greet screen set up for the Con. Could we recreate a bit of Size history?
<p>Ms. Silver very graciously said yes.
<p>I've known <a href="deviantart.com/em-3-1" target="_blank">M31</a> for years but had never asked for a commission. Not that he isn't great at what he does (he is), I just never had an idea I felt was worthy of his attention until now. Thanks to the cyclical craziness that was Saturday, I was only able to give him the bare minimum information about the project ("Irene Silver and I want to do a collage if you've got a slot").
<p>The shoot itself happened sometime Sunday afternoon. Irene went out of her way to change into the swimsuit you see her in above. M31 took shots of us both wearing my hat to see which worked better. In my headcannon, the giant lady hooked my hat first before snagging me on her line. The fishing pole was a tripod I used for my booth with two of the legs folded up. When it came my turn to pose, Irene stood behind me on a chair with a short cord attached to my dress to really sell the hooked effect. I didn't think about it until this morning, but the little man in the original is wearing a swimsuit while the giant woman has on a long dress. In our version, I'm in the dress and Irene is in the swimsuit. If you squint and are a little colorblind, the dress I'm in is kinda sorta close to the color of the 1910 dress. Maybe I stole Ms. Silver's dress while she was swimming (and magicked it down to fit) and she was looking to get it back.
<p>Or maybe she just looks better in a bikini than I do.
<p>The shoot itself went very quickly. It was my first time modeling. M31 was very patient as he told me what to do. If I look good there, give him the credit. I loaned him the original card to use as a reference and left him to do his magic. I know Irene made suggestions that made it work even better than I could have hoped for.
<p>I went off to pack up my booth and do the things that needed to be done. I was surprised when I was told the image was ready for review. I expected it to take much longer given all the fine details he had to find and edit in. I am so impressed that he was able to make something that amazing in, what to me, seemed like a very short time.
<p>Seriously, give this man your business. He is a master. He will give you what you want. And his rates are beyond reasonable. He could charge double and it would be a bargain.
<p>And please support Irene Silver's work. She is very easy to talk to, a consumate professional, and absolutely stunning. I had a couple conversations with her about kink during lulls in the Con. I've talked up how sweet she is, but her take on femdom sizekink gave me the good kind of shivers. And if you're into physically powerful women, I saw her lift and carry an adult man from where he was to where she wanted him on the other side of the room. With his consent.
<p>M31. Ms. Irene Silver. Thank you both for making this happen.
Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-54434506089272215952023-05-29T09:21:00.002-07:002023-05-29T09:24:21.557-07:00The Size Library and Museum Debut<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDPHIGV67Smz3O4TBIqk_bfKEPf7hXtuu-GEkNiOJxiGqtXptmAa0J8xRPzQJqOh97q_wI-i8ohQYEqf96EMK3f80Zl4JZz6cUAAG-7MCriBxdoi4EajVT-_bUDLSJ6LaCN1c9_DOWvVLewaJIFar03IroII2JRNHXRRp8MIBcA1UI9zAc-Br1JHQ/s6709/1907-Giant%20Book.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4394" data-original-width="6709" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCDPHIGV67Smz3O4TBIqk_bfKEPf7hXtuu-GEkNiOJxiGqtXptmAa0J8xRPzQJqOh97q_wI-i8ohQYEqf96EMK3f80Zl4JZz6cUAAG-7MCriBxdoi4EajVT-_bUDLSJ6LaCN1c9_DOWvVLewaJIFar03IroII2JRNHXRRp8MIBcA1UI9zAc-Br1JHQ/w640-h421/1907-Giant%20Book.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A 1907 postcard featuring a tiny couple sledding on a giant book.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>It is with a great deal of excitement (and more than a few nerves) that I announce that The Size Library and Museum will be making its public debut at <a href="https://sizecon.com/" target="_blank">the 2023 SizeCon</a> June 2-4.</p><p>The SL&M is a collection of physical media representing Size in both the mainstream and fetish communities. This includes comics, pulp novels, prose fiction, original art, DVDs/BluRays, adult magazines, vintage postcards, scripts, and anything else Size related. Owing to the sheer volume of material available the Library is a work in progress.</p><p>How will this work?</p><p>For this SizeCon I've got a full table instead of my usual half. Part of the table will be used to display the comics and books that I'll be selling. The rest will be taken up by the items I'm bringing from the Library. You are welcome to not only browse but read anything at my table. That includes any books, comics, magazines, and scripts. Including my own books.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tcgHbN6zp751_ENwH_RgVkrR4mHQ6-hbhHFuSuDPEqTrLHZTfNLNNPii7IT7w5sCcSee8RVvvmD2v1lUWk3QYlKZ59ntLDi6yzIKoj-tk0kKXhAwbtHCHg4rpO9Pzq-5q6znIqbHfVuMGPXanFEa_COvUWNuAQ4quj3_UhpmIQRqZzzsfTIQH-DO/s11520/Dr%20Cyclops%20Janice%20Logan%20Underfoot.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="11520" data-original-width="9280" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2tcgHbN6zp751_ENwH_RgVkrR4mHQ6-hbhHFuSuDPEqTrLHZTfNLNNPii7IT7w5sCcSee8RVvvmD2v1lUWk3QYlKZ59ntLDi6yzIKoj-tk0kKXhAwbtHCHg4rpO9Pzq-5q6znIqbHfVuMGPXanFEa_COvUWNuAQ4quj3_UhpmIQRqZzzsfTIQH-DO/w516-h640/Dr%20Cyclops%20Janice%20Logan%20Underfoot.jpeg" width="516" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Janice Logan in a promotional image from <i>Dr. Cyclops</i> (1940).</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>What I am bringing:</p><p>Over a dozen pulp magazines</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6kl-bPiDRh8bV6z-hFihNg8SbYvMKGfvGHwqFdRN-N7uNkQfEd-TPcih_1dJBlqjeTTplYDjENthFRQznABnqXeIvwLOHICnmPUTy_FX5RNsv3G0W02d4DdStA_EFJN2TjCWSpRz9QMIPprtpHs6bzJQEOoHUUiDiGadRNSgODXnj08R5qN3k0BU/s2285/Fantastic_v06n02_1957-03_0000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2285" data-original-width="1766" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf6kl-bPiDRh8bV6z-hFihNg8SbYvMKGfvGHwqFdRN-N7uNkQfEd-TPcih_1dJBlqjeTTplYDjENthFRQznABnqXeIvwLOHICnmPUTy_FX5RNsv3G0W02d4DdStA_EFJN2TjCWSpRz9QMIPprtpHs6bzJQEOoHUUiDiGadRNSgODXnj08R5qN3k0BU/s320/Fantastic_v06n02_1957-03_0000.jpeg" width="247" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HVewlrH___YYYmY8HSknxP-GHODxeWoU8GZbVo4EEwh5M9wxV5bTqiGU-DQPt3SAREGGumtZgPJh09p455N5YNQQbgaC1uFahWUQZLB1BIsTQTbOAM-VieAuti6PuxGeSkvpO_DoYyS_avnTwB-HKOcdMzf5MPfd22bjBtl4N5-eeEoWtEGuAD8p/s2267/Imagination_v03n03_1952-05_LennyS-cape1736_0000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2267" data-original-width="1687" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HVewlrH___YYYmY8HSknxP-GHODxeWoU8GZbVo4EEwh5M9wxV5bTqiGU-DQPt3SAREGGumtZgPJh09p455N5YNQQbgaC1uFahWUQZLB1BIsTQTbOAM-VieAuti6PuxGeSkvpO_DoYyS_avnTwB-HKOcdMzf5MPfd22bjBtl4N5-eeEoWtEGuAD8p/s320/Imagination_v03n03_1952-05_LennyS-cape1736_0000.jpeg" width="238" /></a><br /><br /></div><br /><p>Original fetish art.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iULF4MIrhdliAdEd1SPbAPhML7H7j0A0Ar3XznisCww7ViCN7SY27g8q4dAjqNq5cxICluIhehV4sm8oasmIn7vBjP85oxmdrnoPe_k0DwMGtXPxFe_FOxU-_FvyN4P3sUSrh1WhsZBwxPlGg2_rjhTqoVhiX8z5kb5epumSPi9OhZUeFY6C6OWp/s13372/3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="13372" data-original-width="9440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iULF4MIrhdliAdEd1SPbAPhML7H7j0A0Ar3XznisCww7ViCN7SY27g8q4dAjqNq5cxICluIhehV4sm8oasmIn7vBjP85oxmdrnoPe_k0DwMGtXPxFe_FOxU-_FvyN4P3sUSrh1WhsZBwxPlGg2_rjhTqoVhiX8z5kb5epumSPi9OhZUeFY6C6OWp/s320/3.jpeg" width="226" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjemUHrAWtKb0dSyUZwuYKltewhtt5okm5Sx0ILsu5-HEnUAfvgI-1gq4WrRQSoxuOhoXSGPrm341kzzgog7pR4iDQvDN8yQ8c1KhVWrSCehfUqju6M0gvVF1plcMYqFbZSu-e1uC6uVVyrqki8oyRAGUqRxZDm2j7cBeXlDntjiyaas7rxIPQR1Oeu/s13200/Capp%203.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="13200" data-original-width="10192" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjemUHrAWtKb0dSyUZwuYKltewhtt5okm5Sx0ILsu5-HEnUAfvgI-1gq4WrRQSoxuOhoXSGPrm341kzzgog7pR4iDQvDN8yQ8c1KhVWrSCehfUqju6M0gvVF1plcMYqFbZSu-e1uC6uVVyrqki8oyRAGUqRxZDm2j7cBeXlDntjiyaas7rxIPQR1Oeu/s320/Capp%203.jpeg" width="247" /></a><br /><br /></div>Almost a hundred vintage postcards.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1teg-ScOREQ32ou5spvz_UkRnCDw4MNN6h7pPXLxpvaqIuW3gFwdl5D49fYgpnLl3ZoJCcKc-_W8_pcH4BZrBzBUqlU8dYySz_cq8P7SA3jstu7Hfm8mlvYFn-aLnm6q86FffJEphgFOCBfuVSbmhQVidts6JFxRB_D6o0pMXyjGS_a6uvtwBlX1/s6576/1920%3F%20Ice%20Bucket.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6576" data-original-width="3984" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1teg-ScOREQ32ou5spvz_UkRnCDw4MNN6h7pPXLxpvaqIuW3gFwdl5D49fYgpnLl3ZoJCcKc-_W8_pcH4BZrBzBUqlU8dYySz_cq8P7SA3jstu7Hfm8mlvYFn-aLnm6q86FffJEphgFOCBfuVSbmhQVidts6JFxRB_D6o0pMXyjGS_a6uvtwBlX1/s320/1920%3F%20Ice%20Bucket.jpeg" width="194" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGORpxGkb_J_vq8Xqd38JxJF85X4iTCasA6IFDIQ21eNnZr8F4Mp8DaS5YOJS4TGlJNialIK7W-xw_WShfQtLhfVaxapfLlpZQ77uCwEobvsNEYrtt1F1JwM8Or47yo54tOUiVSGBrXrsvavYyMhd_3sThkaF4GpveLfBeY8zeFy5ij4lCgAroW-d/s6540/Scan%20copy.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6540" data-original-width="4080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGORpxGkb_J_vq8Xqd38JxJF85X4iTCasA6IFDIQ21eNnZr8F4Mp8DaS5YOJS4TGlJNialIK7W-xw_WShfQtLhfVaxapfLlpZQ77uCwEobvsNEYrtt1F1JwM8Or47yo54tOUiVSGBrXrsvavYyMhd_3sThkaF4GpveLfBeY8zeFy5ij4lCgAroW-d/s320/Scan%20copy.jpeg" width="200" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><u><br /></u></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Mainstream adult magazines.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrbK6bJfb75qGYKcnAbTz3sydbZPhUb_H97MPllMqXK84c6rO0jgXelfNt87xOXoiQmXQnRvA84DlChokJoubPNDayvaO4nNddwtjNFIEpRvT2GGv9CNuNN2iD_ssdUZ3WHaL-ijZpSbTpvTzhHg8pcA4z_AVxazW64bzHVWQjOVd7reFKrCZFAUD/s13200/Cover.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="13200" data-original-width="10192" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrbK6bJfb75qGYKcnAbTz3sydbZPhUb_H97MPllMqXK84c6rO0jgXelfNt87xOXoiQmXQnRvA84DlChokJoubPNDayvaO4nNddwtjNFIEpRvT2GGv9CNuNN2iD_ssdUZ3WHaL-ijZpSbTpvTzhHg8pcA4z_AVxazW64bzHVWQjOVd7reFKrCZFAUD/w494-h640/Cover.jpeg" width="494" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyvpnPu0hObQbIm0gxgtFGBEcoinhSJVzfVbAAQqLfKYojIdE_51fhszdlloXa2J-5Q1xhUhC83nSmivpg3zoPBx9z4NS2-iW2JvL165ebpt2duUBK6hVrpukd31nbqWjtTdZolhK8idNjz65c4uQ88VIupQjDPbu1llo0C8Pe-78BrGSuKssgbB3/s13200/Cover.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="13200" data-original-width="10192" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyvpnPu0hObQbIm0gxgtFGBEcoinhSJVzfVbAAQqLfKYojIdE_51fhszdlloXa2J-5Q1xhUhC83nSmivpg3zoPBx9z4NS2-iW2JvL165ebpt2duUBK6hVrpukd31nbqWjtTdZolhK8idNjz65c4uQ88VIupQjDPbu1llo0C8Pe-78BrGSuKssgbB3/w494-h640/Cover.jpeg" width="494" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Dozens of comics<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivc-CWA2VX_XNWhar7KoQKRxoauKoRqfwHLz2HRFEAAhgdt9N1apgh9Fd2XBc62W1j43AAdVWvyngVLOjRywEu50CO5o0RDivtevxzIEyM1WDu4n_shDJ0tXJm_ys0hSnMGx2NEwLhnOkFq7uwlTxiIYgmnmjW4g6bkv49BMXBAVB_uel13yfaKKt/s595/atom%20.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivc-CWA2VX_XNWhar7KoQKRxoauKoRqfwHLz2HRFEAAhgdt9N1apgh9Fd2XBc62W1j43AAdVWvyngVLOjRywEu50CO5o0RDivtevxzIEyM1WDu4n_shDJ0tXJm_ys0hSnMGx2NEwLhnOkFq7uwlTxiIYgmnmjW4g6bkv49BMXBAVB_uel13yfaKKt/s320/atom%20.webp" width="215" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuI593oGDApRaWC8uS5eK0hOUT3vPuJjLWHNwhAOMHGIcbGJEWwOdSMzUHkmTSF9jVrqzq_EhPxEQ7zOARn7CNOy7nIZdmIAnGTLKhH1H4SUODi6vbnh_lm4s65MuLzDeTRxoIH0uEm-Wb56wkTJLvHSRkS8JCcCmmMoxyFkvR89mrJH9GlGAt77Wn/s585/Lois_Lane_111.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuI593oGDApRaWC8uS5eK0hOUT3vPuJjLWHNwhAOMHGIcbGJEWwOdSMzUHkmTSF9jVrqzq_EhPxEQ7zOARn7CNOy7nIZdmIAnGTLKhH1H4SUODi6vbnh_lm4s65MuLzDeTRxoIH0uEm-Wb56wkTJLvHSRkS8JCcCmmMoxyFkvR89mrJH9GlGAt77Wn/s320/Lois_Lane_111.webp" width="219" /></a><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><u><br /></u></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Several vintage lobby cards.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvawzp4Vtzcx9IlZobDgWarn7lmCp6krIfzDnCyD8ZwsIaDNa-kAzhJGeq-CEf7TMoYQcH6cofewddOHTFsZkhQPU05oDsRnRmfI-W5sXPL0gfKnCiaFLueRINm1kxblZTMwVNn9YmRODw_mAtPUaaKsY_YOMcidZ_MKG5hfv_lgt0pgFmrQDNPyEu/s11716/Scan%201.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="9292" data-original-width="11716" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvawzp4Vtzcx9IlZobDgWarn7lmCp6krIfzDnCyD8ZwsIaDNa-kAzhJGeq-CEf7TMoYQcH6cofewddOHTFsZkhQPU05oDsRnRmfI-W5sXPL0gfKnCiaFLueRINm1kxblZTMwVNn9YmRODw_mAtPUaaKsY_YOMcidZ_MKG5hfv_lgt0pgFmrQDNPyEu/w640-h508/Scan%201.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbJ376oxmUMott8dp61FQEY0v70253YmBeFj9nD8zAXiW5bGgH2Qy9tnEdzg-0ke9dkeyQ3eRpJnvodIaPMt9taKXfnmx3-JW2c3l9S0tJ9gD7K7-NKChss97M2riUIwERDZGuszgVCleYeFu5ZY5E3sbUG-sdr0sX54slkEgQmJrxuIXSpz6inSK/s11657/Scan.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="9750" data-original-width="11657" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbJ376oxmUMott8dp61FQEY0v70253YmBeFj9nD8zAXiW5bGgH2Qy9tnEdzg-0ke9dkeyQ3eRpJnvodIaPMt9taKXfnmx3-JW2c3l9S0tJ9gD7K7-NKChss97M2riUIwERDZGuszgVCleYeFu5ZY5E3sbUG-sdr0sX54slkEgQmJrxuIXSpz6inSK/w640-h536/Scan.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCB-RlR7ple5Lgp3-lk2v6njeM4qJyOU5uC_F3rk-0iqpHtvg3Z3x3koZitTGoNlJwIkk1Eh1MCutwLRIy6Zs1kagt2SId23cB3Kq7MPBYkM7aO9lCC2jQ7fhTmb1yYKcpkSXQ1KEOZ238mFezajm2EWBGS2fVOzamVICd5T_0-IwA6iHbhrtU0YD/s12068/Scan.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="9552" data-original-width="12068" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCB-RlR7ple5Lgp3-lk2v6njeM4qJyOU5uC_F3rk-0iqpHtvg3Z3x3koZitTGoNlJwIkk1Eh1MCutwLRIy6Zs1kagt2SId23cB3Kq7MPBYkM7aO9lCC2jQ7fhTmb1yYKcpkSXQ1KEOZ238mFezajm2EWBGS2fVOzamVICd5T_0-IwA6iHbhrtU0YD/w640-h506/Scan.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div>Copies of "the small print" and its followup to be given away.</div><div><br /><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3-mnyPxrJAOFMMo2FT8FHFerPp3RIbTZZIolHaHUYTjEuFP5lPJ_8DJGHzvvoNmz7-h_ZXxIsLeXc9tMPtBbc_3YmlwJJYFR4PHrn3EzYCVCeOXITL1_fUCfm6in2GPwn8uKkcq0pd70EejvLcGcJB1mk1jyYv1eCUoo7aW6cg6tLWHj7s8h_Jun/s2560/Cover%20Final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3-mnyPxrJAOFMMo2FT8FHFerPp3RIbTZZIolHaHUYTjEuFP5lPJ_8DJGHzvvoNmz7-h_ZXxIsLeXc9tMPtBbc_3YmlwJJYFR4PHrn3EzYCVCeOXITL1_fUCfm6in2GPwn8uKkcq0pd70EejvLcGcJB1mk1jyYv1eCUoo7aW6cg6tLWHj7s8h_Jun/s320/Cover%20Final.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzYkgGWP6OMjcudgBIe5kgDNzPnpXwsvyUL97OoJ8elatcRkiato5xQl0uOG4D4hrLR7TR8En7Jb5UoeL8aBHckC_0PPVa46x7Jhs-B4aX3SwfF0Dk4h59pHdR3npneNZr8dt9KfsylkVjAH9MlAdTnyZjiPQtC5o5c718rlkY4d-LOOg0X2b8G_4/s4032/Small%20Print%202%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2520" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzYkgGWP6OMjcudgBIe5kgDNzPnpXwsvyUL97OoJ8elatcRkiato5xQl0uOG4D4hrLR7TR8En7Jb5UoeL8aBHckC_0PPVa46x7Jhs-B4aX3SwfF0Dk4h59pHdR3npneNZr8dt9KfsylkVjAH9MlAdTnyZjiPQtC5o5c718rlkY4d-LOOg0X2b8G_4/s320/Small%20Print%202%20Cover.jpg" width="200" /></a><br /><br /></div><br /><p>I will also have a number of other mainstream size works for people to sample. </p><p>What I am not bringing from the Library:</p><p>Any book being sold or promoted by anyone else at the Con. I want to promote the works of those in the community, not compete for attention.</p><p>Films. I may bring these to future cons, but for now I want to see how smoothly things go with other media before I figure out a good (and legal) way to display them.</p><p>I'm looking forward to seeing you at the Con.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div></div></div></div>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-5012869914892613522023-04-21T16:18:00.002-07:002023-04-21T16:18:18.963-07:00the small print 2 Update<p> Good evening.</p><p>Just a quick update about <a href="https://www.lulu.com/shop/taedis/small-print-2/paperback/product-n5y6nk.html?page=1&pageSize=4" target="_blank">the small print 2's</a> print edition. When I asked the authors to contribute to the project I promised them it wouldn't be sold for profit. Publishing costs have increased since this first came out. Lulu (our print-on-demand print house) can't print this at the old price. In the interest of transparency, I'm showing screen caps of the Lulu pricing page. It costs more, but the bottom line is still profit-free.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1mYG9Y-Z5_zT1p136H1VnU3OuAIiSmcJgX-72nwcy9clekGtg6c5ufPdu3TzsGKnZxmUJ83X0axod_i-qVdDW2RKjyiTn0Eb-suFbHy7sm6p5d0PZR3XmiIfRDFZiz2JyDfTSYT0OuFiOGPHb1f2UUWRpmS-PIz1xJYXDa_bx33XObMDonF0aN3N/s1870/Screenshot%202023-04-21%20at%206.48.45%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1022" data-original-width="1870" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1mYG9Y-Z5_zT1p136H1VnU3OuAIiSmcJgX-72nwcy9clekGtg6c5ufPdu3TzsGKnZxmUJ83X0axod_i-qVdDW2RKjyiTn0Eb-suFbHy7sm6p5d0PZR3XmiIfRDFZiz2JyDfTSYT0OuFiOGPHb1f2UUWRpmS-PIz1xJYXDa_bx33XObMDonF0aN3N/s320/Screenshot%202023-04-21%20at%206.48.45%20PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCT9gDmF0R5vFjGXykBB3I-5e8NyG8yis9sSqmIOYUb6MRZISJzNGR_AbJOxhtxqMS6d4tMQ-p9T1O7HwZBj0NiyxvDugWKFYWWeaFmw-ZXiC0L7zh7NQsvQUQGx5VBaUOg-KIUwpjhJBJ2bYjRNdwMtNohT7B-ObyaGD1at3BMIumLhpI1gTcxRJ/s2842/Screenshot%202023-04-21%20at%206.38.08%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1730" data-original-width="2842" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCT9gDmF0R5vFjGXykBB3I-5e8NyG8yis9sSqmIOYUb6MRZISJzNGR_AbJOxhtxqMS6d4tMQ-p9T1O7HwZBj0NiyxvDugWKFYWWeaFmw-ZXiC0L7zh7NQsvQUQGx5VBaUOg-KIUwpjhJBJ2bYjRNdwMtNohT7B-ObyaGD1at3BMIumLhpI1gTcxRJ/s320/Screenshot%202023-04-21%20at%206.38.08%20PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-7769009043037268452023-01-30T15:44:00.000-08:002023-01-30T15:44:24.387-08:00Take It From The Top (Shrunken Couple NSFW, Gentle)<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: left;">Take It From The Top</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">copyright 2023 Taedis</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">[This started life as a writer's sprint on <a href="https://ellelargesse.com/" target="_blank">Elle Largesse's</a> SizeWriters Discord site. I latched onto the first prompt that didn't involve Vikings (InspiroBot LOVES Vikings). In five minutes I got what became the second paragraph of the finished vignette, a couple other lines I liked, and the size differences between the three characters. Not sure if this qualifies as a Kinky Scribble. I'll let others make that decision.]</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Take off your things and leave them on the side of the stage.” Rose was good at giving orders. Her casual air of authority had served her well since she'd taken over leading the troupe. “Once you're ready take your marks and we'll get started.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rehearsals were done nude. They had to be. The doll clothes Nadia and Ned wore offstage weren't made for movement; their costumes were so delicate they might not make it through the final performance. It didn't matter. After three months of sharing the same dollhouse there wasn't any modesty between the two tinies. Nadia was used to Rose seeing her undressed from before the accident. Ned still blushed when he disrobed. Both the giant choreographer and his tiny partner did their best to ignore his erection. It was easier for Rose.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Their stage was set on a standing desk set as high as Ikea allowed. It had started life as a puppet theater Nadia had played with in childhood, buried in the back of her closet in her teens, uncovered in her 20s to give her and her only possible dance partner a place to perform. She was too embarrassed to admit its origins to Ned. Rose kept her secret.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>Even set that high, Rose towered over the stage, her ex-lover, and Nadia's new partner. Rose spent most rehearsals with her chin level with the stage. Both to keep her dancers calm and to give her the best of all possible views. <p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's hot in here.” Nadia made her way centerstage and addressed Rose. By now she was used to looking at a giant face where the audience should be. “We haven't even done anything and already I'm sweaty.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Think of it as dance lube. I'll turn it down in a bit.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thanks.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're off mark again, Ned. I get that you want to be closer, but Nadia's gonna poke her eye out when she makes that first turn.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sorry.” Ned took a step back doing his best to cover his crotch. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The choreography would have been easier if the dancers had been closer to the same size. Rose was exaggerating slightly; Ned's erection bobbed just slightly above Nadia's line of sight. She'd have to jump to take a penis to the face.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>They'd save that for afterwards when they're alone in their dollhouse. Somehow. I don't want to know how she takes it. Ned may be smaller than my pinky, but to her … that monster's bigger than her forearm.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>They're gonna need more than sweat to make that work.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. Let's take it from the top.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rose cushioned her chin with her flat left hand, while she tapped time on the table with her right forefinger. For the rest of the troupe. The normal-sized members. She'd beat her Debbie Allen stick on the floor. The first time she tried that with Nadia and Ned the puppet stage quaked so bad from the vibration that Ned toppled on top of Nadia.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i></i>Nadia melted backwards into Ned's thigh. Looking straight at Rose, straight at the audience, she arched her back to match the line of his leg and molded herself to the larger man. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Head to the left, Nadia,” Rose instructed. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Nadia milked the moment. The action. Drew it out until it looked less a rehearsed motion and more the embarrassed reaction of a friend becoming lover. Her hair spilt the opposite direction. Between Ned's legs. With her stretched and him crouched the wave of hair blocked Rose's view of Ned's manhood. Nadia's embarrassment was protecting Ned's modesty.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ned flexed the leg Nadia was planted on carefully. One muscle at a time from foot to pelvis. When the wave of this reached his ankles, she wrapped her feet behind them. When he buzzed his calf she thrust her crotch towards Rose. When it came time to thrust her modest breasts, Nadia used the distraction to sleight her hands behind his leg, like light-speed ivy climbing a tree. When it was over she was as close to him as another human could be without being inside them.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Who needs poetry when you're a dancer? </i>Rose thought. <i>We are poems.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The hand was larger than her face. Almost the size of her entire head. Calloused. Powerful. It dipped delicately along the softness of her profile from chin to brow. When it returned it went lower. Grasping towards her center in slow motion at first, building speed with each millimeter it traveled until the huge thing reached between Nadia's legs.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Nadia spread herself so quickly. Shifted her limbs so fast. One heartbeat she was ivy on a tree. The next she was cotton candy wrapped around the stick of Ned's arm. He dabbed her along the leg she'd been glued to. Then the other. Over his free arm and along both shoulder blades. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When she got to his chest the cotton candy exploded back into a woman. Rose caught the look they exchanged when Nadia's feet planted between Ned's nipples. Ned supported her full weight with two rigid fingers under her back. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The woman standing sideways on the double-sized man dropped a mock curtsy to her floor.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Her floor gave the half-sized woman a deep bow.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And the real dance began.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-63622212464367145242023-01-28T14:24:00.000-08:002023-01-28T14:24:53.821-08:00Four Giant Women Walked Into 50s Hollywood and All I Got Was This Lousy Shirt (Part One)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7zQfxx9uCufAVe7mpLb0Y2mNEP0ECkRBjQ0VgWg3yoD64M_KKd3GJUPM2XaxE2nEK1D3CGyf75DHOhD7VLQX667JWStlrRWk7NE_WZkEYhEUrwvq-pUib16kokBEflv7Jez764TmD-1Yh0Hqmb6Sd4bC9GfmLtmj2ldWY6PH22k_X8UMX1WqZ2rx/s2290/Amazing_Stories_v31n03_1957-03_cape1736_0004.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2290" data-original-width="1714" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7zQfxx9uCufAVe7mpLb0Y2mNEP0ECkRBjQ0VgWg3yoD64M_KKd3GJUPM2XaxE2nEK1D3CGyf75DHOhD7VLQX667JWStlrRWk7NE_WZkEYhEUrwvq-pUib16kokBEflv7Jez764TmD-1Yh0Hqmb6Sd4bC9GfmLtmj2ldWY6PH22k_X8UMX1WqZ2rx/s320/Amazing_Stories_v31n03_1957-03_cape1736_0004.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Humanity has been obsessed with giants and tiny people since the species evolved imagination. When we invented myth, People of Unusual Sizes populated them. When myth crossed the blurry line into fiction, we wrote them into our novels, short stories, and blog posts. When our artists figured out perspective and proportion, giants graced our cave walls, canvases, and computer screens. The history of media is the history of Size. As soon as a technology is born someone will bring capital “S” Size into it.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The first person to ever pay to see a film forked over their centimes in 1895. In August of 1901 a tiny man materialized on top of a glass of beer in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5JmaoHwYGI" target="_blank">“The Cheese Mites”</a>. He was the first tiny person on film, no matter what lies Wikipedia wants to perpetuate. A few seconds later he was joined by an equally tiny couple who dragged themselves out of a bread bag. In less than a minute the tiny boys were wrestling on the tabletop while the little lady was dancing a jig. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It took another three months for cinema's first giant to take a bow. He didn't have much screen time, but the ogre in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kZpUDMCOjw&t=37s" target="_blank">“The Magic Sword”</a> made dramatic use of the seconds he was given, moving the plot along as easily as he carried the helpless damsel to his cave.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In-between the introduction of cinema tinies and giants made above, Vore was introduced to film in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pveqTgCDh-4" target="_blank">October of 1901</a>. But that's a story for another day. It's only mentioned here for perspective. To show how quickly the new technology embraced Size. <span style="color: #2c2c2c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Méliès worked in Size the way Georgia O'Keefe experimented in watercolors. Gulliver and Alice made their leaps from literature to the silver screen when the 20</span></span><span style="color: #2c2c2c;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #2c2c2c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> century was still a toddler. Since then there have been enough Size displaced film stars to fill a book.</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When filling that book, an interesting gender dynamic becomes obvious. Up to a certain point women were rarely shown as being the larger character. Giants tended to be male. Tiny characters, mostly, interacted with normal-sized men. There were exceptions, but, for the most part giant women weren't a part of the cinematic Size landscape until the 50s.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then all Hell broke loose.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Better pop psychologists than I have dissected the post-war gender dynamics at play in “The Incredible Shrinking Man”. The protagonist's diminishing role in his household reflecting mens' feelings of inadequacy in a broader world. The 50s were the heyday of Size in cinema and this film, for good or bad, is considered the epicenter of that boom in popularity.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The same ground was covered a year earlier in Norway's “<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Kvinnens plass”(“A Woman's Place”). A male reporter marries a female colleague. It turns out she's the better reporter. When she becomes pregnant, he decides to sacrifice his career to take care of baby and house. His difficulties dealing with life in a traditionally female role lead to him dreaming that he's reduced to the size of a child. While less subtle than “The Shrinking Man” this isn't entirely unsympathetic to the wife. The film admits that the life of a housewife isn't easy. Take out the size element and this could pass as a rough draft of the 80s film “Mr. Mom”.</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">But that has nothing to do with the four women alluded to in the title.</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">For whatever reason. Female empowerment. Male inadequacy. Outside literary influences. Or some intersection of all three. For some reason there were at least four films being peddled in mid-50s Hollywood that were titled “The Giant Woman”.</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It's easy to say these were all reactions to the commercial success of “The Incredible Shrinking Man”. There are several other projects, on film and television, that got green-lit on “Shrinking Man”'s box office receipts. Some had similar proportions (“Attack of the Puppet People”, “World of Giants”); while others went the opposite route (“The Amazing Colossal Man”, “War of the Colossal Beast”). </span></span>But the first of these giant women was pitched before Matheson had finished writing that book, let alone turned it into a screenplay.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Giant Woman #1: Gigantosa</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3uPoKHu4ZteGsRctz1RlUrvh0qwQaMIV7uASJ6MoVZgSYsFMqA_RF2CtZPJD6-dMUPXtR-aictJYJf-XKjQQj7Fb8zbKCiMa_ZHD8Qt_CLdgFry2jR9rGydZJCB2WrpBn-NFgpe2cv1rZtHaXldpy3ONzj8beec6VEVs-ULx16o1y168Dp9g3Nqq_/s1324/Forry_agency_ad.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1324" data-original-width="998" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3uPoKHu4ZteGsRctz1RlUrvh0qwQaMIV7uASJ6MoVZgSYsFMqA_RF2CtZPJD6-dMUPXtR-aictJYJf-XKjQQj7Fb8zbKCiMa_ZHD8Qt_CLdgFry2jR9rGydZJCB2WrpBn-NFgpe2cv1rZtHaXldpy3ONzj8beec6VEVs-ULx16o1y168Dp9g3Nqq_/s320/Forry_agency_ad.jpeg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's unclear when Frank Quattrocchi wrote “Giganturo”, but it got name-dropped in a s.f. film column in the Nov, 1955 issue of <i>Nebula.</i> Legendary editor/promoter/literary agent Forrest J. Ackerman (known affectionately in sci-fi circles as “The Ackermonster”) doesn't say anything about the plot, only that it was among a number of scripts that were allegedly waiting to be shot.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It wasn't until the Jan, 1956 issue of <i>Imaginative Tales</i> (Ackerman's “Scientifilm Marquee” articles ran across multiple s.f. magazines of the time) that any of the plot details were made public.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>It gives me great pleasure, therefore, to report the talents of s.f. author Frank </i><i>Quattrocchi, who does know something about s.f. and does definitely care for </i><i>the medium, have been employed to produce </i><i><b>an original sci-fi screenplay! </b></i><i>Quattrocchi, who has authored such memorable yarns as “Assignment in the </i><i>Unknown,” “The Addict,” “Sword from the Stars.” etc., has been commissioned </i><i>to write, and had been accepted for immediate filming, a 109 page shooting script </i><i>about a radioactive island of giant mutations. S.F. artist and special effects man </i><i>Paul Blaisdell has already been called in for a consultation by the producer's </i><i>design department. Color and widescreen treatment are contemplated for the </i><i>Quattrocchi film.</i></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Fans of 50s sci-fi/horror might recognize the plot synopsis. Change the location from an island to an isolated Mexican valley and you have “The Cyclops”. That film came out in '57, but was probably filmed in late 1955. Ackerman would've had the connections to know about it, but it's unclear if Quattrocchi had heard any details. Conspicuously absent from this pitch is a giant human of any kind let alone a lady goliath. Without a big person, this sounds like another of a long line of “land of the dinosaur” type films that stretch back to the silent era. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">More tidbits were dropped in other Ackerman columns throughout '56. It's explicitly stated that “Gigantoso” and “Giganturo” are different names the film was being shopped under. The giant woman plot point first gets mentioned here:</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>A natural for a double bill should be Frank Quattrocchi's original screenplay </i><i>GIGANTOSO (about a radioactive island of mutated giant animal life, including </i><i>an Amazonian giantess) and THE SHRINKING MAN by Richard Matheson. A </i><i>fine five figure sum has been reported for Dick to transmute his own as yet </i><i>unpublished Gold Medal novel into screen form for Universal Studios.</i></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br /></i></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">An article from '57 defines the unnamed Amazon (I took some liberties calling her Gigantosa) as being three men high in her “stalking feet”. Compared to the two miles “The Nth Man” was supposed to achieve. “Nth Man” was eventually shaved down to “The Amazing Colossal Man” proportions when Bert I Gordon took over productions</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By '58 the title had been reworked into “The Giant Woman”. Ackerman suggested it was only a small rewrite away from being a perfect sequel to “Colossal Man”. Elsewhere he claimed it was being shot in Mexico in color. An ad for Ackerman's agency that came out in '58 claimed the scripts was co-written by Quattrocchi and an unnamed collaborator. The same ad mentioned another Quattrochi script (“The Projected Man”) was sold to Richard Gordon in '58. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Whatever title it was peddled under, “The Giant Woman” was Ackerman's girlfriend from Canada. After all the hype and effort, not a single frame of film was shot. If a script existed (and I think it did), it was either too bad to use or would have been too expensive to make for the film companies Ackerman had contacts with. AIP probably got a look at it and passed. As did Richard Gordon. As of this writing it is nothing more than an obscure footnote to extremely niche genre of film. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Frank Quattrocchi would eventually get the screenwriting credit he was searching for. The script Ackerman claimed to have sold in '58 made it to screen in '66. It wasn't the most successful of films. Or one that cinema historians hold up as a stunning example of the craft. But “The Projected Man” got made. And that's more than you can say for most film pitches.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Giant Woman 2: Gigante</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Speaking of unmade film pitches.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Giant women may have been a novelty on film in the first half of the 20<sup>th</sup> century, but the movies weren't the only pop culture game in town. Serious science fiction literature of the time tended to avoid Size, but the pulps were another matter. Put together cheap and published fast, the pulp magazines of the day had a voracious need for stories and a paucity of people who were both capable of writing at a professional level and willing to stoop to working for the low rates most pulps paid. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">To say that anything went would be a gross oversimplification. But it is safe to say that creators had more artistic freedom in the pulps than they did on film. In print, it didn't cost anything more to make your protagonist 100 feet tall than it did six feet. Or six inches. Same with the cover art and illustrations. To make those scales work with live actors wasn't cheap. If a story didn't go over well in Thrilling Wonder Stories, the editor might be out a penny a word; if an expensive feature film bombed, careers were ended.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Our next giant woman could have stepped out of the pulps and onto the screen. If she ever made it that far. In fact, an argument could be made that she was, I'll be kind and say, inspired by a magazine that would have been on the shelves at the time of her creation.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gigante is a hot mess of a film pitch. That's her name, by the way. Because “she has to have one” according to her character description. The pitch itself is called simply “The Giant Woman”. It's twelve pages read like what you'd expect if the crew at <i>Mad Men</i>'s Sterling Cooper were asked to come up with a giant lady story. Salacious, but censored. Misogynistic or empowering. Representative or racist. Maybe it was earnest. Maybe it was a joke. Both interpretations are on the table given what we have to go on. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's impossible to make a direct comparison with the previously discussed giant woman, Gigante, and the two who are to follow. The latter two actually made it to screen. The first may have made it to script, but if that script still exists I haven't been able to find it.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At least a handful of “The Giant Woman” pitch documents are floating around out there. As of this writing there is one copy for sale through a reputable online bookseller. I purchased a different copy from another reliable source. Each is twelve yellow typewritten pages giving an overview of the characters, plot, and some sample dialog. The sort of thing short enough to whet a studio executive's appetite. If any bit, it would get turned over to the scriptwriters. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Quattrochhi had a full script I haven't read. Beck and Birdwell had a synopsis I can overanalyze. Quattrocchi's script was publicly hawked in media I could track down almost 70 years after the fact. If Gigante was discussed it was behind closed studio doors. Probably not kindly.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The original story idea was written by George Beck and Russel Birdwell and dated May 28, 1957. About a month after “The Incredible Shrinking Man”'s first box office receipts were counted.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Beck, a founding member of The Writer's Guild of America West and an active member of The Director's Guild, was mostly known as a writer. He wrote and directed the Shelley Winters/Farley Granger vehicle “Behave Yourself!”<i> </i>in 1951, wrote the story that “Take A Letter, Darling”(1942) was based on, and had a steady stream of television writing credits through the 50s into the 60s. He wrote for Lassie and Dobie Gillis; Blondie and The Thin Man.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Birdwell began his Hollywood career as a publicist for “The Son of The Sheik” in 1926. He worked PR for some extremely well respected films including “Gone With The Wind”, the 1937 version of “A Star Is Born”, “Rebecca”, and “Monsieur Verdoux”. Like Beck he wrote and directed as well. He has more directing credits than Beck, but fewer writing. His biggest claim to fame is writing the 1951 biopic “Jim Thorpe – All-American”.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vLS73s5K800g1yQeujqR5vZnfeMOQsakyZYkatEZXQJKXTjhmuIVOccivdHjn6OzhBetQiuJFoE7Yb4UPyHLpj0qMzMw2h-OMYDBV0IW_3KzKjx8bxO2HLkxh-vpgqV8ILzhivC-Z12k8-G_WPy0OPg1VT__fGXAh7PN8MTzVPmAI9wfJ8rk7hC7/s500/thorpe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="348" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6vLS73s5K800g1yQeujqR5vZnfeMOQsakyZYkatEZXQJKXTjhmuIVOccivdHjn6OzhBetQiuJFoE7Yb4UPyHLpj0qMzMw2h-OMYDBV0IW_3KzKjx8bxO2HLkxh-vpgqV8ILzhivC-Z12k8-G_WPy0OPg1VT__fGXAh7PN8MTzVPmAI9wfJ8rk7hC7/s320/thorpe.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No Size content here, folks. Just <br />another Hollywood whitewash.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's unclear when these two met or if they collaborated on any other film pitches. Neither had even a whiff of sci-fi in their resume.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But you didn't come to read about them. Back to the giant woman.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We'll call her GIGANTE since she must have a name.” opens the pitch before going on to describe her thusly:</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>To picture her, think of Ester Williams; now think of Anita Ekberg. Think of them both – </i><i>physically. Then, after turning them both slowly over (in your mind, of course) dwell on the </i><i>most luscious attributes lavished on each by a bountiful Nature. Now sort those attributes </i><i>according to preference and make yourself a composite WOMAN. Take </i><i><u>that</u></i><i> result and </i><i>multiply IT by about twenty. Now you have Gigante. She's something over a hundred feet </i><i>tall, and most ALL of that vast loveliness is quoted practically verbatim under the skimpy </i><i>animal skins she, being feminine to the ultimatest ult, has managed to piece together into </i><i>a garment of sorts. The face is oriental in cast – magnificent almond-shaped eyes; high brow </i><i>and cheek bones; a complexion of honey-amber and black-black hair to her knees.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It may be saying something about my age, but when I read WOMAN in all caps like that I hear it in Animal's (from “The Muppet Show”) voice. If you know the character now you are too. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">You're welcome.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's clear they're pushing the sex appeal as far as they could in 1950s Hollywood with this Frankenstein lady, made up of the best parts of real life sex symbols. Esther Williams, the noted swimmer-turned-actress, was known for her shapely legs (and by extension, backside). Ekberg was getting billed as “Paramount's Marilyn Monroe” around this time since she was a.) blonde, b.) busty, and c.) publicity people aren't always that imaginative. William's career was still going strong, but probably slightly past her peak. Ekberg had fewer film credits than Williams at that time, but her social life and pin-up career (including a Playboy appearance a few months earlier) would have been enough to put her on Beck and Birdwell's radar.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickDNpq7Jkuhapk-7OlFbhW_7wN-QT2Ozi9yAGbgiydk3w-U1a4xHrm3bYQXrwNYBOjznbBwMo0ieAfg4IirNZmVB5IwXcRVD2D2z-ygFLLkAjdJsJwNrjuu4S5Y1h_yJjISuRPMRp3zBsNuVR3t7wwBSJic1K0_DkSxpMKLA9Yhj4ftPMNe0As1YB/s900/esther-williams-slim-aarons.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="595" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickDNpq7Jkuhapk-7OlFbhW_7wN-QT2Ozi9yAGbgiydk3w-U1a4xHrm3bYQXrwNYBOjznbBwMo0ieAfg4IirNZmVB5IwXcRVD2D2z-ygFLLkAjdJsJwNrjuu4S5Y1h_yJjISuRPMRp3zBsNuVR3t7wwBSJic1K0_DkSxpMKLA9Yhj4ftPMNe0As1YB/s320/esther-williams-slim-aarons.jpeg" width="212" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case anyone doubted it, <br />Esther got back.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As to Gigante's race. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">On the one hand, she's found in the Himalayas so it would make sense that she's non-caucasian. On the other, a couple sentences later they suggest she might be the “sole survivor of the Neanderthal Race”. Which makes sense if you think neanderthals were dinosaur sized, and don't mind insinuating that “orientals” are significantly less evolved than white people.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Of course it was 1957; even if they had filmed this they'd have cast a white actress. <b>Maybe</b> hispanic. Censors at the time gave less scrutiny to skimpy costumes if they were worn by “savages”. It wouldn't be the first time Hollywood had cast a woman of the wrong color to wear yellowface. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The next most important character is Tom Hutton. Beck and Birdwell spend almost as much time describing how mercenary Tom is as they do insinuating Gigante's assets. Personally I think they dropped the neanderthal in the wrong bio; if anyone reads as cave-man in their character description, it's Tom. All women are “broads” to him and he makes crappy jokes about them. He's a fighter pilot, deep sea diver, gun runner, and “an assortment of other storied, soldier-of-fortune roles. It is quite likely that Tom Hutton is the last mercenary extant.” He allegedly doesn't have a sentimental cell in his body. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He's been hired to guide a rescue mission into the “unmapped unknown” to find some lost explorers connected to the vaguely named “American Museum”. Seems that somewhere in his soldier-of-fortune past he had to skydive into that unknown. A year later he made it back to “room service and bottled bourbon”. The Museum figures if he can find his way out once on his own, he can do it again, faster with help.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That help consists of Dean Gardner, an older explorer who heads the expedition, Dr. Samuel Wilson, a medical man who has been on a few of these adventures before, and the natives who do all the real work and actually know enough about the unknown to leave it the heck alone.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The rest of the named cast consists of Jonathan H. Bentley. A tycoon's tycoon who builds empires at the drop of a hat and his daughter Donna.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><u>Donna Bentley</u></i><i> – who has everything she ever wanted and to whom it is inconceivable that </i><i>she'd ever want anything she couldn't have – until she meets and wants Tom who regards her </i><i>as just another broad. Like Gigante, only littler. But, still a broad.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The story starts six weeks into the expedition. Gardner's convinced they're one mountain away from either the survivors of the previous expedition or evidence of their demise. Tom's been having trouble with the native guides. There've penetrated pretty far into tabu lands and there are whispers if they go further, none of them will come back. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Naturally Tom cajoles and threatens them until they tow the line.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Our hero, ladies and gentlemen.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Dr. Sam falls into a snow crater and calls for help. It's a good thing Tom and Gardner get there ahead of the natives; the locals would freak seeing a human footprint nine feet deep, big enough to fit six men.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">They tell themselves some lies about it being a weird happenstance and remind themselves not to tell the natives. No need to bother them about something when it might inconvenience the white men. Tom can only cajole so much.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The next day Tom leads a group of eight natives to scout the route ahead. The going it treacherous. The nine have to dig out foot and hand holds in a sheer rock face so the others can make the trip carrying equipment and supplies. Instead of the sherpas taking point, we have Tom in front. Cause he's the hero, this is 50s Hollywood, and that's the way God wanted it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The nine men are tied together as they make their through “several really frightening moment” suspended over “sheer nothingness, over three miles of nothingness.” At one point Tom has to make a leap to continue his ascent. I don't want this to devolve into snark, but I like to think that when the sherpas below applauded it was the kind of supportive praise you give a kid who's done good. Anyone of them could have done it better, but doggone it, you did it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tom loosens his rope and slips it around a convenient boulder. The first sherpa [note: they are never referred to as sherpas in the treatment; I'm using the term to be slightly more accurate and to drive home the fact that these people are highly skilled at what they do] climbs after Tom. Halfway up he stops and screams at what he sees above.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Whatever it is, we know it's impressive; even Tom's eyes bug out at the sight.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The first evidence of the title character was her footprint; our first sight of Gigante is her hand.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>An incredibly huge hand thrusts out of a crevasse in the mountain and between its thumb </i><i>and forefinger, almost daintily plucks the rope. The men hug the cliff face, trying to get </i><i>into the stone. They scream in abject, insane terror. Suddenly men and rope are yanked </i><i>away and are held dangling over the abyss. They look for all the world like as many beads </i><i>on a string. The rope seems the sheerest spider's thread and the men trapped flies as the </i><i>hand jounces the thread. But all are tied about the waist, so are not torn loose. All but </i><i>Tom. He had loosened his end to anchor the rope. At the third jounce he flies off into </i><i>space and plummets down, down, down. An instant before he must splatter against the </i><i>rocky floor, the hand swoops lazily and plucks him out of thin air. Tom grabs wildly, </i><i>embracing the middle finger which is about as long as he is tall and as big around as </i><i>himself.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I've been more than a little critical of the treatment up to this point, but that would've made a good scene. Filmed right there would have been action, dramatic tension, and an introduction of our main character that doesn't rely on showing off her figure. I can picture it vividly with stuntmen on a rope in a process shot with the actress's hand pulling a string before cutting to a a giant hand prop when she gives Tom the middle finger.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A giant hand prop was used in “Dr. Cyclops”, but I think Beck and Birdwell probably had a daintier version of King Kong's hand in mind when they pictured this. This whole pitch reads like a gender-flipped Kong with Tom as the (relatively) tiny ape.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The sherpas vanish because their mothers didn't raise idiots, leaving Gardner and Dr. Sam to look for Tom. We pick up with the two white dudes holing up somewhere vague on the side of the mountain resigned to die without the help of the sherpas. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Whatever they are hiding in (the treatment doesn't say) somehow keeps them from noticing Gigante has scooped them up “as if by some huge mechanical shovel, and are riding through space.” The viewer gets to see Tom riding that giant hand like a mahout directing an elephant. That's the term they use, “mahout”. The sherpas were “native guides”, but they at least got that right. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's implied that the men are unconscious at this point. Which makes not noticing getting shoveled up by a hundred foot woman more plausible. When they come to they are in “a cave of almost infinite immensity”.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We're told that Tom has developed a rapport with their captor. We catch a glimpse of it when he elephant-rides her. If they had made this film I hope they would have shown more of that development. I don't want to keep going back to Kong, but part of what made that movie work were the scenes of him and Fay Wray's character bonding. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Now that Gigante is introduced we get another description of her to hammer home the sex appeal.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>… a giantess. But a giant giantess. Over a hundred feet tall, perfectly proportioned and </i><i>mother-naked under animal skins she has contrived into a garment of sorts.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I sussed out “mother-naked” from context, but did some digging to confirm. Essentially it was another term for wearing your birthday suit; being as naked as the day that you were born. From what I can tell this was probably old fashioned when they wrote it back in '57.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As to being naked under your clothes? Technically, we all are, but I'm going to suggest they were trying to say she wasn't wearing underwear under her loincloth. It may just be me, but the description makes me think of Jane in some of the pre-code Tarzan movies. When she got into animal skins they were cut to show a lot of thigh and almost all of her leg except a small string of fabric connecting the front and back. You could tell she was going commando as well as native.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7iJkNij8LWkT4vVnVnHSxorAkFifYTlHq0QJxq2peqVFnaMjsMtt0P3oGwnEeCgHcFyGHgWBLJCm3ah-G8CW2wLP2k5SfXlehMcq9KTSWUM0UDm_2PAx7B6HK1Q1x7L5ovI4dK9nJkR2oFHODQqNSub43aLs2e3DVWAPOpCBoqWYCfVZualX8HY_/s1024/Tarzan-Jane-Maureen-O-Sullivan-mate-6-1024x803.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="803" data-original-width="1024" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7iJkNij8LWkT4vVnVnHSxorAkFifYTlHq0QJxq2peqVFnaMjsMtt0P3oGwnEeCgHcFyGHgWBLJCm3ah-G8CW2wLP2k5SfXlehMcq9KTSWUM0UDm_2PAx7B6HK1Q1x7L5ovI4dK9nJkR2oFHODQqNSub43aLs2e3DVWAPOpCBoqWYCfVZualX8HY_/s320/Tarzan-Jane-Maureen-O-Sullivan-mate-6-1024x803.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maureen O'Sullivan as Jane in all her pre-Code glory.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Despite not having a sentimental cell in his body Tom says she's a really nice kid. He's teaching her to speak English.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Again, I'd rather see at least a little bit of that. Maybe even have him learn a little of her language. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In a corner of her cave is what's left of the expedition Tom and pals came there to find. Blanched skeletons and a crate marked AMERICAN MUSEUM – NEW YORK. It's unclear if Gigante had anything to do with their deaths or if she found them that way and brought them home to be bric-a-brac. The fact they've only been missing a year and are now skeletons suggests they got eaten. I'm not an expert, but I don't think exposure to the elements in a cold environment would lead to skeletons that fast.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gardner and Dr. Sam come up with the brilliant idea of bringing Gigante back. This is the first time her name is actually said out loud and it's explicitly stated that they are the ones who came up with it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tom forgets he's a mercenary without a cell of sentiment for a little bit and refuses to go along with their plan. “He can't see subjecting this big, beautiful broad to any circusy exhibition. Let her alone. Leave her where she belongs.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A big enough bribe reminds Tom who he really is. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The next trick is getting Gigante to a port where she can be transported to the US. Simple. Unlike giant monsters in other films she's not only sweet on the human love interest, but she understands English and takes orders. She carries them out of the Himalayas in a pouch at her waist.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Act Two skips the boring parts and gets us straight to New York. And by “boring” I mean the parts the writers didn't want to think about. Mongolia is bordered by Russia and China. Neither of whom are that friendly with us now, let alone during the peak of the Cold War.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Personally, I'd love to see what they pulled out of their butts to get through that one. And the reaction from either country's military when they saw a giant Asian woman carrying three capitalist pigs in her purse. I'd pay good money to see that movie.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Geopolitics aside, the nearest ports would've been Pacific. Guess what isn't on the Pacific? New York. To get to Hawaii would've taken over a month, maybe two depending on the departure port and speed of the ship. Which couldn't be that fast since it had to hold a 100 foot person and enough to feed her till they could hit the nearest supply stop a month later.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Yeah, I know; I should really just relax.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Instead of all that we open Act Two with newspaper headlines in many languages proclaiming Gigante's arrival and a montage of steps taken to accommodate a woman of her proportions. The biggest ballroom of the Waldorf is now her bedroom. Her bed “acres of foam-rubber mattresses, stacked a dozen deep on the floor.” Miles of sheets and blankets are sewn together to make her bedding. They turn the hotel swimming pool into a bubble bath.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Fans of gowns will be pleased to know they would be featured in this film. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>It takes the combined facilities of several of the most swanky Fifth Avenue coutourieres to </i><i>make a gown for Gigante. Hordes of Lilliputian seamstresses, on ladders and scaffolds, </i><i>drape that gorgeous body with bolt after bolt of silk and satin, pinning here, tucking there – </i><i>all under the screamed directions of the head designer over a public address system.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Meanwhile, in Nevada, Glenn Manning is looking at his adjustable man-diaper and wondering what sin a man could commit to deserve that fashion disaster.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I actually like this scene. And not for the salaciousness. Censors of the day would've kept things from getting too risque and it shifts the movie slightly out of the typical sci-fi/horror into romantic comedy territory where makeovers are as inevitable as death and taxes.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It also, arguably, shows a serious break from the Kong narrative. At this point in his film Kong was getting wrapped in chains, not silks and satins. Gigante came to this country peacefully and she is being treated kindly. She's being exploited every bit as much as Kong, but she has a nicer cage.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's also possible to read the gown as another form of bondage, that Kong's chains are more honest, but the beauty standards being imposed on Gigante are every bit as constraining. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm sure none of that was going through Beck or Birdwell's head when they came up with it; they just wanted their giant WOMAN to be well dressed when she rampaged.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Somewhere in all this Tom isn't happy at the way things are going down. Gigante's being exploited every bit as much as he knew she would and he still hasn't been paid.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He shows up in need of a shave at a party thrown by the Bentleys (in need of a shave cause he's that kind of fella) to drop some exposition. We are told Jonathan sponsored the trip back after a long call from Gardner and Dr. Sam. Tom's bribe was confirmed, but he was told he wouldn't be paid until Gigante (called cargo) arrived in New York.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We do find out the port they leave from was on the North China coast and that they were taken away on Bentley's largest luxury liner. It's unclear how long the three men and a giant lady had to cool their heels in China, but Bentley had to send it there. Unless it was in Japan it might have added another couple months to the voyage home.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I almost agree with Tom being so angry; six months between the bribe and payoff is wrong. And not paying once he's there? That's just bad form.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Bentley's richer than Croesus, but can't afford to let Tom be on his way. Gigante has become so attached to the little guy she'll follow him if he tries to skip town. We're told he tried it before and Gigante wrecked havoc as she looked for him. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Skipping a month's long sea voyage is one thing; when action scenes become exposition you're doing something wrong. I know you're trying to keep the budget reasonable, but there's a better way.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This wouldn't be a gender-flipped “King Kong” without a normal-sized love interest to complete the triangle. We know from her character description that Donna wants Tom and we finally get to see that. Donna (and her father) are used to being obeyed. Her reaction to Tom:</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Donna Bentley is more than somewhat taken with Tom's independence. He's something </i><i>entirely new to her and his apparent disinterest in her as a woman piques her more than </i><i>she will ever admit, or abide. The fact that Tom is at all concerned about Gigante and </i><i>what will happen to her in all this hullabaloo is a source of amusement to Donna. How </i><i>can he feel anything at all for that monstrosity? Tom bridles: Gigante is a dame like any </i><i>other, even Donna herself, except bigger. She's got feelings like any other broad. He </i><i>doesn't want any part of this and never did. He feels like a heel for wanting out now –</i><i>but the damage is done and he wants his dough. Yes, indeed – Tom is something very </i><i>different to Donna. She decides he's about the most necessary ingredient she needs to </i><i>attain the fuller life.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In rom coms Donna is the fiancee who gets dumped when the guy figures out that what he wants is the girl who isn't rich or perfect, but is right for him. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Know who isn't rich or perfect? Gigante. But this isn't a rom com.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By this tine Madison Square Garden (or an armory in case the budget won't stretch) has been turned into a medical theater. In a part of her initial character description we were promised “she will be explained in incredulously gasped detail by learned doctors and scientists riding up her towering length on hydraulic platforms to hold stethoscopes and other scientific impedimenta against that creamy bosom to listen to the thunder (on track) of that great heart”.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The line is repeated almost verbatim at this point in the pitch. Sadly the authors were so focused on that creamy bosom to come up with any real explanation of Gigante's size. The throwaway line about maybe being the last neanderthal in her character bio is the closest we get to science. And that's not very close.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Personally, I'd love to see one of these 50s scientists shrug their shoulders and mumble they're clueless. There's so much we don't understand in the real world, so many mysteries it took teams of scientists around the globe decades to suss out. Just once couldn't the (at best) handful of experts who get called into these movies be stumped?</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But people don't like that. There has to be a cause for all the bad things that happen. Steps we can avoid gaining a fly head, growing 60 feet, or sprouting fur when the moon is full and the wolfsbane blooms. It's very reassuring to know there's always a man in a white coat who can tell us what went wrong; make sure it couldn't happen to us.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As a kid watching these movies I never bought that. Every terrible thing in them was fair game to come after me or be done to me. The monsters were real; the reassurances were the lie.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm not surprised the treatment doesn't include any technobabble hand waving. It doesn't seem like it's the strength of the writers and not what they were concerned about. Stephen King once wrote that having nuclear waste be the origin of the pickle-eating frog monsters in “Horror of Party Beach” wasn't a message against nuclear dumping; the producers wanted pickle-eating frog monsters and atomic energy was the excuse they pulled out of a hat. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Beck and Birdwell wanted a 100 foot woman, who cared about the excuse. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And I don't fault them for that.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gigante's heart is unhappy. Tom's been spending less time with her and when he does show up he's with Donna. And he leaves with Donna. Gigante may not have had much human contact before, but she's got a pretty good idea of what goes on when Tom and Donna aren't with her. Gigante puts up with all this circus BS and the doctors clucking and perving on her for Tom's sake. Why should she put up with that humiliation if Tom's going to neglect her for that other woman?</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Things come to a head when Gigante tries to confess her feelings for Tom. She demands Donna be sent away so only Tom gets to hear what's in her heart. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Donna laughs at that. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I don't blame Gigante for trying to grab Donna; she had it coming. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tom manages to keep the peace and get Gigante settled down. She “subsides, pouting like a scolded child.” It's not the first time the treatment refers to Gigante as being childlike. It's one of the things about the character that keeps me thinking of Kong. That and the being gigantic. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tom goes straight from Gigante's side to Bentley's penthouse. This time Bentley gives in to Tom's demands for payment. Tom takes a taxi to the airport and hops a plane for Europe.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The third act does not go well for New York City.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There's only so long Gigante will stay calm without seeing Tom. Five seconds after that and she's on a Tom hunt up Broadway and down Fifth Avenue, kicking anything on wheels out of her way like so many toy trucks, and staring through high-rise windows like a peeping Tom on stilts.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's not in the treatment, but I'd like to see the “giant monster looks through window at pretty woman” trope get flipped if anyone ever does film this. We've seen women in negligees, bathtubs, and boudoirs over the decades; it's only fair they show a guy struggling to cover his junk while a giant set of lady eyes leers through the blinds.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The treatment describes the military force being rallied to fight the giant WOMAN. I've seen enough of these films to picture the stock footage of tanks on the march and planes being launched. The tally is one squadron of fighter jets, one tank regiment, and two regiments of infantry. Not enough for D-Day; this is more a DD-Day.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I know. I'm ashamed of myself too.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gardner, who hasn't been mentioned since Act One gets on an airfield loudspeaker and pleads with Tom to come back and fix the mess they made of things. Why he didn't have the tower radio the plane isn't clear, but it does make for an interesting scene. Though, again, we're veering a bit into rom-com territory. Not that that's a bad thing.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tom “comes running, hoping poor Gigante isn't destroyed before he gets to her.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Like Bentley warned him would happen if he left.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Someone … gives Gigante directions to the Bentley place? I don't know. The outline says Gigante has figured out where “that woman Donna” is; I can see her shaking the information out of someone. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">However Gigante knows it doesn't take her long to get to an adjoining building and start smashing through windows and walls with her huge mitt until she finally seizes Donna.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Actually it reads “sizes Donna”, which is now my favorite typo ever.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Donna conveniently faints so she doesn't have to hear Tom sweet talk Gigante down from her rampage. Things will be different this time. He'll spend all his time with her. Even go back to Mongolia if that'll make her happy.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But Gigante prefers it here. A hundred mattress bed at the Waldorf is better than a cave with skeletons for décor. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But the guys with the guns show up and don't see it that way. Gigante is too dangerous to be housed among civilized people. Something has to be done. Won't anyone think of the children. Tom tries to reason with them, but they aren't listening. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gigante ends up chained in an armory. The treatment says it's like Gulliver, but it's hard not to think of Kong. According to Beck and Birdwell it took half the army to put her there. Tom convinces her to go home, that they'll destroy her if she stays there.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There's an escape and a desperate run to the waterfront down at The Battery. He points the way and she creates a tidal wave as she gets in and “with three strokes surges past Sandy Hook.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>The last glimpse Tom has of her is when she rises waist high in the sea to wave a final, </i><i>wistful farewell – then her back and haunches as she submerges – and swims beyond the </i><i>horizon.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The named characters mill around the dock watching all this. Tom gets out one last “broad”. Donna is woman enough to admit she's probably responsible for most of it even though she had nothing to do with Gigante getting lured away from her home. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Donna apologizes. Tom shrugs and walks away. Donna has her chauffeur stalk after him with her in the backseat. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The end.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There are multiple copies of “The Giant Woman” available through a number of reputable booksellers. Almost certainly more in private collections. A number of sellers draw attention to it by making a connection to a film that was actually made and will be discussed in detail later in the third part , “The Attack of the 50 Foot Woman”. The seller I bought my copy from strongly suggested this as well in their online listing, but balked when I asked for specifics.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The case for “The Giant Woman” being rewritten into Attack isn't strong. There's a giant WOMAN in each. They're both in love triangles that don't end well for anyone involved. Attack was originally announced as “The Astounding Giant Woman”. They both feature a scene where a giant hand comes crashing through a window to get the other woman. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That's about it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's not like Beck and Birdwell's treatment was the first giant WOMAN ever; sure as hell not the first tragic love triangle. A giant hand reaching through a window to grab a pretty woman goes back to Kong groping for Fay Wray over 30 years before. The original title is a natural progression from “The Incredible Shrinking Man” and “The Amazing Colossal Man”.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Attack's poster art might be questioned. I wouldn't be the first to point out that the now iconic image (a giant woman bestride an elevated highway in a major metropolitan area) is nowhere close to anything we see in the finished film. Or that the woman casually tossing cars was much bigger than 50 feet. Gigante (who was closer to the scale of the lady in Attack's poster) went on a rampage through New York City, while Allison Hayes took a pissed-off saunter through some unincorporated desert. If I had to match the poster art to the project, I know which film I'd attribute it to. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's possible the producer's of Attack got a copy of “The Giant Woman” but they didn't have the budget to make such an ambitious picture. There's no indication they were even interested in this sort of movie until after “The Amazing Colossal Man” turned a profit. Months after the pitch was written. They even hired that film's scriptwriter (Mark Hanna) to write Attack.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Hanna's autobiography doesn't mention anything about him being given a story outline. I don't think he was. At least I haven't come across any smoking guns.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I first saw this pitch document I thought it might be a fake. One, because it had never made it onto my pop culture radar. Two, because it conjured up images of a 100 foot tall Anita Ekberg – five years before she would play one in “Boccoccio '70”. If anything, the giant woman in that Italian film seems closer to Gigante (post makeover) than Allison Hayes in Attack.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQgezwqrTlCj9YdKbiJqloX5HTuuGLztpeMu6tjZyTbh9AvQpHhL1zD34wETobRolfElwfzhsadLZiPsNv0AKaJdrgPOMMzkAPn3BWIZQDjHs92a014dPzeeFQ9RsQplYGsaxPxS8YyGZc-gXRxAT0K4OXbNPV8tRZbAcqo2QBs6fYJMThd52DTAX/s640/ryge7k.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="640" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQgezwqrTlCj9YdKbiJqloX5HTuuGLztpeMu6tjZyTbh9AvQpHhL1zD34wETobRolfElwfzhsadLZiPsNv0AKaJdrgPOMMzkAPn3BWIZQDjHs92a014dPzeeFQ9RsQplYGsaxPxS8YyGZc-gXRxAT0K4OXbNPV8tRZbAcqo2QBs6fYJMThd52DTAX/s320/ryge7k.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ekberg as giant.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For a number of reasons I do think the Beck/Birdwell treatment is legitimate. But the conspiracy theorist in me can't help but notice the Woolner's had connections with the Italian film industry. There's no direct link between the Woolner's and Fellini, but I can't help but wonder if (and this is a huge “if”) they passed along the idea for giant Ekberg to someone in his camp.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's interesting to note that this pitch wasn't the only time a pre-Boccoccio Anita Ekberg was imagined as a giant. Ackerman (yeah, the same one who promoted “Gigantosa”) made an offhand joke in one of his articles suggesting Ekberg would make a better lead for what would become “Attack of the 50 Foot Woman”. It's very likely he would have known about the Beck/Birdwell pitch. Whether he was thinking about B&B's pitch or if Ekberg was the first woman to spring to mind when the subject of bust size came up is anybody's guess.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54LIZnVv60nEY2VDRdCAbpMaTnpmsQhGpxVqDZcZTvuZFgS-a1lanDmLpe8xjEW0WMl2V9UWGs3Np07bnHO0caebh3grU0Lr6j8VR_S6NHJ47kHLALd3xTw47EGKOWuOFPQQJ1meZcw2IBNZxlftbCbmlfJhD3z4thuOO_yh_3ikw2UPrr0Ywbcyb/s679/boccaccio-70-Le-Tentazioni-del-Dottor-4.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="679" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54LIZnVv60nEY2VDRdCAbpMaTnpmsQhGpxVqDZcZTvuZFgS-a1lanDmLpe8xjEW0WMl2V9UWGs3Np07bnHO0caebh3grU0Lr6j8VR_S6NHJ47kHLALd3xTw47EGKOWuOFPQQJ1meZcw2IBNZxlftbCbmlfJhD3z4thuOO_yh_3ikw2UPrr0Ywbcyb/s320/boccaccio-70-Le-Tentazioni-del-Dottor-4.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case anyone doubted Ekberg's credentials.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A million years ago, before I beat the similarities between Kong and Gigante into a dead horse, I dropped some vague allegations about Gigante being inspired by the pulps. I haven't come across anything that would suggest that either Beck or Birdwell had read much science fiction. Pulp or otherwise. But there are some covers out there that bear some strong resemblance to what we saw in their pitch.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The cover to “Queen of the Ice Men” (Fantastic Adventures, Nov. 1949) bears a strong resemblance to what we're given in the pre-NYC parts of Giant Woman. The Ice Men takes place at the Arctic Circle instead of the Himalayas, but the visual of a giant woman in furs towering over failed mountaineers is almost identical. Though the title character in the novel isn't as “mother naked” on the cover as Gigante is described. The story itself is also pretty far removed from what Beck/Birdwell give us. In this, our giant woman is the head of a society who can grow to giant size at will. The romantic shenanigans that go on aren't worth commenting on. They're a trope, not a coincidence.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-rmN-7CBDSGcbPQ5yOvLbDoLPtGne7M6Dg6Du6F014wQoEw2dlbmpqt1xaSDludDF02oC2Aytl43bC2kqHdmJTWxBjFdMhNTPz1HAYjYHLbEzNhgXtI7JiJqtWbzRrvjGEkBDHuK4gYWp53CkuoC3u3o5uG_ajkJtHklYpTDPMr4uxVHC7P3z7U1/s1889/Fantastic_Adventures_v11n11_1949-11_unz.org_0000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1889" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-rmN-7CBDSGcbPQ5yOvLbDoLPtGne7M6Dg6Du6F014wQoEw2dlbmpqt1xaSDludDF02oC2Aytl43bC2kqHdmJTWxBjFdMhNTPz1HAYjYHLbEzNhgXtI7JiJqtWbzRrvjGEkBDHuK4gYWp53CkuoC3u3o5uG_ajkJtHklYpTDPMr4uxVHC7P3z7U1/s320/Fantastic_Adventures_v11n11_1949-11_unz.org_0000.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tonight The Sky Will Fall”'s (Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy May, 1952) cover gives us a visual closer to Gigante's final rampage. A beautiful woman in an evening gown tearing through the streets of a major city. Probably New York. The cover has next to nothing to do with the story inside, but I'm sure it sold more copies than a text-accurate one would have.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCR1oHI3yKERVyUNST6Q3jJCFwrcFDyrXow21sQXLgxYRjYZkgj91lZCyZ382iL2RudOLVK25c9PMdRDUP6k9Qy-l8zi23cUbFVTT04PnVLrih07Oikzk0s7EgFky79OYimxmImbqR4hodzZtmnMwKisUsuSYLbPufft2ziZJL1JhtifHWaY14EZ3V/s2267/Imagination_v03n03_1952-05_LennyS-cape1736_0000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2267" data-original-width="1687" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCR1oHI3yKERVyUNST6Q3jJCFwrcFDyrXow21sQXLgxYRjYZkgj91lZCyZ382iL2RudOLVK25c9PMdRDUP6k9Qy-l8zi23cUbFVTT04PnVLrih07Oikzk0s7EgFky79OYimxmImbqR4hodzZtmnMwKisUsuSYLbPufft2ziZJL1JhtifHWaY14EZ3V/s320/Imagination_v03n03_1952-05_LennyS-cape1736_0000.jpeg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The October, 1954 issue of the same magazine would feature another giant lady dressed to the nines. Although Toffee is clearly being playful instead of outright destructive. She's also much smaller than the lady on the '52 cover.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTel7pn09PRa_yACBTra_EletApGCT9r0XAzJSQ8rlSgKAyvrswuYNm5WX4ZXa11RGbF2LCZmLSjpysUop20e5o8jTrF_5qhdmbnZPAmcyTqHzJyIa5BvwUp0jhCOQ7dcJfDqGshRQm40YmnaXozWSU2xFX2zDLna5x5JnXl1wEBNljcZusSqG5wUe/s2144/20318234-4771204602_4ec7126dfc_o1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2144" data-original-width="1572" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTel7pn09PRa_yACBTra_EletApGCT9r0XAzJSQ8rlSgKAyvrswuYNm5WX4ZXa11RGbF2LCZmLSjpysUop20e5o8jTrF_5qhdmbnZPAmcyTqHzJyIa5BvwUp0jhCOQ7dcJfDqGshRQm40YmnaXozWSU2xFX2zDLna5x5JnXl1wEBNljcZusSqG5wUe/s320/20318234-4771204602_4ec7126dfc_o1.jpg" width="235" /></a></div><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">More of a stretch would be “The Incubi of Parallel X” (Planet Stories Sep, 1951) or “The Sea People” (Amazing Stories Aug, 1946). The giant women in the former are green skinned with exaggerated arching brows. The sort of fetishized “exotic” that might be translated into real world women of color back in the day. Echoes of that sort of thing were being played off in Star Trek 15 years later. Depending on your views of Gamora and Mantis in the MCU, they may still be with us today.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrajDqI-1TrtjSTWMVe-afPEfjXWx4qKk81dHpqy_4U9Ek-Nkdu_Jdo86ofb-Ss3-eRy5eDVMUn-aDWiSGvGgjcMa5cHIAdAJdZBVm-E8fJau4P1t2CTcNNTqNw-MXrcXc_ZyE_OfM0UtfxGYvb8tvSjJBLKQTv_wCMSj0D9EwGzVzlCveqtLmMnD3/s3000/Planet%20Stories%20v05%20n02%201951%2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2137" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrajDqI-1TrtjSTWMVe-afPEfjXWx4qKk81dHpqy_4U9Ek-Nkdu_Jdo86ofb-Ss3-eRy5eDVMUn-aDWiSGvGgjcMa5cHIAdAJdZBVm-E8fJau4P1t2CTcNNTqNw-MXrcXc_ZyE_OfM0UtfxGYvb8tvSjJBLKQTv_wCMSj0D9EwGzVzlCveqtLmMnD3/s320/Planet%20Stories%20v05%20n02%201951%2009.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The latter with its topless giant (nipples discretely hidden by her and an admirer's hands) standing in the waves matches the censored sexuality Beck and Birdwell played with. Unlike “The Giant Woman”, this lady is facing towards the viewer instead of swimming away from them. Her expression more “come hither” than goodbye.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm83zrvbmVEBPQWYHmwkb_iZAxcJm8rqVmpRNCqvnMQ4W6gyCOleLWJ0sMapZXpvEC5XtzHuqrS1Ahthh-H_4R05T0STiOitIkbJsQKEgZEbKRqZbyA-6o7FvSGs_4ThT6luH_93xu-2e7_u9ooPUg9jsM960i193yZUQdDA0LR74IDBTmexfl2mPP/s2935/Amazing%20Stories%20August.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2935" data-original-width="2053" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm83zrvbmVEBPQWYHmwkb_iZAxcJm8rqVmpRNCqvnMQ4W6gyCOleLWJ0sMapZXpvEC5XtzHuqrS1Ahthh-H_4R05T0STiOitIkbJsQKEgZEbKRqZbyA-6o7FvSGs_4ThT6luH_93xu-2e7_u9ooPUg9jsM960i193yZUQdDA0LR74IDBTmexfl2mPP/s320/Amazing%20Stories%20August.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The strongest (although still circumstantial) connection between the pulps and “The Giant Woman” is the March 1957 issue of Fantastic Science Fiction,“The Goddess of World 21”. The title is followed by the tagline “Hated By Women – Preyed On By Men”. Unlike the other titles, it was on the stands only a couple months before the pitch was dated. It's easy to picture one or both of the writers picking up a copy, thumbing through it, and making up their own story based on the visuals and a few snippets of text.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCUCSeUJMz4q-zuX625PoiVRVs1Fqcb840ZxZBcAx97uCo15k0Ehvh9n_COqDsFgW11DiBoZ7OL8-u3tFXHiQ7iz-Iv5XYjcG4ef48Fw1tlcno1eMEi0Ey0a2lvNnpdt8EZwyEaDnA3nqiUxkpfTcrTU-8yX50MSxE-_UoMUug3LnkLvh1UymTC1M/s2285/Fantastic_v06n02_1957-03_0000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2285" data-original-width="1766" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCUCSeUJMz4q-zuX625PoiVRVs1Fqcb840ZxZBcAx97uCo15k0Ehvh9n_COqDsFgW11DiBoZ7OL8-u3tFXHiQ7iz-Iv5XYjcG4ef48Fw1tlcno1eMEi0Ey0a2lvNnpdt8EZwyEaDnA3nqiUxkpfTcrTU-8yX50MSxE-_UoMUug3LnkLvh1UymTC1M/s320/Fantastic_v06n02_1957-03_0000.jpeg" width="247" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The similarities are there on the surface, but disappear when you actually read the story. The sort of legal protection old school Hollywood types would have loved. The giant woman standing akimbo on the cover matches Gigante's scale and dress sense, but that's about it. She's attractive, but hardly the Franken-pinup B&B conjure up. Her hair isn't as long as their creation. And it's brown, not black. And she's caucasian. Take away her height, put her in a nice dress, and the goddess of world 21 could be the girl next door.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The goddess on the inside of the book is another story. Virgil Finlay based his interior illustration of the title character on Bettie Page, lifting a three year old image of her posing in a bikini. He changed the way she was looking, upped her cup size, and added a tiny man on her right boob. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85TcIzouSmqpe5niJ-14lYPANJ8132BJ_dMXJPjQXmj9pTc-tvVSArzQvOvpBRypEDpZLFD6c-vhRFKURVWV5vrgbbYTPhkm1zg_KEG_MLbJr1ukGqlSGIadh9b9V7WsHdaKdqCVJx2ouyV11MLbrthmGpq0LkkJNYpHmRp4aW9xxrMX8jXJ3iRG5/s1024/4030d3028bd286be5f5ecba8dd3fff7b.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="1024" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85TcIzouSmqpe5niJ-14lYPANJ8132BJ_dMXJPjQXmj9pTc-tvVSArzQvOvpBRypEDpZLFD6c-vhRFKURVWV5vrgbbYTPhkm1zg_KEG_MLbJr1ukGqlSGIadh9b9V7WsHdaKdqCVJx2ouyV11MLbrthmGpq0LkkJNYpHmRp4aW9xxrMX8jXJ3iRG5/s320/4030d3028bd286be5f5ecba8dd3fff7b.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCyJ_fwpfNz4A9RHx9JczrdDI--ZS9jkVH7uKnN5_qr1ctH79pl-9J903QNc72GsGGetCet7MwFLZy4qxjFgUie-H14pbGkmWPJHSUknDoEXuslJQ43wmfXTLG0NYsUbFzNHNONI7nQi6dI66PFIlr7yNAqY_nOo8CGvyFvAeos8ceZJ3bIyYfV7w/s2082/Screen%20Shot%202023-01-28%20at%203.54.28%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="2082" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCyJ_fwpfNz4A9RHx9JczrdDI--ZS9jkVH7uKnN5_qr1ctH79pl-9J903QNc72GsGGetCet7MwFLZy4qxjFgUie-H14pbGkmWPJHSUknDoEXuslJQ43wmfXTLG0NYsUbFzNHNONI7nQi6dI66PFIlr7yNAqY_nOo8CGvyFvAeos8ceZJ3bIyYfV7w/s320/Screen%20Shot%202023-01-28%20at%203.54.28%20PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Take away the space suit, and the little man could be one of the doctors checking out Gigante's heart rate. Have your characters call her Asian and 50s Hollywood would be happy with the casting. It's not defensible, but I can see it happening. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That's Gigante.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Mix the cover tagline with the plot of King Kong and you have “The Giant Woman”. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Could this have been a good movie? </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Probably not. At least there are too many “ifs” to give a meaningful answer. If it had a solid script (not written by B&B). If it had a decent budget. And a good director with the right technical people. If the cast had chemistry. It would take a perfect storm of creative talents to turn the 12 page pitch into something good.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But it's not impossible. Some of the basic tropes at play are solid. There are some good ideas. Even if they were included accidentally. If this had been made in the 50s it might have made a good vehicle for Page herself. If they came up with a reason why the giant foreign lady was white. Page had wanted to get into films. Salacious as this was, “The Giant Woman” still would've been a step up from the cheesecake photos and fetish porn that paid her bills back in the day.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Maybe one day someone will work with the estates of Beck and Birdwell to make this film. Either as the type of film they had originally envisioned or as a commentary on modern society and it's treatment of women. Both have their merits. Neither would be easy. As one of the few people who have a copy, I'm not holding my breath waiting for Spielberg to call to borrow my copy. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-58978749858253676382022-01-09T08:11:00.002-08:002022-01-16T11:04:15.077-08:00Represent (Giant Woman Story)<p> Author's Note: Not too long ago I found myself on the Body Positivity panel at a SizeCon Mini. There were some great people on the panel and in the audience. I learned a lot. </p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/EnormousEri" target="_blank">EnormousEri</a> brought up an issue I had honestly never thought about. When I think about representation I tend to think in terms of race or gender. If someone mentioned weight I'd think of the many images and stories I've seen of big beautiful women and men. I hadn't even thought about the other extreme. Eri wasn't seeing her body type when she looked through size content. <br /></p><p>Better people than I gave her advice and shared their personal experience. I didn't have either, but I am a writer. I can't make the world better; but I can do better with my stories. I offered to write a piece that had the representation she was looking for and she very graciously allowed me into her DMs to ask her about her experiences. </p><p>After a couple false starts and numerous issues (I was finishing other stories and there were personal matters that kept my head out of writing) I finally finished and sent it off to Eri for her final approval. She was very forgiving of my silliness. Including the story title. Originally it was meant as a placeholder, but the more I wrote the more it seemed the best choice. Even if it is a bit on the nose.</p><p>Content Warning: There are moments of intimacy and tension, but the actual sex and gore occur offscreen. At its heart it's a love story between two women. There's enough blue language and an after-the-act bedroom scene that pull this into NSFW territory. Nudity is mentioned, but not dwelt on. And one of them becomes a giant. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIV9ucnUK_RUv8g-BPcAh0OFbz3iLDoFhC5KHFl4znyRNMbROMuEmEnhx0IZOORJGFT1Z_2dw0Nlul5DiknlK44_btsiYZ0KwTssgWAnhCNpEqKhuQ7HyKXPOpQ7C9TWvjYK-BTqOMO75YZ76OKRDRIh-UBz9yb1DJBNEm6ORq-_EmUB9kmaRlTei8=s1638" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1638" data-original-width="940" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIV9ucnUK_RUv8g-BPcAh0OFbz3iLDoFhC5KHFl4znyRNMbROMuEmEnhx0IZOORJGFT1Z_2dw0Nlul5DiknlK44_btsiYZ0KwTssgWAnhCNpEqKhuQ7HyKXPOpQ7C9TWvjYK-BTqOMO75YZ76OKRDRIh-UBz9yb1DJBNEm6ORq-_EmUB9kmaRlTei8=s320" width="184" /></a></div><br /><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Represent</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">copyright 2021 </p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Taedis</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Stop picking on the girl and pass the gravy.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Who's picking? Is it my fault boys don't wanna date skeletons?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe I don't want a boy.”<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're too pretty to be a lesbin.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's pronounced 'lesbian.' And I'm not. I'm bi.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are we out of gravy or is everyone deaf?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The boat's sitting right there. If it were a snake it'd bite ya.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Here you go, gramp.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Please and thank you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's not healthy.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe not, but I like it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not gravy, you damn fool. Erin's weight problem.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I had seconds for Chri … for crying out loud. I'd have thirds, but I heard there was pie.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Smart move. It's pecan this week.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Even if you get it down we all know where it's gonna end up.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Gram!”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know what they do.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you're so healthy do the thing your sister did.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thing?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a scam.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's not a scam. They're doing medical testing or some such. The flyer's by the door. Something something save the world.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And they took Mel?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a scam.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hush, you. No, they didn't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />“They'll be calling her inside the week. That's when they ask for money.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And she jogs.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So do I.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You don't need to. You're scrawny enough already.”</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin didn't find the flyer till she was scouring her purse for a Kleenex three days later. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">PERFECT SPECIMENS NEEDED TO SAVE THE WORLD! The paper was purple, the ink white. There was a phone number. No address.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin wasn't going to call it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then she found the other surprise Gram had left her.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Have a seat, Ms. …” The doctor waved vaguely towards what might have been a chair under all the mess. The nameplate on her desk read “Dr. Justina Novak.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Erin.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She refused to leave, ma'am.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The woman who'd escorted Erin in wore a uniform. Erin was pretty sure she was Army. Or Air Force. Maybe Marines. And either a captain or a wicked awesome private.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin wasn't very good at uniforms.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thank you, Gina.” Dr. Novak didn't look up from her desk as she took the file from Captain Private. “That'll be all.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes, ma'am.” Gina barely slowed as she walked past Erin and said. “We're looking for super-soldiers, not super-Karens.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's not …” Erin watched the door close behind Gina before turning back towards Novak. “It's not like I asked to see a manager.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Novak's glasses were in her right hand, Ernie's open folder in her left. If she'd heard Erin she didn't give any sign.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why are you here, Erin?” Novak tossed the file on the clutter and looked at Erin for the first time.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin took a second to do the emotional math. When the equations balanced she handed over a small piece of paper.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“'Eating Disorder Support'.” Novak crumpled it up and almost got it in the wastebasket the first try. There wasn't a second. “You don't need that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell Gram. That's the fifth one she's stuck in my stuff this month.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're sick of trying to prove you're healthy?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm sick of trying to prove I'm normal.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell me I'm not your doctor, but even if I was you're waiving confidentiality.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll feel better.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. What you said.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Novak took off her glasses long enough to read something from Erin's file. The landline she started dialing was older than either of them.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What are you doing?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Meddling.” Whoever was on the other end must've picked up. “Hello, this is Dr. Novak. I was hoping to speak with Erin.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that Gram?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm sorry, ma'am. Looks like I accidentally called her emergency contact instead of her primary number. It's been one of those mornings. You understand.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Pause.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, there's nothing wrong. I was just calling to let her know she'd been accepted into the program.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Pause.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, this isn't bulimia support …. or that … I've never even heard of that, ma'am … Yes, 'save the world' … Tell him I'd think it was a scam too, ma'am.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There was a long string of Gram words Erin couldn't make out from her side of the desk. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not her doctor, but you ARE her grandmother.” Novak flipped through Erin's file as she spoke. “Between you, me, and the wall Erin's probably the healthiest person to come across my desk. I've seen astronauts in worse shape than her.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gram sounded excited.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'd appreciate it if you kept this under your hat. Erin hasn't accepted yet, and I don't want to jinx anything. … You have a good day too, ma'am.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Novak hung up.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That outta get her off your back.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Did you mean that? All the things you told her?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“With a little grandma inflation, yeah.” Novak nodded slightly.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What about the part with the astronauts?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not everyone we send into space is an Olympian.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If I'm so healthy why did what's her name reject me?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Your BMI's low.” Novak put the file back on the mess. “Some soldier's can't get past one number.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Then why do you have soldiers doing intakes?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a story.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you really making super-soldiers.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why'd she say it?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“When the only tool you've got is a hammer everything looks like a nail.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Then what are you doing here?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I asked you first.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I told you. Erin looked at the crumpled paper beside the wastebasket. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's taken care of.” Novak made a dismissive wave at the basket. “But you're still here.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm curious.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't blame you; I am a fascinating woman.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you really tying to save the world?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's what the paper said.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What do you say?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't give a fig about super-soldiers. I'm looking for something … better.”</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was easier to crash than turn.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It hadn't been the first fifteen times Erin passed that corner, but each revolution chipped away another sliver of her endurance and Erin only had fifteen slivers in her that morning.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The grass by that part of the track had been worn down. As she caught as much of her breath as she could Erin wondered how many other candidates came up empty at that turn. How many others had lain there defeated and pissed at themselves.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Captain Private wasn't one of them. Gina didn't say a word as she continued on around the corner, but her body language screamed condescension. She'd run as far and as fast as Erin, but was glowing going into the sixteenth instead of sprawled in a heap in the dirt.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't let her get to you.” Erin was so focused on Gina she hadn't noticed the red headed stranger who'd stopped. “Her first day? She made it ten times around before she was puking her guts out right where … over there. On the other side of the track. Now that I think about it was the old track. We don't talk about the old track.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm Erin.” She managed to get her hand high enough to shake. If the big red-head cooperated.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Inyari,” leaned down into the shake. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're not even sweating. How are you not sweating?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I wish. I'ma gonna be leaving two lakes behind in the change room once this sports bra hits the bench.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're being nice and humble. How'm I supposed to hate the jock when she's being awesome?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How 'bout don't?” Inyari had a way of shaking her head when she spoke that made her long curls dance in the sun.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a deal.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Join ya?” Inyari tilted her head at the spot beside Erin.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a free vomitorium.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thanks.” Inyari sat down. “And I'm not. A jock. I tried out for the club, but they rejected me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Cause you're too nice?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're gonna make me blush. You know that?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do I even want to know how many times you made it your first try?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.” Inyari shook her head. This close Erin could see the edge of sweat tightening the red curls. “I did marathons before coming here. Never came close to winning one, but I always finished. It'd be a jerk move to brag about that stuff.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Did you tell Gina?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah, but she's a dick.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And I'm not?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nope.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you're that good why are you still out here with us amateurs?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've got endurance to spare. Speed? That's a project.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sounds like you could use a rabbit.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe. You volunteering?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My endurance sucks …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It does not.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But I'm pretty speedy.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So you run away from me and I run towards you? Sounds like the story of my life.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know anything about that. But I know you're always gonna catch me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I could use some help catching up with the vomit comet.” Inyari offered her hand and Erin shook it. “Deal.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Deal.” Erin got up, brushed off the dirt, and patted Inyari's shoulder. “Tag. You're it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin was ten yards away by the time the larger woman got to her feet.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hear you're getting the full tour today.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How many was that?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Twenty five.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tomorrow it'll be 26.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Neither woman called it “their” spot. The rest of the base did that for them. The two had been running together everyday for the past three weeks and gossip was one of the few ways to pass the time in a secure facility. Every morning they'd start their run and every run Erin would give up at the same stretch of track where Inyari had introduced herself. This time was different. This time Inyari collapsed with Erin instead of standing there waiting to be invited to sit.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're not even a little curious about the BIG SECRET?” Inyari said the last two words in her ominous voice.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'd rather find out what's up with this.” Erin gave the redhead a pointed look.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You don't even get winded till … have I ever seen you winded?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Guess someone's taken my breath away.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You are such a flirt.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Says the woman who said I'd always catch her.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That was different and you know it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. I still haven't caught you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You wanna circle back to my real question?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You want to circle back to mine? The big secret conspiracy under our feet.”<br />“In all honesty … I'd rather hear the story about that.” Erin nodded towards Inyari.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They're called boobs.” Inyari looked down at her chest where Erin had nodded. “And the number one reason I can't match your speed. Anytime I try to get my fat ass even close to your pace I risk concussion.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're not fat you're … zaftig.” Erin looked away. “And I was talking about the necklace, not your breasts. For the record.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you blushing?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No!”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You are. That is so frickin' adorable.”<br />“I'm flushed. Some of us don't have your god-like stamina.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Now I need to come up with a sweet sounding foreign word to describe you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Skinny.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Pretty sure that's English.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Scrawny.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's a big nope.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Skeletal.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Screw that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok, what do you want to call me?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Beautiful.” Inyari put her hand in Erin's.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Pretty sure that's English.” Erin didn't pull her hand away.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If the shoe fits …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">They sat there in silence on the side of the track catching their breaths and watching the other runners work their ways around the course. Erin noted no one else could match Inyari for endurance; Inyari knew no one was as fast as Erin. Gina came closest to both.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I suck at subtext,” Erin broke the silence.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I flunked at flirting.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Those meaningful looks everyone talks about? Meaningless.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've wanted to kiss you since … forever.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Me too.” Erin looked down at their held hands.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You wanna …?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Here?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No one cares.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm sweating like a horse. And a little snotty.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't mind.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“okay”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So. You and Inyari.” Novak fiddled with the flashlight even though the corridor had lights strung along the ceiling as far as Erin could see.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We just …” Erin was about to say “kissed”, but went with “… left each other. We aren't breaking any rules are we? No one told me anything about that.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fraternization? You're civilians, who cares?” Novak continued down the corridor.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are we under surveillance? Cause this just happened. One shower ago.” Erin realized how that sounded. “One solo, by myself, very chaste and innocent shower ago.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We're all under surveillance. You put a skeleton crew into a confined area, take away their cable, data plans, and internet and suddenly everybody knows what everybody does. Human nature.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We're not in trouble?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course not.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You sound disappointed.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not saying there was a betting pool. Or that it involved when a pair of highly compatible people would finally see the light and express a little affection towards each other.” Novak flipped the flashlight on when the overhead lights failed. The view went from boring military/industrial to horror movie in less than a second. “Or that anyone lost $50 cause it took you three damn weeks to figure out what everyone else on the base saw.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're just saying that to distract me from the murder hole we're walking down, aren't you?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Where was that brain two weeks ago when you coulda saved me fifty bucks?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Wanna tell me what you keep down here?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Our alien.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was another half hour before the corridor ended in the only door Erin had seen in over a mile.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was wide open.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The soldier guarding it stood in an island of light just outside. She wore a different uniform than Gina's. Erin didn't bother trying to guess rank or service. She was glad to be at the end of the nightmare tunnel. Even if it meant face-huggers.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hi Sharon.” Novak pointed the flashlight at her own face before shining it on Erin's. “We're here for introductions.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hi Doc. Newbie.” Sharon nodded at both of them. “You got the hall pass?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Right here.” Novak pulled a brick-sized wooden block out of her lab coat.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's a real hall pass.” Erin got a good look at it in Sharon's light.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It better be.” Novak flipped it around in her hand. “I'd hate to think what'd happen to us if it were fake.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I mean it actually says 'hall pass' on it. Like a genuine 'Mrs.-Potter-I-gotta-go-to-the-girls'-room' kinda hall pass.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You should have taken care of that before we left.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't … You're distracting me again.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe, but this is legit.” Novak started for the open door. “Log us in, Sharon.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sure thing, Doc.” Sharon took out a clipboard, noted the time from a wind-up clock, and jotted it down with their names.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We like to keep the tech at a minimum around here,” Novak explained. “Anything electronic has a tendency to not be electronic after a while.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're all set, Doc.” Sharon nodded at Erin. “Good luck, newbie.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok … I … I thought … you made this sound like I was being taken to Area 51.” Erin made an expansive gesture taking it all in. “But this is … so not. If this is such a big deal why is the door open?”<br />“Cause we're not sure we could open it again.” Novak clutched the hall pass close to her hip.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Seriously?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sadly, yes. It took a team of three dozen geniuses in fields I can't even pronounce two months to open that door. The officer they put in charge of security insisted they keep it closed in between visits. It took them eight months to crack it a second time.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So the alien takes its security super seriously?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.” Novak shook her head. “We got in cause it let us. No. that's not right. We got in cause it wanted to test us. See if we were smart enough to open a door.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Because we aren't studying the alien; it is studying us.”</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hello, Justina.” The words weren't words. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hey, Allie.” The room was lit by candles. The walls, what Erin could see of them were lined with books. “I've brought someone for you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes. This is when I meet the thief.” The voice wasn't male or female. It tinkled like wind chimes in the rain. “Hello, thief.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Allie, this is Erin,” Novak cut Erin off before she could comment. “Erin, this is Allie. Don't mind her, she's nonlinear.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The not-words tinkling came from a comfortable looking stuffed chair in the middle of the room. There was a stand beside it with two lit candles. A paperback book rested between them. There was a void in the chair, and that void was Allie.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why am I a thief?” Erin stared at the void in the chair. She tried to find form and purpose in it. She gave herself a headache.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You steal,” the void tinkled. “Or will steal. After your lover bleeds.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't have a lover.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Then you have something to look forward to, thief.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Allie takes a little getting used to,” Novak said. “And that's not her name. Or gender. We have to make up a lot of things when talking about Allie.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“'Know then thyself. Presume not God to scan. The proper study of mankind is man',” the void tinkle-quoted.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I should never have let you read Pope.” Novak shook her head and pulled up an empty chair.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why am I here?” Erin looked away from the center chair. The less she stared into the void the less her head hurt. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Allie's studying us.” Novak gestured towards a chair Erin hadn't noticed before. “Have a seat.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You said that already.” Erin remained standing. “What does it mean?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It means, Erin,” the void spoke right at her. “that I am performing an assessment of your species. You, and the others, represent the best of your kind.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And you see the future?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I am the future.”<br />“Allie's … complicated.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Your language, sadly, isn't.” If a void could wind chime sigh it did. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The best I can narrow it down to is this.” Novak sat facing Erin; even she couldn't look at the alien too long. “One day each of the applicants will come to Allie and ask for something.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And we'll be judged for what we ask?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Something like that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“When?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's up to you.” Novak shrugged. “Some have already asked; others haven't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Has Inyari?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Inyari was found wanting,” the void pronounced.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So, no vomit comet today?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin looked around the mess hall at the usual suspects. Everyone was accounted for except Gina.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Gina saw Allie last night.” Inyari said the words so solemnly into her oatmeal Erin knew she'd stepped in something.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Allie the Alien?” Erin still thought the nickname was too on the nose.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Uh huh.” Inyari was still staring down her breakfast.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm guessing from your expression she's not getting fit for her red, white, and blue super suit.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They're … I guess they're keeping this pretty hush hush, but Linda was in the infirmary last night when they brought her in. According to Linda there wasn't much left, and what there was didn't last long. She said it screamed. Not Gina. Not her. It.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Shit.”<br />“Yeah.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What happens now?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Inyari shrugged. “Not sure. From what I heard they aren't letting anyone else down.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's … reassuring actually. I spent the last week wondering about Allie and all the stuff around her. Got myself lost down some unmarked-helicopters-are-in-the-air rabbit holes. Shutting it down after something like that? I'm a little less worried someone's gonna erase my sister.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We'll see.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've been … I've been meaning to ask.” Erin stumbled as she tried to find the least shitty words. “Allie said you've been there.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Twice.” Inyari nodded. When she looked up for the first time that morning, Erin could see the rawness around her eyes. “When doctor Novak introduced us and when I presented myself.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that what it's called? Presenting?” To Erin it sounded like something one baboon did to another, but she didn't want to get the stink-eye.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's what I called it.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What did you ask Oz for?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's a pretty big can of worms. A tub.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I won't say anything bad if ya tell me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin took Inyari's hand under the table.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I asked Allie to make me better.”</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You awake?” Inyari's question tickled the back of Erin's neck.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin nodded. She'd woken a long time ago little-spooned into the red head. It'd been hours since last night, but she could still taste Inyari.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was wonderful.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You have a good time last night?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin nodded so rigorously Inyari had to pull her head back to keep from getting bopped on the chin.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You giving me the silent treatment?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin shook her head just as hard.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'd say the cat had your tongue, but that was last night.” Inyari traced a finger up Erin's hip. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I didn't hear you complain.” Erin wiggled closer into Inyari's embrace. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Roll over. Please.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It took some acrobatics to get untwisted from the sheets. Inyari didn't make matters easier running her hands along Erin's sleek skin. Her touch was electric; Erin returned it as best she could, promising herself she'd do better once she was turned.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Inyari's kiss was intense. Not overpowering or probing. That had been last night when they fell into the red head's bed together. When weeks of kisses and caresses crescendoed. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do I really taste like that?” Inyari asked when the kiss ended.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't know, I was too busy tasting me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're sweet.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You must be talking personality.” Erin kissed her again. “Cause flavor-wise I'm definitely tangy.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Whatever you say, beautiful.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">If Inyari hadn't been looking her in the face she might not have noticed Erin turn her head downwards. Erin caught herself in time to stop the sigh her body almost automatically heaved. She planted a kiss on Inyari's belly hoping her lover hadn't seen the wheels clicking behind her eyes. The day had started too perfect to start fighting.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't want to be that girlfriend.” Inyari laced a finger under Erin's chin and nudged her to look up at her. “I've had partners try to change me enough times I know how much that sucks. But it hurts my heart you can't take a compliment.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm trying. Honest.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know you are, sweetie.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But I'm built like a boy.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you think that they did not teach sex ed in your school. Trust me. Last night I conducted an in-depth scientific analysis and you are all woman.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You know what I mean.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know what you've told me. Doesn't mean I like it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm a stick.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Inyari placed a hand in the middle of Erin's chest.. “So you're a little small up top; it makes it easier to feel your heart beat.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're making this hard.” The edge's of Erin's eyes were damp.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Putting yourself down?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Exactly. Yes.” Erin wanted to look away, but forced herself not to.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll take this,” Inyari patted Erin's beating heart. “over a couple pounds of pretty fat any day of the week.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She's getting worse.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin sat in the same seat in Novak's office she had the day she'd been accepted into the program. There was no evidence that Novak had done anything to tidy up the place in the intervening two months. On the contrary, more had been added to the stacks.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She woke up coughing blood this morning.” Erin felt a little dead inside saying it out loud like that. Like it was an admission. Like it made it more real. “And it's been days since she was even up for a run.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's not going to get any better.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She has got better.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“For a few hours. Maybe a couple days. Those little pockets of normal can't be trusted.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're being a dick.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I am.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I took an oath. Do no harm. If I let you …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You admit Allie can fix this.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's an awful generous interpretation of the words that came out of my mouth.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Even if it's only a maybe, isn't it worth a chance?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm wrapping my heart around losing Inyari; I can't lose you too.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that final?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We both know nothing's ever final. But for tonight … this is how it stands.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin didn't bother saying goodbye and Novak didn't blame her. The old doctor took a couple minutes after Erin left to compose herself. Even then she wasn't able to get back to work.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Good night for a walk, I suppose,” Novak said to no one.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She grabbed her keys and ID from their places in the mess. Given the state of the desk she couldn't be blamed for not noticing the hall pass was missing. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin didn't bother with a flashlight. She knew it was just a matter of time before it failed. Before whatever it was that surrounded Allie leaked and snuffed out the light. So she got the biggest candle she could smuggle into the base and set off down the barren tunnel. Since Novak shut it down they didn't even bother maintaining the lights leading up to the dead zone.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She'd made it a few yards before the candle blew itself out. Erin's curses echoed down the corridor as she wedged the hall pass between her knees and tried to light a match one-handed in the dark. A couple months ago that isolated darkness was the most terrifying thing she could imagine; now she knew what was worse. That was on the other side of the dark.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin used up most of her pack getting the candle back. If it went out again she'd be blind somewhere between the exit and the alien. She was still closer to the former. It wouldn't be hard going back and getting more matches, but the more people who saw her meant more chances she'd be stopped.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was slow going from there. Erin stuck the hall pass under her arm while holding the candle in her left hand. The right was used to shield the flame from the air currents made as she moved, but even that wasn't perfect. Erin had to keep the pace steady or the wind overwhelmed her hand and threatened to flicker out the flame.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I am not the heroine in a gothic novel,” Erin said out loud every time she was forced to stop to keep the light going. Maybe if she said it enough times she'd believe it.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">An hour in Erin finally saw the light. Erin hadn't been sure the guard had been pulled, maintained, or doubled since Gina got dragged out of there. A few hundred yards from the door Erin could at least tell someone was there. She was almost on top of it when the same guard she'd met before stepped around a corner, pistol raised.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't shoot.” Erin tried to hold her hands up as best she could with everything. “I'm here to see Allie.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's not going to happen, miss …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Erin. We met before. Doctor Novak introduced us. Your name … I don't remember your name, but I think it rhymed with mine. Karen? Sharon?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sharon.” Sharon lowered the pistol, but didn't step out of the way. “That's as may be, but I've got orders.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Me too.” Erin used her shield hand to pull the hall pass out. “I'm supposed to deliver a message to Allie. Novak sent me. I've got the proof right here.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This is the first I've heard about it.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“All I know is I got shoved down the murder hole with a candle and a message. I figured by now they'd have've rigged up something with a string and two cans so I didn't have to, but here we are.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin held her breath as she extended the hall pass towards Sharon. For all she knew they had set up the strings and can. Or some other workaround for whatever it was Allie did to tech. The plan fell apart if Erin guessed wrong.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sharon took the hall pass. Erin's heart slammed against her ribcage as the soldier looked over the weathered wood front and back. Fingers that had held a gun seconds before worked their way across the furrows of the words. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You'll have to sign.” Sharon handed the pass back to Erin.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sure. Anything. You don't need to keep that?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hell, no.” Sharon got the clipboard. “I don't care how safe Doc says that is, I don't wanna touch it anymore than I have to.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's radioactive?” Erin wanted to drop the damn thing, but couldn't.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's alien. It just looks like that for … I don't know. A joke? Doc didn't tell you?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There're lots of things she never told me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That figures.” Sharon took the clipboard back. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You saw her? Gina?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. That was bad.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How bad?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You worried what's gonna happen to you?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. A lot more than I thought I was going to.”<br />“You'll be ok. Doc wouldn't have sent you here if she didn't think it was safe. Just go in there, deliver your message, and get out. As long as you don't ask for anything you should be safe as mice.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The void was waiting by the largest bookshelf flipping through Day of the Triffids.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hello, thief.” The words tinkled as Erin passed through the door. Like she walked through some very social wind chimes. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You knew I was going to steal this?” Erin held up the hall pass.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And now you know too.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You know how crazy that sounds?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It isn't going to kill me, is it?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you trying to make this hard?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“At least you're being honest.” Erin walked to the opposite side of the room and knelt there staring at the space to the left of the alien.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I always am.” The void didn't follow.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you knew all that, then you know what I'm here for.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And I still have to ask?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A page flipped in the book, but Erin didn't see the hand that turned it.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She's dying.” Erin drug every bit of pain she could into those three words.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So is every other person on this planet.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe. Technically. But not as fast as her.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Three died in the time it took you to say that; two in my reply.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's … fuck you. You know what I meant.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Another page flipped.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok, since you know everything why don't you tell me what Gina asked for. I bet it was selfish as … I bet it was selfish.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The dancer asked to save the world.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And you killed her?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're a monster.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's neither question nor command.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tell me something I don't know.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Justina will be here … I think the word is soon.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can you help Inyari?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can't or won't?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Then what's the point of you?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's not an answer.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Another page was turned. The book was almost over.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. If you can't help her is there someone who can?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There is.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Who?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're close.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is it a wish? Do I have to wish to be made into something that'll help her?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Another page turned.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Was that so close you'd be cheating if you answered?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If the dancer hadn't died how long would it have taken you to present to me?” The void was looking straight at her. Erin didn't know how she knew, but she knew.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not long. I don't know; maybe a week.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And would you have asked the same thing?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why?”<br />“Because I didn't know it was that bad yet. I thought … I don't know what I thought, but it wasn't as bad as it is. Inyari's stubborn. Proud. We didn't even talk about her visit to you until after Gina …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Gina can still get her wish.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't understand.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.” The book was on the last page now. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I can't live without her.”<br />The final page started turning. Erin heard voices outside. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Make me something that will save her.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The hall pass began to glow as soon as the words were spoke, wrapping itself up Erin's arms. It shifted from blue to red when it reached her shoulders. Purple by the time it hit her heart. Until it had passed over all her body and all the possible colors. In this spectrum and all others.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin was distantly aware of Novak and Sharon screaming, but their voices were muted. She looked down at her body unsure if she was on fire or if she was the fire. The only pain she experienced was when she focused on a shade of red that played along her torso. The shade of Inyari's hair.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The light grew more intense. So bright Erin could see Allie for the first time. Erin was right, Allie was a monster. But so was Erin for going along with all this. If Erin could shed a tear for Gina she would have.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then Erin stopped seeing anything.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Fifty years of no heat and sea air had left the wood rotting. The nails rusted.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The stairs would've creaked complaint under the weight of an average woman. Four of them collapsed, at random intervals, under Inyari's heavy tread. Each time she grabbed for the railing; each time it crumbled into a palmful of rust. Red. Painful. Biting. Blood and exhausted iron mixed in the dim torch light in almost identical colors.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The sky was hidden and grey by the time she reached the lamp house. The sea more so. What light reached Inyari made her dark skin more vibrant while dulling her red hair.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Tag!” Inyari screamed at the sea. “You're it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The sea went on muttering to itself, oblivious to one scared bleeding woman screaming at the top of a lighthouse no one even remembered.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not dumb,” Inyari yelled to the sea. “I know you're here. The fishermen saw you. No one else believed them, but I know better.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Only the gulls replied.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And it's not just them. You should see how these waters show up on thermal. You'd think the last three hundred years happened to another planet looking at the satellite feed. And we both know why that is.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The waves nodded.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And that's only the tip of the iceberg. You wanna talk about the cancer?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The sea laughed at her.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fine! Be stubborn. That's just great.” Inyari turned her back to the sea. “You know me. I'm not giving up. No matter how long you make me play this stupid game. I am here and I am not leaving until we've talked.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Inyari counted to ten waiting for something to give. Some sign that she wasn't the only person on that desolate stretch of sand and rock and sea. Gulls chanted back at her. Waves pounded waves. She counted to ten eight times before she whirled around and faced the water again.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I love you!” Inyari's words echoed over the ocean. “Isn't that enough?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Her grip was too angry. The rail more rust than iron. Inyari trusted it with more of her weight than her balance could take. The lighthouse stood fifty feet if it was an inch; the cliff below was half again that distance.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The rocks were coming up fast.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Part of Inyari knew she hadn't hit the rocks or landed in open ocean. What she was on was too soft to be stone, and while it moved it moved with a swift certainty and intelligence the sea simply lacked. The part that knew she was safe. Knew she'd found what and who she was looking for. That part was drowned under torrents of fight-or-flight chemicals.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's ok. It's ok. I got you.” If a foghorn could coo that's what it would sound like.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The fact that Inyari recognized the foghorn didn't ease the terror; didn't make the adrenaline dissipate. She kicked blindly at one of the oncoming walls only to have her foot slip off the wet side. She didn't start to calm down until the walls closed in around and over her.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Put me down,” Inyari asked the walls and the foghorn. “Please.”<br />The walls opened beside the broken railing. Inyari could tell they were fingers when she rested her hands on them crawling off and back onto the lighthouse. She knew what she'd see if she turned to look at the face of the foghorn, but she huddled by the lamp house refusing to turn until her breath returned to normal.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You followed me.” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The lighthouse stood fifty feet if it was an inch; Erin's voice boomed down from above it. Her mouth so close the spray of her words misted the dirty glass.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That was the deal. You run; I follow.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm sorry.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You sound huge.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I am.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How huge?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know … This is the closest I've come to a landmark in … forever. How big do those sailors you were talking about say I am?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Big as Godzilla. With tits bigger than the Goodyear blimp.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm … no.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sailors, right?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Only people I know who can mistake a manatee for a topless lady.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Before I … before I see you,” Inyari chose her words very carefully. “Is there anything else I should know?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm the same as I was the last time you saw me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You were twelve feet tall.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Same as then, just taller.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Inyari steadied herself on the lamp house as she stood. It was somehow important that she be on her feet when she confronted Erin. She didn't know why, but it felt right and she welcomed an excuse to delay the inevitable.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When she turned Inyari made sure to look up. She'd worried that she might've overcompensated, but when she stared straight into Erin's collarbone she realized she'd underestimated by more than a dozen feet.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can you step back?” Inyari asked.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm freaking you out.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No. Well, maybe a little, but mostly it's … I can't see all of you. Just bits.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. Just stay clear of the edge. You almost gave me a stroke when that railing gave way.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The base of the lighthouse was level with Erin's waist. The rest of her went down the cliff to the sea below. Inyari couldn't be sure, but the way Erin held herself made her think the larger woman's feet touched the bottom. The more the towering figure walked away the more sure Inyari was she was wading in water's deep enough to drown.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was Erin. There could be no doubt about it. The same hands, the same belly. The same lithe body and the same freckle on her cheek. Only the freckle was big as Inyari's fist. And the rest was sized to match.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That far enough?” Erin didn't have to project to be heard over the waves.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah.” Inyari did.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You look good.” Erin looked down at the water instead of Inyari. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Full recovery. Thanks to you.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I didn't mean … that's good to hear.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. I gotta ask. Where'd you get a one piece that size?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Erin's face scrunched as she tried to process the question. Inyari could almost see the lightbulb go off when Erin had.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh. This. This isn't clothes.” Erin gestured at the dark mass covering her torso. I … uh … it's barnacles.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Barnacles? The things that stick to ships?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Guess I look a lot like a ship down there.” Erin shrugged shoulders wider than an office building. “I do a pretty good job keeping them off my face. They don't seem to like my arms or legs. I think maybe it's cause of all the swimming I do. They don't like that kind of motion.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Does it hurt?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My skin's pretty thick. No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They fall off if I stay out of water long enough. I could stay up for a while. If that's what you want.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'd like that.” Inyari's head twitched the way it did when she kicked herself mentally. “I mean cause I wanna see you, not cause I want you naked. I'm still pissed at you.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's fair.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What you did with Allie was fucking stupid.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You were dying.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No! You do not get to make me cry when I'm bitching you out for abandoning me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What choice did I have? The second they figured out it was my cells that'd fixed you Novak was out and that douche-canoe Roberts was sizing me up for a cage or a dissection table. He'd take what he needed to heal a bunch of other rich twisted assholes and bury me so deep God would forget me. I had to leave.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You didn't have to leave me.” Inyari stood at the edge where the rail had been, shouting her pain at her lover.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I left a note.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A note doesn't cut it.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I was scared.”<br />“So was I.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I was twice your size. I'm …” Erin held up her hands and looked down at her self. “… more now. And I don't know if I'm gonna stop. I'm not girlfriend material; I'm a monster.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're my monster.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I … give me a second.” The salt water on the edge of Erin's eye had nothing to do with the sea.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And you're not.” Inyari sat down on the edge letting her feet dangle over. “A monster. That thing I said about tracking you down. I wasn't following a path of destruction. You've healed a lot more people than just me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't mix with people.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't have to. I got better just breathing you in. There're people in town that aren't diabetic anymore. Don't have cancer. After eating fish that swam in the same waters you're in. Hell, there's one man who doesn't have Alport's anymore. That's a genetic condition. You're healing people from the genes up. You're saving the …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Don't say it. Please.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You aren't responsible for Gina.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Part of me believes that. The part that doesn't is bigger than that lighthouse.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you gonna run again?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What's the point? You'll just chase me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's the deal.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. Maybe I'm not a monster or titzilla, but what kind of relationship can you have with someone like me? I don't fit anywhere but the sea.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll learn scuba. If you promise to beach yourself from time to time.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's more to a relationship than banter.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah, there's love.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I was talking physical stuff.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You did hear me say I'd learn scuba?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm serious.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Me too. Ok, maybe I was joking about the scuba thing, but this doesn't have to be weird unless we make it weird.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've wanted to kiss you since I saw you standing on the rail.”<br />“Me too.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm all salty. And I probably have barnacles on my lips. And I haven't brushed in months so my breath stinks like tuna. And …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't mind.”<br />Erin put her hands on the sides of the lighthouse to steady herself as she leaned down. If she closed her eyes and stopped thinking it was easy imagining the curved stone was Inyari's shoulders. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The mouth that lowered itself towards Inyari was bigger than her. The lips taller. The breath behind them more than her lungs could hold.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">They were both trembling when they made contact. Both closed their eyes and imagined what it had been before and guessed at what it would be like going forward.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The two women were still trembling when they pulled apart, but their trembling was in synch. As were their breaths and heartbeats.</p><p></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p></p><p align="LEFT" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: auto; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">“Tag. You're it.” Erin's words washed over Inyari; they both knew it was going to be alright.</p><p><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-46557446161600511012021-11-18T12:50:00.036-08:002022-08-15T14:01:17.480-07:00the small print 3: The Search For Speck (Updated)<p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">[Update. Due to a dramatic increase in my day job workload I am unable to devote the time required organizing this collection by the original October 1st deadline. I am hoping that my schedule will level off in the next couple of months, so I am tentatively extending the deadline until December. Thanks.]</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">Submissions are now open for the third “small print” anthology, a not-for-profit showcase of some of the finest writing in the overall Size community. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">Print copies of the first edition were given away at the 2020 SizeCon. E-book versions were given to attendees at the two online SizeCon Minis that followed.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">The second edition was made available to the public with a free e-book and a print edition available at cost. In addition to the 36 authors who submitted their works this edition included public domain pieces related to Size dating back centuries.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">In both previous editions I was asked what the theme was. The closest thing to one I had was “get it done.” That's always going to be the overarching goal, but this time around we're going to make things a little more interesting and go with a proper theme. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">Couples. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">Loosely defined that's two people at the same scale interacting with someone who isn't their size. That could be two tols with a tiny. Two tinies with a tol. A pair of expansionists with a non-expanded person. Etc.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">I want this to be representative of the Size community as a whole. That isn't as easy as it sounds. It's been said that Size is siloed. You have the giantess lovers, the shrinking women fans, people who are into it for sexy reasons, and those who prefer things remain innocent. And those who favor scales from the microscopic to the galactic. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">I'm opening this up to almost any story. Growth. Shrinking. Expansion. Inflation. If it's size related it's welcome here. There are some content limitations, but I've made them broad enough we can have the full spectrum of what's out there in size. SFW to XXX. Sweet gentle romance to extreme vore. Gay, straight, bi, pan, cis, trans, genderqueer. Nothing human is alien to me. And if you don't identify as human that's fine too.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">Submitted stories must meet the following guidelines:</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">1.3000 words or less. This will have an e-book and a print edition. I want to fit as many stories (and authors) into this collection as possible. Excerpts of longer works are fine so long as they can stand alone. I want the reader to want to look you up after reading your story; not feel like they need to find the next chapter of your novel.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">2.Characters must be 18 or older even if you're submitting a SFW story. There will be fetish content elsewhere in the book and it's better if we don't cross streams. You don't have to explicitly state character ages, but please avoid situations where underage is likely to be assumed. If your story involves an IRS auditor and a lion tamer my brain fills in a rough age range. If you're setting your story in a high school ... don't set your story in a high school.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">3.Please don't use other people's intellectual property. I don't want to get sued. Pastiche/parody is acceptable. So I can't accept your Ant Man and The Wasp story, but I can consider your Bug Guy and Hornet homage. Characters in the public domain are fine. Gulliver is on the table.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">4.In general avoid putting real world people in your submissions unless you have their permission. A meta story where Aborigen, Tina, Nyx, and I are having an adventure is fine as long as all of them agreed to be in it; a story about becoming the tiny slave of your celebrity crush or voring a politician you hate isn't.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">5.Stories must be submitted with tags. That should include a general idea of the content (shrink, growth, inflation, etc) and content warnings for sex, violence, etc. The latter is very important. I want the readers to decide if they want to be exposed to the rated R/X end of the spectrum.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">6.I reserve the right to reject any story.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">7.Previously released stories are not only ok, they are encouraged. I want some of your best, not what you can crank out by a deadline.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">8.Deadline is October 1<sup>st</sup>, 2022.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">That's it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">On to the book itself.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">I can't afford to pay you for your stories. Not what they're worth. And trying to do a royalty split with 30+ people is more work than I have time for. And there's the question of taxes. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">The first time around I got around all that by not charging for the book. No profits, no profit split, no taxes. Easy. I printed up a 120 copies (paid out of my own pocket) and distributed them at the 2020 SizeCon. I found ways to get copies to contributing authors who were unable to attend the Con. E-copies of the book were given out as part of the Con package for the first two SizeCon Micros, but that's it. And a copy I gave my sister, but that's beside the point.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">The deal I made with authors for the first anthology was that it would not be used to make a profit and that it would primarily be given out at SizeCon. They kept their end of the bargain; I kept mine.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">The second time around I stuck to the former and dropped the latter. I made the e-book available for free on my e-junkies page. While it isn't possible to make print books without someone paying for them, they can be made without profit. Most print on demand companies will provide authors with copies at cost. It's makes selling our books at cons and Ebay practical. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">Lulu lets me set the price at cost. What you pay is what Lulu charges to get the book made. Here's a cut and paste from my sales page to show you what I mean. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5uZS8mpTIdk/YZa5fIpt9bI/AAAAAAAABuk/DZy3v3r9n8Iuz0d4uYXNZEn1hY-00OcQgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-18%2Bat%2B2.30.07%2BPM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1779" data-original-width="2048" height="278" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5uZS8mpTIdk/YZa5fIpt9bI/AAAAAAAABuk/DZy3v3r9n8Iuz0d4uYXNZEn1hY-00OcQgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-18%2Bat%2B2.30.07%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">As you can see, the revenue is 0. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">There is one other thing I'm doing differently this year. I'm asking for help. I know I'm not reaching every corner of the size community and there are many authors who I'm not reaching. Authors and genres of size I want to see represented in this book. I could use a hand finding them. I could use some ambassadors. If you'd like to help drop me a line here, on Twitter, or email me at mr.taedis@gmail.com. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">Thank you. Thank you all.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-67335317498500912752021-05-21T15:59:00.000-07:002021-05-21T15:59:08.476-07:00Giantess Hut: Slave Princess V. Radioactive Fire Turtle (Story)<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Giantess Hut: Slave Princess </u></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>V. Radioactive Fire Turtle</u></span></p><p style="text-align: center;">copyright 2021 Taedis</p><p style="text-align: center;">(CW: Kaiju style monster fights, profanity, sexual references)</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">[Yesterday I came across a collaged poster of Slave Leia as a Godzilla-esque monster by <a href="https://ko-fi.com/giantessstudios101" target="_blank">GiantessStudios101</a>. I tweeted it out with a joke about wanting to see her fight Gamera. My friend and fellow author <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/praedatorius" target="_blank">Praedatorius</a> challenged me to write that story. This is the result. Not my best or weightiest story, but it was a hoot to write. I hope you enjoy.]</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The worst part was all the damn SUVs.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">There wasn't a square inch of wilderness in a five mile drive. Why were there more of them than bicycles? At least bikes could get somewhere through the congested streets.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The effin' things were worse than Legos. All but breaking the skin every time Carrie's weight came down on one. Strike that. SUVs were worse. Legos didn't have gas tanks that went up with even the slightest hint of pressure. Seriously, walking on eggshells would be easier.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if Carrie'd been given shoes when she suited up for tonight's event. Stepping from hotfoot to hotfoot couldn't help anyone's mood.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Come to think about it, the costume was the worst.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Why'd it always have to be the slave girl outfit? Would it kill anyone if for once she showed up in that winter planet getup? The one with thick soled SUV resistant boots.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">And pants.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">If Carrie caught one more guy feigning horror as he looked up her loincloth she was really gonna lose her shit.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's an ass, dude,” Carrie unloaded at the next ant-sized man pointing and rubbernecking upwards. “Everyone's got one and the anatomy is pretty much the same. Two cheeks and a hole. Chill.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie bent over until her eyes became the man's horizon. Lucky for her back he was on the roof of one of the taller skyscrapers. She only had to bend at the waist to look him eye-to-eye.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ish.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Of course the lady junk's an upgrade over the model you're sporting,” Carrie whispered to keep damages down. The night was still young and there was a lot of rampaging to do. “</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">But jealousy is no excuse to point and stare.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie was already getting bored waiting for an apology when adrenaline trumped terror and he bolted for the stairs.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're welcome for the PSA.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">This time she spoke at normal volume. Windows shattered five stories down the-hair-of-Smurf's-ass part of a second before her breath reached them. She'd had Italian for lunch. Extra garlic. She wanted them to smell it. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie rose to her full height and swiped an open hand across the night sky while saying “the more you know”.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It might have worked if it wasn't for the chain. Four times longer than Carrie, attached to her collar, and magnitudes thicker than an SUV. She had to carry it in a pile over her shoulder to keep the incidental damages down to the bare minimum. The streets were getting beat up enough with just her bare feet pulverizing them.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Jacob Marley didn't carry this much heavy metal.” Carrie gave the chain a dirty look when it spoiled the end of the hand gesture. “Somebody better be enjoying this.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie'd been rampaging like a mofo a solid half hour. The distant mosquito buzz of helicopters reminding her that most of the audience was streaming this at home, flipping from camera angle to camera angle trying to find the best view of this giant woman wrecking the town with a lot more power than a bull. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She only swatted at the copters lining up to take the perviest views. It was ok; they were only drones. The Hut didn't seem to mind. Her handler gave her some BS about it being good for the show. But Bettie told her there were guys out there who got off getting swatted and enough of them subscribed to write off the occasional drone.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie hoped it'd be Bettie tonight. Bettie was always good for some fun banter during the fight and stories about the old days after the cameras went dead and the live audience limped home. In the meantime she wondered if any of the thicker skyscrapers could handle her weight. She could really use a good sit.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She was underwhelmed when a giant biped tusked turtle dragged itself out of the water and looked her in the eye.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What kind of sin could a woman commit in a single lifetime to bring this upon herself?” Carrie doubted anyone watching her, live or streaming, recognized the quote she'd worked herself into. It wasn't the kind of film her target audience watched.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">If the turtle made a quote Carrie didn't recognize it either.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sorry. Don't understand roar.” Carrie circled the huge shelled thing trying to make him out.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Armor? I'm in a g-string and he gets armor? How is that fuckin' fair?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The turtle belched flame at the spot Carrie had just vacated.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Well thank fucking God I've got this metal pushup bra and open air loincloth that lets you see all the way to Miami. That's as good as being able to breath fire, right?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The turtle made a lunge at her, but Carrie sidestepped his awkward thrust. She bit her lip to cover the pain of the five Lego hotfoots she received getting out of the way, but it was better than getting clawed.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">They lather-rinsed-repeated the same motions half a dozen times more before the beast gave up, pulled his limbs and head inside his shell, and fell on his belly in the middle of the street.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Whatever you do, Carrie, don't say 'that was easy'.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Flames jetted out of four of the shell openings.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What did I tell me?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The shell started turning in circles on the ground. Then it gave that up and started turning in circles in the air, rotating upwards like some impossible sky drill.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Who the hell thought this was a good idea?” Carrie swatted a helicopter hovering over her cleavage. “Right. A dude.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The giant radioactive fire turtle spun there just out of reach. Even if she used the chain Carrie didn't think it'd be enough.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">There wasn't much to throw at him other than water towers and they were too small to pack much of a wallop. Carrie tried ripping up the top few floors of buildings designated empty. The turtle would've felt them. If they'd even gotten close. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Pro tip. Buildings make shit projectiles. They're as aerodynamic as speed bumps and they fall apart long before they miss.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">When Carrie clipped him with a cell tower he flew a block away.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Dude!” Carrie threw up her hands in disgust. “Grow a pair and land or fly the piss off.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie couldn't be sure if he understood her words, her tone, or her body language, but one or all of the above got him riled up enough that he launched himself at her with all the speed a scaled whirling fire disc could muster.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“FUCK!”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The pained scream shot out of her as soon as the giant turtle slammed into her chest. Windows for blocks around tinkled into a million pieces of broken glass barely bigger than the grains of sand they were made of.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The impact knocked her off her feet, but a brownstone broke her fall. The fact she landed butt first hurt her pride more than the tiny building hurt her ass. She tried not to think about the cameras mounted on the roof and the number of playbacks the buttcrush fans were going to give this.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You hit me in the tit, you dick!” The metal bikini cups rang like cathedral bells against her raw knockers. “I don't care if you are a reptile; you're going down.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Unless he was an amphibian. Shit. Now it was bugging her. And she couldn't Google it till she got back to her phone. Fuck this not having pockets bullshit.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Bet you got wifi in there, don't you?” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie kicked the part of the shell that would have covered his dick if boy turtles had dicks. Now she had two things to Google. It was cold comfort hearing him crash into his own office building, but it bought her time to get up.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">When she stood she wasn't carrying the chain. It hung loose from her collar until she'd gathered up the first arm's length. It was cold and uncomfortable wedge-tied between her armpits, but it was the best way to make sure her collar had slack. This wasn't the first time she'd weaponized her bondage. Thought technically this might count as her first rodeo.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's not that I have anything against you. Other than the tit-slam. I think we both agree that was shitty.” Carrie started twirling the remaining chain like a bronco rider looking to take down a steer. “You're not the real enemy. Hell, even Giantess Hut is only a symptom of how fucked up the world is.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He wasn't as graceful or quick as Carrie had been getting up. His thick shell offered great protection, but pulled his squat limbs away from the ground. And a turtle on his back was a turtle on his back no matter how huge he was.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“If you're who I think you are you're really good with kids. But this is an adults only platform and playtime's over.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Five of the helicopter drones caught Carrie wince at that last line. She'd be kicking herself for weeks every time she came up with a better, smarter one liner.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">At least she times her shot right.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The turtle had given up trying to do things the non-fire way. He was just about to pull his everything back into the shell, firebomb his way back into the sky, and have a do-over on that landing when the chain wrapped itself around his neck.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie gave him enough slack to keep from choking him, but not enough freedom for him to lose his head. The plan was tame, not choke. When he finally managed to slip his fat man-turtle hands under the links Carrie pulled with all her strength, bracing her bare foot against one of the sturdier looking ankle-height brownstones.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Turtle fought, but Carrie was too strong. Hands and head were effectively cuffed.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Which did nothing to stop the flames jetting out of the leg holes.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">If he'd been angled properly the turtle would have been airborne in seconds. But with his back on the ground and his head tilted the wrong direction it was like mounting a rocket on sled. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He had the time and sense to steer himself towards an open street instead of into a building. But his shoulders were wider than the road and his shell cut huge gashes in the office blocks on either side. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The force of the turtle slamming into the end of his chain almost pulled Carrie's shoulder from its socket, but she managed to hold on. For half a tick she kept the jet propelled turtle where he was, wedged between a Starbuck's and a Kinko's. Carrie's muscles didn't give up; her brownstone foothold did.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stored momentum hit Carrie harder than she could imagine, pulling her forward as the flailing turtle careened down the street. Her feet barely touched the ground the first three blocks she was pulled so hard. After the fourth she tried to brake with her feet, but that shit only worked on the Flintstones. The turtles jets and her legs were almost evenly matched. Both were stronger than the pavement. The heels of the feet dug deep furrows in the street. Broken water mains poured their contents out over her. The water sizzled into steam from the friction rising off her soles.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The turtle shifted on his side banking his shell against the corner, slowing his forward momentum and slamming Carrie onto her knees. She barely managed to get her arm down in time to keep from face-planting into a cathedral. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The turtle started arcing upwards. For one brief shining moment Carrie had the illusion of choice. That she could let go or go along for the ride. But she couldn't untie the turtle from back there and letting go of the chain only meant she'd be dragged around by the collar. The turtle was taking off and so was she.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“FUUUUUUUUCCK MEEEEEEE!”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">On the ground Carrie had the advantage. Other than the fire breathing. And the armor. And the claws. As stupid as it sounded the air was the turtle's home. Even hog-tied and rudderless it was used to being up there. Carrie … not so much.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">At first he tried to slam her into things. Fly up fast and whiplash her into something sharp, on fire, hard, or all of the above. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">But the buildings were too low to the ground. There was too great a chance he'd overshoot and bury himself under a Taco Bell before she got knocked off. Even the nearest mountain was only a few hundred feet tall. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie knew the shit was hitting the fan as soon as the turtle started gaining altitude. She wasn't sure how fast the fan was spinning, the color of the wallpaper, or the thickness of the crap, but she knew the bad was coming quicker each kilometer they climbed.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The buildings were tiny lights in the distance when the turtle started to burn the chain.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The chain was thick iron, but that meant dick against the twin atomic blasts coming out of the turtle's backside. Could they even control this thing so far away? </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I am fucked if I'm going to die cause an overgrown terrarium farted on me.” It didn't make as much sense out loud as it had in Carrie's head, but unlike her earlier screw up there wasn't anyone here recording.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie had a plan.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a shit plan, but it was better than nothing.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The chain got hotter the higher Carrie climbed. She was three body lengths from the back blast when she left the ground. She was one by the time the links started to glow. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The only way to not Hindenburg was to reach part of the chain on the cool side of the shell. Closer to the core. Above the double barreled radioactive exhaust. The way the turtle was jockeying the only way to reach the safe links was through the blast.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Momentum was her friend; momentum wanted her tonguing the ground. The turtle pulled left she twisted right. Hard. Swinging her closer to him; putting the chain deeper in the fire.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">On the third swing Carrie saw an opening and reached for it. White pain blinded her when the exhaust turned unexpectedly into her open hand. She only caught the edge and only for less than a second. That may have saved the hand, but it fucked her handhold. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She fell. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The pressure on her chest was the first and only warning she got that the chain had been severed. The only one she'd get before the ground sucker punched her. She was disconnected from the batshit crazy flying turtle and her only hope of seeing tomorrow was getting closer to the thing that burned her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her strong hand was useless. She flailed with the weak as she fell, trying to gauge a million things she'd never be able to guess if she was sane and sober, not drunk on adrenaline and fear.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The chain that brushed her hand was almost molten, but it was taut. Tethered. Flying upward and away. She could smell her own flesh cooking as she grabbed it hard. The smell didn't matter. Only the chain leading her to the shell leading her to dominance. That was the only path that mattered.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was a shudder. Carrie still couldn't see past the pain, but she wasn't numb. She felt the impact of head on shell, shell on head. Something had happened. Something the asshat turtle hadn't counted on. Instead of sending her up the hell that was his ass it slammed her into his side.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Turbulence?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It didn't matter. Carrie needed it to happen again. Carrie needed to be ready for it next time.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The only parts of the chain not on fire were the links dangling from Carrie's collar and those wrapped under her arms. The rest was gom jabbar pain wrapped over hard steel.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">This time when the shudder came Carrie was prepared. The hot blast went right, her tired aching body went left. The burned hand scraped against scales and somehow managed to hold on. Muscles that could barely lift a butterfly after all that pulled her to the one life raft in all the ocean of the sky.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Hell, yes!”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrie was burned, pissed, her knees were getting scraped on turtle claws, but she was alive and she was on top.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Okay.” Carrie let out a deep breath. “Let me teach you your first human word. 'Bridle'.” Carrie pulled the chain hard left. The turtle started flying that direction. “Can you say 'bridle'?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">ROOOOOAAAWWRR!</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Close enough.”</span></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-88362966007203631602021-04-18T15:39:00.001-07:002021-04-18T15:39:33.159-07:00Gender Reveal <p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-raXv2Nc8mCM/YHyvzmohzhI/AAAAAAAABrw/VUCjlCZzo-UhrI6y32tEkcXrpjCGa04zQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Taedis%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bfield%2Bwith%2Bhorses.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1446" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-raXv2Nc8mCM/YHyvzmohzhI/AAAAAAAABrw/VUCjlCZzo-UhrI6y32tEkcXrpjCGa04zQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Taedis%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bfield%2Bwith%2Bhorses.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I'm trans.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Every time I say it I feel the need to add an asterisk. That I'm not trans enough. That my experience and emotion don't line up with what I'd been told being transgender was all about. That since I didn't conform with what the media (both sympathetic and not) told me it meant to be trans I had to be something else.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I've had this side to me longer than I can remember. My grandmother remembers me putting on her clothes when I was still in diapers. When I was playing pretend in kindergarten I sometimes was Batman, sometimes Mary Ann from Gilligan's Island. Older people couldn't tell if I was a boy or a girl right up until the time puberty hit. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By then society had drilled into me that being girlish wasn't acceptable. The church we moved to when I was nine was hyper conservative. The sort of speak-in-tongues slain-in-the-spirit evangelism that put me off organized religion for good. And the kids at school were ok with me playing with action figures, but not Barbie.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I knew it was wrong to feel that way. I knew it was wrong to slip into the clothes I “borrowed” from family members. I hid my wardrobe and admitted nothing.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A book I'd found told me there were three options for what I was. Drag queen, transsexual, or transvestite. It was written in the 60s; I'm leaving the terms as they were when I read them. I suppose for the time it was sympathetic, but it was still a very superficial look at something much more complicated. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I didn't feel like a drag queen. I didn't feel the way the book said transsexuals felt. That left transvestite. So I called myself that. It wasn't until thirty years later I realized it was a slur. Ten more than that before I realized there was more shades of transgender than I'd been led to believe.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Most of the time I was fine. I duded up and went about my life without any problems. I was comfortable in my skin. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Except when I wasn't. Except when I was Joan. When I'm Joan I am a woman. When I'm not I am a man. But none of that made sense given the definitions I had to work with. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">About four years ago I first heard about bigenderism. One of the definitions I found online defined what I was going through better than anything else I'd come across. I may find a better term later, but that's what I'm using for now.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For various reasons I'm not out in my daily life. I have shared Joan with my wife, some friends, and family. There were a few people in the size community I've come out to. They helped me overcome some of those asterisks I keep wanting to throw out. Last February I attended the virtual SizeCon as Joan. I've mentioned it on social media, but haven't made a formal announcement until now.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">One of those social media mentions led to the above image. I'm mostly a tiny, but I've got a giant side too. I'd previously commissioned <a href="https://www.redbubble.com/es/people/morgsart/shop?asc=u" target="_blank">Mini Moe</a> to draw me in an early (SFW) size fantasy. There was a horse farm we drove by every week when I was a kid. The open space and the hills that surrounded the farm made me imagine myself as a giant doing heroic giant things and protecting the horses.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I made the original commission while I was still in male mode before I (kinda sorta) came out. I'd described the scene with me in male terms. <a href="https://twitter.com/Mini__Moe" target="_blank">Moe</a> saw my Twitter update and graciously offered to rework the commission to reflect my current gender identity. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I think she did a damn great job.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At some point I'll need to get art of me as a tiny woman and me in giant male mode. Cause my size isn't linked to my gender. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks for your understanding. And the kind words I've received from those who've seen my social media posts. If anyone has any questions I'm open to answer them as best I can. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-80581557769358109252021-03-26T17:02:00.003-07:002021-03-26T17:02:23.894-07:00Saturday Morning Size Line Up <div>Today's challenge -- come up with an old school Saturday morning TV lineup using only real Saturday morning fare I could've seen when I was a kid. Stuff I either watched when it debuted some Saturday morning in the 70s/early 80s or caught in reruns later. And it has to include size content.</div><div><br /></div><div>For those of you not familiar with American television, there was a stretch from the 60s to the 90s where the three networks dedicated Saturday mornings to children's programming. From seven or eight in the morning till noon or one in the afternoon (depending on network and year) you could enjoy some very interesting and sometimes quality cartoons, live action stories, and educational snippets. A number of these shows featured size either as a plot point of a particular episode or as the basis for the shenanigans. </div><div><br /></div><div>Enough talking. Let's get this show on the road.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/aFTTB6gOAJA" width="320" youtube-src-id="aFTTB6gOAJA"></iframe></div><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> "Oh, what heights we'll hit."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>8:00 : We'll start things off with an episode of Dr. Shrinker. It's live action, poorly written, with crap special effects, but it existed damn it! And influenced me into becoming what I am today for what it's worth. The series lasted one season made up of 15 minute (adjusted for commercials) episodes as part of the Kroft Supershow. Many people (only me) consider this show to be the missing link between 1940s Dr. Cyclops and The Smurfs. </div><div><br /></div><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span><span><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/51Z6vjMIs4I" width="320" youtube-src-id="51Z6vjMIs4I"></iframe></div></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span>The shrink ray was named after Dr. Chuck Shrinker.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><div><br /></div><div>8:15: Our next story features the dynamic duo of Superstretch and Microwoman. He's an elastic man; she gets real tiny. The writing is somehow worse than Dr. Shrinker, but the acting's better? This one ran for 11 episodes as part of Tarzan and the Super 7 back in 1978. This particular episode features mirror universe versions of our heroes. A guy who gets super stiff (this is a SFW post, I am NOT making that joke) and a woman who grows. So you get shrunken woman, giant woman, and various shape-shifty things.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SO5Ffe2f4xg" width="320" youtube-src-id="SO5Ffe2f4xg"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Guess which one of these two gets sucked into a vacuum cleaner.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cdo_OHoWhss" width="320" youtube-src-id="cdo_OHoWhss"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fun fact: The actor voicing Micro Woman played young</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mala in The Leech Woman</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/N-vyXQpvE2k" width="320" youtube-src-id="N-vyXQpvE2k"></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>8:30: I'm not going to call it great, but The Adventures of Gulliver is much less awful than the previous two shows combined. This ran for one season in '68. That was before my time, but it was one of the cartoons that got packaged up and shown on the Banana Splits. Five year old Taedis was obsessed with the Banana Splits. And had a huge (age appropriate) crush on Flirtatia. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oZEdLCHb46k" width="320" youtube-src-id="oZEdLCHb46k"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I'm doing a bit of rounding off to take into account commercial breaks. So have a commercial. Don't listen to his lies; Acroyear is not the enemy.<br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/b9sPZqw9UCU" width="320" youtube-src-id="b9sPZqw9UCU"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">One of my gateway drugs into size.</div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>9:00: I don't remember Inch High Private Eye's original run, but I was pretty young in '73 so I'm not ruling out the possibility. I did catch it later as part of one of the animation packages they ran on WPIX out of New York. Like most of the shows on the schedule it lasted one year. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's not on YouTube so you'll have to follow a <a href="https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x5z698d" target="_blank">link</a> to see the episode. Abandon all hope ye who enter; here be dad jokes.</div><div><br /></div><div>9:30: Far Out Space Nuts isn't inherently size based, but this episode is. I missed this when it first aired in 1975, but I fell in love with the show when it hit syndication a couple years later. This episode in particular. Watching it now I see that it's not good. That doesn't stop me from loving how it made me feel when I was 8.</div><div><br /></div><div>According to IMDB the costume budget for aliens was $100 an episode. It shows.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qZyK_7UCCro" width="320" youtube-src-id="qZyK_7UCCro"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Pippets (and other aliens) return later in the season.</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>10:00: Super Friends is one of the few show on this schedule to last more than one season. That, and it's continued commercial viability mean it's not readily available on YouTube. It was however one of my favorites as a kid. With many examples of size play along the way. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to fill this half hour with two segments. Sorry I can't share them with you. "The Fifty Foot Woman" saw Wonder Woman, Batman, and Robin going against a [spoiler alert] 50 foot woman. It's not good, but it's fun. </div><div><br /></div><div>"The Giants of Doom" featured several members of the Legion of Doom growing to 100' tall and hosing the little super friends. The heroes get in on the growth by the third act leading to comeuppance. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>In lieu of those stories let me give you this clip featuring the origins of the two giants of the series. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dZafCmEC5AQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="dZafCmEC5AQ"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">50 Feet of Evil</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>10:30: I'm not sure where to put this on the size scale. On the one hand I've got Wikipedia telling me The Buggaloos were a group of teenagers who just dressed like bugs as part of their act. On the other, they had working wings. And hung out with a firefly who wasn't that much smaller than them. We do see cars and a seemingly normal (if bizarre) woman. But she lives in a jukebox with a (very Nazi) rat. Did she get shrunk? Is the car a toy? Tranquility Forest sure as heck looks like it's ginormous. This is way more thought than this series deserves.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kb3W14cOQao" width="320" youtube-src-id="kb3W14cOQao"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Did I mention they sing?</div><br /><div><br /></div><div>11:00: And now for a very special episode of The Smurfs. Gargamel learns a lesson about being mean and polluting. Or something. But not really cause then the writers would have to come up with something else and antagonists are hard. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a <a href="https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x346uvz" target="_blank">link</a> to the episode.</div><div><br /></div><div>11:30: When I heard about this series through the kid grapevine I was pissed. My informant had told me this was called Micronauts. When I tuned in I was expecting the adventures of one of my favorite comic books (and toys). Only to find this. </div><div><br /></div><div>It grew on me. Eventually. I still wish it had been Micronauts. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wCjDzgydUnw" width="320" youtube-src-id="wCjDzgydUnw"></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>12:00: What better way to enjoy lunch than with a little animated Star Trek. Again this is a series that isn't available on YouTube, but in this case you can find it on a few streaming services. Search for "The Terratin Incident" and grab yourself a sandwich.</div><div><br /></div><div>12:30: And to end our Saturday please enjoy a couple super hero adventures. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Wh1ggCM2QGE" width="320" youtube-src-id="Wh1ggCM2QGE"></iframe></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wnIuLb-cqbE" width="320" youtube-src-id="wnIuLb-cqbE"></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div></div>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-28754519083350808842021-03-05T06:23:00.001-08:002021-03-05T06:33:08.760-08:00small print 2: Eclectic Boogaloo<p> Submissions are now open for the second "small print" anthology. For those who aren't familiar with the first you can find out more about it <a href="https://taedis.blogspot.com/2020/01/the-small-print.html?zx=3869a905ed493411" target="_blank">here.</a></p><p>No that's not the official title, but it's how I've been referring to it since I came up with the idea.</p><p>There will be some changes to the way this collection is put together as opposed to the first. I'll get into those a little later, but I'll go over what I'm looking for first.</p><p>This will be a showcase of writing within the size community. Growth. Shrinking. Expansion. Inflation. If it's size related it's welcome here. There are some content limitations, but I've made them broad enough we can have the full spectrum of what's out there in size. SFW to XXX. Sweet gentle romance to extreme vore. Gay, straight, bi, pan, cis, trans, genderqueer. Nothing human is alien to me. And if you don't identify as human that's fine too.</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p><br /></p><p>Submitted stories must meet the following guidelines:</p><p>3000 words or less. This will have an e-book and a print edition. I want to fit as many stories (and authors) into this collection as possible. Excerpts of longer works are fine so long as they can stand alone. I want the reader to want to look you up after reading your story; not feel like they need to find the next chapter of your novel.</p><p>Characters must be 18 or older even if you're submitting a SFW story. There will be fetish content elsewhere in the book and it's better if we don't cross streams. You don't have to explicitly state character ages, but please avoid situations where underage is likely to be assumed. If your story involves an IRS auditor and a lion tamer my brain fills in a rough age range. If you're setting your story in a high school ... don't set your story in a high school. </p><p>Please don't use other people's intellectual property. I don't want to get sued. Pastiche/parody is acceptable. So I can't accept your Ant Man and The Wasp story, but I can consider your Bug Guy and Hornet homage. Characters in the public domain are fine. Gulliver is on the table.</p><p>In general avoid putting real world people in your submissions unless you have their permission. A meta story where Aborigen, Tina, Nyx, and I are having an adventure is fine as long as all of them agreed to be in it; a story about becoming the tiny slave of your celebrity crush or voring a politician you hate isn't.</p><p>Stories must be submitted with tags. That should include a general idea of the content (shrink, growth, inflation, etc) and content warnings for sex, violence, etc. </p><p>I reserve the right to reject any story. </p><p>Previously released stories are not only ok, they are encouraged. I want some of your best, not what you can crank out by a deadline.</p><p>That's it. </p><p>On to the book itself.</p><p>I can't afford to pay you for your stories. Not what they're worth. And trying to do a royalty split with 20+ people is more work than I have time for. And there's the question of taxes. </p><p>The first time around I got around all that by not charging for the book. No profits, no profit split, no taxes. Easy. I printed up a 120 copies (paid out of my own pocket) and distributed them at the 2020 SizeCon. I found ways to get copies to contributing authors who were unable to attend the Con. E-copies of the book were given out as part of the Con package for the first SizeCon Micro, but that's it. And a copy I gave my sister, but that's beside the point.</p><p>The deal I made with authors for the first anthology was that it would not be used to make a profit and that it would primarily be given out at SizeCon. They kept their end of the bargain; I kept mine.</p><p>This time around I want to open this up to the general public while sticking to the core concept -- ignoring profit and spotlighting size writing. </p><p>I have a way of doing this.</p><p>There will be two version of this book. E and print. I may allow illustrations in the e-version. Definitely not in the print. We need every page for story.</p><p>The e-book distribution will be easy and openly transparent. I can make it a free download on my e-junkie page. I'm open to making it available as a giveaway at the next SizeCon Micro. I'm open to other free distribution avenues. </p><p>There's no way to get print books without someone paying for them. It is possible to make them without profit. Printers will sell you copies of your own book for cost. These are generally called author's copies and are a practical way for us to sell books at cons and Ebay. </p><p>I used <a href="https://www.lulu.com/">Lulu</a> to print the first "small print". They gave me the option of setting the final price at cost and making the book only available through a link. Someone searching their site wouldn't be able to find this book, but anyone I gave the link would be able to order it (after some initial headaches).</p><p>That was one of the ways I got print copies to contributing authors. They had the option of getting a copy mailed to them by me or buying a copy at cost through Lulu. [If you contributed to the first collection and didn't get your print copy please contact me.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7OJp8vutV64/YEI0MtDwilI/AAAAAAAABrA/CeoFDi0DJA8VxLreedcjth8vn50CJsOYACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Cost.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7OJp8vutV64/YEI0MtDwilI/AAAAAAAABrA/CeoFDi0DJA8VxLreedcjth8vn50CJsOYACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Cost.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>The above screenshot shows that a little more clearly. The print cost and list price for "small print" are the same. $3.25. The rest of my books have a higher list price since I'm trying to make money with them. Lulu takes a cut off of the difference, but that's neither here nor there. The rest of my books are general access; "small print" is not.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l9JF-LHxriM/YEI2DrkEn5I/AAAAAAAABrI/yWkJNKRmw8EE2gyTiVEsHQi6hpYA8SU3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2066/Sales.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="838" data-original-width="2066" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l9JF-LHxriM/YEI2DrkEn5I/AAAAAAAABrI/yWkJNKRmw8EE2gyTiVEsHQi6hpYA8SU3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Sales.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>And here's my sales from the period just after the book was made. After my initial 120 book order three authors got their copies using the links I sent them. The estimated revenue is 0. You can see a positive number when you get to my "Failure" sale later in the year. </p><p>For those writers concerned with protecting their secret IDs, that is all I see on my end. The book ordered, the date, region, and revenue. If you order a copy of "small print 2" through the webpage I will not get your real name or address.</p><p>"small print 2" (eclectic boogaloo) is going to be made General Access. Like the first it will be listed at cost. No one will profit from this (except Lulu a little bit), but the work will be available to the general public.</p><p>The final cost will depend on length. The first one cost $3.25 for 100 pages. There may be some grandfathering going on with that price. When I checked last night a 200 page edition would come in at a little over $5 in the same dimensions. With shipping and handling you could get a copy for around $10. Hopefully less.</p><p>If that's too much for you (or you think this smells fishy) I will do what I can to get contributing authors a copy. The easiest way would be for me to send you the cost of the book via PayPal, but I'm open to other options. </p><p>As with the first version you will get full credit for your story including an "all stories copyright their listed authors", a link to a website where people can find your work (hyperlink in the e-book version), and hopefully some more readers. </p><p>Please share this with other writers in the community. I've met more of you since the last time we did this, but I know I'm barely scratching the surface. </p><p>To find out more you can email me at mr.taedis@gmail.com, contact me on <a href="https://twitter.com/MrTaedis">Twitter</a>, on Discord at <span face="Whitney, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #202225; color: white; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; orphans: 2; text-align: center; widows: 2;">Taedis</span></p><span face="Whitney, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: #202225; border: 0px; color: #b9bbbe; font-size: 16px; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration-thickness: initial; vertical-align: baseline; widows: 2;">#9230</span>, or Joe Taedis on FB. <p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-58870805683147202342021-02-26T15:35:00.001-08:002021-02-26T15:35:34.490-08:00Daughter of SizeCon: Fangirl Audiobook<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tevA6oBUK0s/YDl5hxw4NKI/AAAAAAAABqo/HDxoJzKMag0PCRKCe7PLHNim0YMm3NGuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Fangirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tevA6oBUK0s/YDl5hxw4NKI/AAAAAAAABqo/HDxoJzKMag0PCRKCe7PLHNim0YMm3NGuwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Fangirl.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>It seems like an eternity ago, but in February of last year I loaded up the car and drove to NJ with one goal in mind. </p><p>Don't get lost.</p><p>And have fun nerding out with my fellow size enthusiasts at the 2020 SizeCon. Attend some panels. Be on some panels. Maybe sell a few of my books, maybe a few of the mainstream size-y comics I'd brought along. </p><p>And find some voice talent to make some of my stories into audio books.</p><p>I wanted to find someone who GOT the dynamics of size, not some random narrator who was willing to do erotic/fetish content. I want my words to sound authentic even when they describe impossible things. I might get that from someone outside the community, but I thought it best to "shop local".</p><p>I knew what book I was going to pitch. Spoiler alert: it's in the title. Fangirl has the advantage of being long enough to be a good experiment, but not so long paying a fair price for narration was going to cripple my budget.</p><p>I ended up meeting a number of people who I thought might have potential. I ended up meeting three people who ended up doing audio work for me on this and other projects. </p><p>At the time of the Con I didn't know <a href="https://twitter.com/tinyaoife" target="_blank">Aoife</a> did narration. Unfortunately I'd already lined up someone else to do Fangirl by the time I made that discovery. Aoife very generously agreed to narrate a scene from Purse Pet that was released as <a href="https://taedis.e-junkie.com/product/1662339/The-Dolly-Dominatrix-28Mature-Content-Shrinking-Woman-Femdom-Audio-Erotica29" target="_blank">The Dolly Dominatrix</a>. She also made the art of little Becky putting her giant slave girl through her paces.</p><p>The second voice talent shall remain secret for now.</p><p>The third was <a href="https://twitter.com/TheMissMolotov" target="_blank">Miss Molotov</a> the woman who wound up taking the job. It was a first time experience for both of us. I'm biased, but I think she did an excellent job and went above and beyond to make certain I got my story told the way I wanted it to be told. If you have any narration you need done I highly recommend her.</p><p>The community got called on again in every aspect of this audio book's creation. The cover art is by <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/cobaltdreaming" target="_blank">CobaltDreaming</a> and the audio editing was performed by <a href="https://twitter.com/giant_micro" target="_blank">Dick the MicroGiant</a>. Please support their work as well.</p><p>As I'm typing this up the stage is set for SizeCon 2021 Micro. After the opening ceremonies Fangirl: The Audiobook will be officially available. In honor of the occasion I'm offering 50% off with a promo code you can get at my virtual booth. (Or you can message me for the code. I don't want to let anyone out.)</p><p>You can find the free nine minute sample <a href="https://taedis.e-junkie.com/product/1699161/Fangirl-28Mature-Content-Shrinking-Man-Femdom-Audio-Erotica-Sample29" target="_blank">here</a> and the full 2 and a half hour story <a href="https://taedis.e-junkie.com/product/1698987/Fangirl-28Mature-Content-Shrinking-Man-Femdom-Audio-Erotica29" target="_blank">here.</a></p><p>Thank you for your support and have a great day.</p><p><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-13895724216982116972020-12-19T10:02:00.001-08:002020-12-19T10:02:23.598-08:00Story: The Boy In The Silver Atom (With Bonus Materials and An Annoying Introduction)<p style="text-align: center;"> Introduction</p><p style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7rn4VMa_1r4/X937fKfDbmI/AAAAAAAABoM/flhyXmI9lBowFOCKOzWyVNAHhOQlDACFQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1200/95a491769b4d0f5c06f1ef0a5fcbbf5c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="1200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7rn4VMa_1r4/X937fKfDbmI/AAAAAAAABoM/flhyXmI9lBowFOCKOzWyVNAHhOQlDACFQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/95a491769b4d0f5c06f1ef0a5fcbbf5c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still from Judex. My inspiration for Jean's Halloween costume</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I cheated with this one.</p><p style="text-align: left;">SizeRiot rules say you can't use recognizable characters and this story is nothing but characters someone else made whom I became intimately familiar with decades after their genesis. I let myself off the hook knowing there wasn't going to be any voting to influence and the fact that the characters are deeply linked with my experience in Size. A few of you knew of my interest in Ray and Jean, but I told myself that wasn't enough of a tell to tip my identity.</p>This is going to get wordy and nostalgic. Feel free to skip to the story at any time. I won't mind.<span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>I usually don't do this sort of dissection of one of my SizeRiot stories. Most of the time I'll post them, if I remember, with nothing more than a few tags and an image from my archives. Sometimes I'll answer questions or respond directly to criticism, but usually not. </div><div><br /></div><div>But this final round of the contest is about deep fantasies and I'm feeling a bit thoughtful. And my current long form work doesn't involve Size so talking about this for a little while will help me keep my feet grounded in my main kink while branching out into others. This and the captions I've been writing lately in-between body swap gender flipped shenanigans.</div><div><br /></div><div>The title is a riff on a classic Size story, "The Girl In The Golden Atom" written by Ray Cummings over a hundred years ago about a world that is an electron orbiting the nucleus of a gold atom on a ring. There's romance and adventure as a man shrinks down into that small new world and meets the love of his life.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's nothing like my story, but I like giving nods to those who've gone before. And it let me work Atom and silver into the conversation without outright calling Ray by his superhero name.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ray was not named after the author of that book; he was named in honor of Ray Palmer a prolific SF writer/editor of the pulp era. Mr. Palmer was very short and it was meant as a respectful joke.</div><div><br /></div><div>But none of that explains my interest in the character.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ray Palmer's Atom has the best origin story ever. I read it in a DC Blue Ribbon Digest reprint when it was new on the stands and I was 10 years old. A few months before my interest in Size took its first erotic turn.</div><div><br /></div><div>He didn't become a super hero because of revenge or responsibility of powers. There's no dead family members or mentors looming in his psyche. Ray became what he became out of love. Both for the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and for a group of students he'd become responsible for.</div><div><br /></div><div>When most people get asked what the Atom's powers are they give the wrong answer. They'll tell you he shrinks. He does, but that's his special belt. Anyone could borrow it and get just as small. Ray Palmer's power is to not explode. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's been glossed over or written out of continuity in reboots and retcons, but the white dwarf star shrinking technology Ray created made everything it shrank blow up in a a matter of seconds. When Ray shrank for the first time he firmly believed that would happen to him too. That he'd die awake, six inches tall, in one of the most gruesome ways I can imagine.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm getting ahead of myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>Before we get to that point we're given the familiar origin story beats. We're introduced to a brilliant young scientist and his even smarter girlfriend. Jean in those early days was light years from Lois Lane. At least as Lois was portrayed at the time. She graduated law school early and started her own law practice in her mid-twenties. Jean wasn't looking to get married like Lois; she wanted a career. Wanted to prove she was as smart and talented as anyone. Ray we learn had proposed to her dozens of times only to be told Jean wouldn't accept until she'd proven herself. There's a lot about early Atom comics that hasn't aged well, but for the time Jean was ahead of the curve. I'm probably forgiving behavior I wouldn't find acceptable in other men in other eras.</div><div><br /></div><div>We're shown the new tech working. We see a number of household items go boom. There's a flashback to a meteor being discovered by Ray and him lugging a chunk of white dwarf star back to the lab. I have to think the star wanted to be carried since it would've weighed a bajillion tons.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DSh0-ntMw8M/X94vrDdrGhI/AAAAAAAABoY/POmUAR5H3qURxZimIOMergSbfbkdb0-XgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2138/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-12-19%2Bat%2B7.48.03%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="2138" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DSh0-ntMw8M/X94vrDdrGhI/AAAAAAAABoY/POmUAR5H3qURxZimIOMergSbfbkdb0-XgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-12-19%2Bat%2B7.48.03%2BAM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I learned the difference between the two. And, yes,<br />Jean's reference to Ray's "stalactite" was throwing shade on him<br />not being suited to be on top.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>He plans on making another proposal to Jean while doing a nature tour in a local cave system with a local youth group. There's a rockslide. They're trapped. No one in the outside world knows where they are and the group doesn't have provisions.</div><div><br /></div><div>All Ray has is a flashlight, his magic shrinking lens, and an engagement ring. He goes off a ways into the caves until he finds a very small hole in the ceiling. He's smart and brave. He doesn't think twice about sacrificing himself once he comes up with a plan he thinks will work. </div><div><br /></div><div>The image of a shrunken Ray using his engagement ring to expand the hole is one that's burned into my memory. It didn't register to my 10 year old mind, but he was using the symbol of his love to give his lover and some kids a chance. He didn't need a gun or a beatarang; Ray used love. And that sounds corny as fuck, but I don't care.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AYvSRCokkzU/X94xzXzCTnI/AAAAAAAABok/hy9Afr4rf-cHRZdJ_5vJqFQU4XAHpth3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1946/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-12-19%2Bat%2B7.49.39%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1946" data-original-width="656" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AYvSRCokkzU/X94xzXzCTnI/AAAAAAAABok/hy9Afr4rf-cHRZdJ_5vJqFQU4XAHpth3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-12-19%2Bat%2B7.49.39%2BAM.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best origin story ever.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbNIA_msLUw/X94yK0RujRI/AAAAAAAABos/xu4dnAfbsc8cx5hP0gRKnGSjTILYAqRjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1602/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-12-19%2Bat%2B7.50.07%2BAM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1602" data-original-width="664" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rbNIA_msLUw/X94yK0RujRI/AAAAAAAABos/xu4dnAfbsc8cx5hP0gRKnGSjTILYAqRjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-12-19%2Bat%2B7.50.07%2BAM.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And when he was done, Ray used<br />his love to find his way back.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><p style="text-align: left;">That's when we discover Ray's power. When he accidentally walks back through the shrink beam and becomes normal again. There's a couple panels of filler where we think it's cave water, but we find out later it's all Ray.</p><p style="text-align: left;">In the next story we find out how Ray decides to become the Atom. He wants to help people, but also give Jean an anonymous hand with her legal career. It's one of the parts of the series that doesn't age well, but again it's a demonstration that what Ray is doing he's doing out of love. Fucked up early 60s gender stereotyped love, but that's what they had to work with back then.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Part of the reason I chose to set the story in 1965 was to avoid some of the damage that happened to Jean's character as the decade went on. Needless to say I wasn't happy when I found out the way things went in Identity Crisis. While it made sense with the editorial choices foisted on the character over the decades I thought it was a disservice to the character I'd been introduced to when I was 10.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Some of the comments for this story asked about how much I stole from the comics themselves. I stole a lot. Ray getting tied to a hand grenade. That happened. Ray being used as a gun batter. Yep. I've been asked for some screen caps of some of this stuff so here you are.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TyP-dTLVjqc/X941JITVlaI/AAAAAAAABo4/XLvuEbymzJwbb7B0jm_XF7CAc2hgK9FvgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1533/RCO001_1465754902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1533" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TyP-dTLVjqc/X941JITVlaI/AAAAAAAABo4/XLvuEbymzJwbb7B0jm_XF7CAc2hgK9FvgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/RCO001_1465754902.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bondage was front and center in these comics.<br />I didn't have to add much.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_tUuQrNOyBE/X941aKzfApI/AAAAAAAABpA/WuT8QM9K6VkSzTA9PsMcZbNuCW_WUWHKgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/RCO001_1465755028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1082" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_tUuQrNOyBE/X941aKzfApI/AAAAAAAABpA/WuT8QM9K6VkSzTA9PsMcZbNuCW_WUWHKgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/RCO001_1465755028.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know when you see a really cool cover,<br />but the story inside doesn't match? That's not the case here.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5yBF5uGjDiU/X941tdDqfhI/AAAAAAAABpI/fzGwFUmOnrYlqEwwt-Wv0veWCxYIHhvWACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/RCO001_1465755170.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1116" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5yBF5uGjDiU/X941tdDqfhI/AAAAAAAABpI/fzGwFUmOnrYlqEwwt-Wv0veWCxYIHhvWACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/RCO001_1465755170.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This triggers so many of my kinks.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PlXLqBtxqbM/X9419JbMjEI/AAAAAAAABpQ/NOEwJKxVizgJKLs2zVQ7TN1NOksQaxwogCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/ddp0mbm-c35a9b13-4a19-4713-8474-255f6ef392a9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1121" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PlXLqBtxqbM/X9419JbMjEI/AAAAAAAABpQ/NOEwJKxVizgJKLs2zVQ7TN1NOksQaxwogCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/ddp0mbm-c35a9b13-4a19-4713-8474-255f6ef392a9.png" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This splash page (captioned by me) takes some liberties with the story,<br />but is amazing. Jean looks at Ray that way several times through the<br />run of the series, but this was my favorite.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The biggest liberties I took was in Jean figuring things out (she should have), Ray being secretly submissive (he sure as heck reads that way), Jean being a top (she was), and Ray thinking Enricetta's gay (I have no idea how good Ray's gaydar is). Most of the rest was there already</p><p style="text-align: left;">A few of you have been kind enough to make Watchmen references to my story. Thank you. I wasn't consciously thinking of that piece when I wrote "Silver Atom", but I can see it. Personally I think I was more inspired by Moore's "Whatever Happened To The Man of Tomorrow?" A nostalgic, poignant, a much better farewell to the Silver Age.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Moving past my childhood love of the character and the deep dive I was able to make into his adventures thanks to Ebay and internet archives there's another reason why this had to be my My Blue Heaven story.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When I was first looking for Size content on the internet I found some material that was close, but not exactly what I was looking for. The first story I came across that zeroed in on my fantasies was "The Peeping Tom Thumb" by Dreamtales. It involves the Atom being reduced to a Toy by a strong-willed young woman. It has some problematic elements (The Atom is peeping on a stranger, she's 17) that I'm uncomfortable about today. </p><p style="text-align: left;">But the beautiful things about fantasies is you can make them comfortable. I've done it twice with that story. Not copying it, but using some of the same themes. The first time in my novella "Powerless" (originally released as "Superhero Diminished") where the young woman is a grad student who happens to be at the right place at the wrong time. It's one of my darker stories.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The other is this which I feel is a much more healthy relationship. And the sunset I want Ray to get carried off into. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Enough introductions, here's the story you've been waiting for.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NhZ5N9JMZE8/X9466pu651I/AAAAAAAABpc/xbwl9DT5KF0zdV3lSef-InuLkUvSscN2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s284/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="177" data-original-width="284" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NhZ5N9JMZE8/X9466pu651I/AAAAAAAABpc/xbwl9DT5KF0zdV3lSef-InuLkUvSscN2wCLcBGAsYHQ/s0/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another screen cap from Judex. She looks a bit<br />too sinister for Jean, but her face could've been drawn by Gil Kane.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><u><b>The Boy In The Silver Atom</b></u></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><u>copyright 2020 Taedis</u></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; padding: 0pt 0pt 0pt 27pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -27pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Nunito, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">CW:Shrink, domination, mild comic book violence, sexy, humiliation, true love</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The scent of fresh sweat and stale powder was almost strong enough to keep Ray from waking. If the net he dangled in had been secured to the criminal's leg as well as her waist he might have remained unconscious until she was ready to deal with him, but her quick confident stride tossed Ray from one side of her hip to the other. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The streetlamps and moonlight that streamed through the windows they passed did nothing to help identify his captor. Almost every inch of her was covered in skin hugging velvet. From neck to gloves; waist to ballet shoes. Her hair and the bits of her face not covered by the oversized domino mask were exposed, but Ray was too close to see anything above the shoulder.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The slim dagger was his only landmark. The naked blade gleamed whenever it passed through the light. Longer than Ray. Sheathed by a strap of black leather wrapped around her thigh leaving most of its sharpness exposed.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The controls on Ray's belt were still dead; the ones in his gloves had power, but weren't responding. He tried ripping the net, but it was stronger than his tiny muscles. The mesh made for easy climbing, but the open top was tied in a hard knot to the criminal's waistband. He should've been able to swing the net into the blade, but his captor's movements were too unpredictable.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The slide to the bottom of the stocking took less than a second; the sting of being defeated by a piece of hosiery lasted much longer.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The criminal made her way silently down the dark corridors until they'd reached the smallest of the five courtrooms. She skipped the obviously locked main entrance and slid through the clerk's door around the far corner.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The lights were out; the windows shuttered. Ray lost track of where they were, but his captor navigated the darkness like it was her shadow. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The criminal's hips stopped swaying. Gloved fingers longer than his torso cupped Ray's body from below while her other hand undid the knot above. Fight or flight chemicals exploded into his veins as the net went slack. Ray might as well have been asleep for all the good they did him.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray was tossed on the bench as casually as a pair of used panties. As he struggled to make it to to open end of the fishnet the criminal found the switch to Judge Fortune's blind justice lamp. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The lampshade was thick and narrow, letting only a small island of light out onto the judge's desk. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Female laughter from outside that light reminded Ray how pathetic he must look struggling to escape such a sheer prison.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray's eyes had adjusted to the glare by the time he made it to fresh air. Ray grabbed hold of Lady Justice's metal robe and pulled himself all the way out. He steadied himself against the statue's strength until he found his footing. Lady Justice's feet stood on the same table he did. Stretching to his full height the top of his head still didn't reach her crotch. Her scales hung high above him. He was small enough to fit in them.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's nothing valuable here. Nothing to steal,” Ray said. The criminal wasn't in the light, but he knew she was close. “What do you want?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We need to talk.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray recognized the voice.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Jean?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You want to explain what happened back there?” The woman leaned into the light until her face Rushmored over him. Ray only needed to see her eyes to know he was right.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why are you dressed like that?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Rehearsing a surprise for next week's Halloween party.” Jean worked one of her gloves off and tossed it to Ray's left. “I could ask you the same question, but you haven't answered my first. What happened back there?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It was dark. I didn't recognize you. I thought …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know what you thought.” The other glove landed to Ray's right. “What I want to know is how a super hero got his butt handed to him by a bookworm in a Halloween costume.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My size controls fritzted out. I'm just lucky it was you and not Dr. Li …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jean didn't need her whole hand to pin Ray to the table; one finger was enough. She worked his belt off with her other hand while he impotently thrashed under her. When she was done she let the tip of her finger slide down his body till it rested on his crotch.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Anything you want to admit?” Jean asked. “It'll be less embarrassing if you fess up now.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray turned his head. Jean shrugged and examined the small belt.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There. I've fixed you.” Jean tossed the belt on his chest and took her finger away. “You can grow or shrink. Be heavy or light. Strong or weak. Run away or talk. What'll it be?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You know?” Familiar power rippled through Ray's body.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You saw through my mask in a heartbeat. Do you honestly think I wouldn't see through yours? I've known since you helped me win my first case. In this very courtroom. I've spent the last three years thinking that was your big secret. Now I know better.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm sorry.” Ray pulled his mask off before rising to his feet. “I didn't want to keep any of this from you, but … things got complicated. And weird. Fast.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've read about men like you, Ray. I never thought I'd meet one.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You've met a lot more superheroes than me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not talking about them,” Jean said. “Unless they're secretly submissive too.”<br /><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This isn't a lecture hall; I'm not one of your grad students. It's cute you think you can argue with me, but your balls are in my court.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why would you even think something like that?” Ray asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Remember the time you 'lost your memory' and joined a flea circus? Or when that crook made you the bondage battery of his ray gun? Or the spy who tied you spread eagle to a hand grenade?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“When you put it like that it sounds bad, but those sorts of things happen to superheroes. A lot.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do the others get tied up as much as you?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, but …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Have any of their super suits beaten the snot out of them?”<br /><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That only happened once.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“In the last six months how many times have you been rendered 'powerless'?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray thought about it a minute before admitting “Five”.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Does that include tonight?” Jean asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok, six, but that doesn't prove anything.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It proves everything.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It was you!”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You didn't know that. As far as you were concerned I was some hot piece of anonymous ass doing crime. You leaped into my clutches.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's more nuanced than that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Did it turn you on getting carted around in my dirty nylon?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So you didn't get hard until your big bad girlfriend pinned you with one finger? And don't even think about lying; I know what I felt between your legs. Just like I felt it go away the second I gave you your power back.”<br /><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you trying to humiliate me? Getting petty revenge cause I didn't tell you?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not the one trying to humiliate you, Ray.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What's that supposed to mean?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've got my own secrets.” Jean took her mask off and lay it behind Ray.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Am I your beard?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've proposed a gajillion times and you always put me off with the same lame excuse.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So putting my career first makes me a lesbian?” Jean slipped the ballet shoes off under the table. They ended up beside the gloves.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you are just say so. I'll set you up with Enrichetta.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's 1964, Ray. Women are allowed to have careers. Gay or straight.” Jean put the dagger on top of the mask.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But you're never … frisky.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Wet, Ray. The word you're looking for is wet.” Jean's hands were busy under the table.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Things have been drier than the Sahara down there a damn long time, Jean.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You haven't exactly been a stalactite yourself.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you stripping?” Ray asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yep.” Jean piled her leggings in a hill to Ray's left.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Cause being gay isn't the secret I was talking about.” Jean lifted her butt from the judge's chair, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear, and yanked them down in one swift motion. “When you were getting your little chubby my Sahara turned into a Slip 'n Slide.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The black panties hit Ray with a wet thump that pushed him off his feet. The soaked material clung to him. If Jean hadn't given him back his strength the weight of her arousal would've pinned him down as hard as her finger. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do the math Ray. I'm not getting off on the bottom; you're not happy on top. We both know what we have to do to make this work.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's not how any of this …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm giving you one minute to crawl out from under my panties. You'd better be naked Ray.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that an order?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You bet your sweet ass.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray didn't hesitate. They were both naked when he crawled into the light.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I can't take my eyes off you when you're tiny. It's even better when you're naked.” Jean's gaze burned through him like x-rays. “Stand up. Hands at your sides. I want to see everything.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray obeyed.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Looks like you enjoy getting orders as much as I do giving them.” Jean's fingers glistened when she pulled them out from under the table. “Tell me, Ray, are you strong or weak right now?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Weak.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I didn't order you to do that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It … it just seemed like what I should do.” Ray couldn't look Jean in the eye.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Good boy.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The words made Ray feel better than he wanted to admit.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want to marry you Ray. On my terms. Like I was the husband you thought you had to be. Think you can live with that?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Will I still be a scientist?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's 1964; men can have careers.” Jean smiled down at her tiny man.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What about being a superhero?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll think about it.” Jean ran a fingertip down Ray's back and let it rest on his bottom. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's not fair.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I won't be most of the time,” Jean leaned down and kissed Ray's chest. “But I'll always love you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What do you want me to do?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want your belt.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Will I ever get it back?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Probably not.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You could do anything to me,” Ray said.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I could,” Jean admitted.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray walked to the edge of the light, knelt on both knees, lifted the belt up with trembling hands, and said “I do.”<br /><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This is the size you're most comfortable? Six inches?” Jean wrapped the gold belt around her ring finger and snapped it shut.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't like that. I can't put my finger on why, but I don't. Maybe it's cause that was your penis size back in the day.” Jean studied the controls on her new ring. “Whatever. I'll just see how I like honeymooning with a 2” husband. I can always make you smaller when I get back.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jean hit a button and grabbed her panties while Ray shot down to his new size.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Where are we going?” Ray asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<i>I'm</i> going to find the best tropical paradise I can afford.” Jean pulled the panties halfway up her legs. “<i>You're</i> going to a very different type of paradise.” <br /><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You can't be serious.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“At least one of us will work on their tan.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But what about …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was Jean's first time wearing a man. She did her best to make sure Ray was centered in her gusset, but she had to make several adjustments until she felt comfortable.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's one thing I don't understand,” Jean said, pulling up her leggings.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jean translated the buzzing against her clit as “What?”</p><p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b3d73bf2-7fff-6dc0-0abf-104db1c92048"></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Since when is Enrichetta gay?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">-----</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exx6RnZTGDo/X94_T9wQthI/AAAAAAAABpo/Fp2Zfg8IQH8Bga8AoZSI4psV7sIv7CkPwCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/judex-franju-blacktights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="500" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exx6RnZTGDo/X94_T9wQthI/AAAAAAAABpo/Fp2Zfg8IQH8Bga8AoZSI4psV7sIv7CkPwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/judex-franju-blacktights.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Judex again. This time giving us some serious Size vibes.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Vigilante In Her Panty </p><p style="text-align: center;">an incomplete poetic interpretation</p><p style="text-align: center;">of the above story.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The lady robber had beaten Ray of that there was no question.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The only variable in play was her to-the-vest intentions.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He'd pegged her for a devil at the courthouse when he spied her.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Climbing from an upper level nimble as a midnight spider.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The mask that dominoed her face exposed her brow and lip.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Black velvet flowed from toe to tabard sheathing her like fresh grown skin.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The dagger stabbed a scabbard through the fabric at her hip.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She set a very fearsome pace; her swagger advertised her sin.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The plan he made defied convention, going high then low then fast.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Thanks to his incredible invention, six inches tall with linebacker mass.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She'd barely crossed the window sill when Ray engaged her ankle.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He grabbed her with a wrestler's skill from obscure and shallow angles.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lady Goliath fell to David and into darkness tumbled.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">On the hallway floor she waited, down for now, but never humbled.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The night erased her from Ray's sight; she was tranquil as a ghost.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At his diminished height Ray had to move in close.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Their outfits were equally as tight there was just less of him to fill it.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Maybe if his hadn't been so bright he wouldn't have gone to fire from skillet.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A giant hand speared from the gloom bulldozed the superhero.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Palm and digits entombed him easy as a clip-winged sparrow.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Fingers small as grains of rice flipped a hidden switch.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But she gripped Ray like a vise and the technology had glitched.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray was small as a toy yet had the strength of giants.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When the button failed the boy he became weak and small and pliant.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray thrashed his little body terror-testing his defiance</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Feeling less than godly as the strength drained from his science.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The burglar pulled Ray to her chest as he writhed and wriggled.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">His face into the blackness pressed; he felt the soft wall giggle.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He tried to object being kept abreast if only just a little.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But the flesh came erect and choked him on her nipple.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">II</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ray woke inside a stocking dangling from her waist.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She must have started walking; he swayed with every pace.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He tried to see his captor, but breasts eclipsed her face.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He was defenseless as a martyr and equally disgraced.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Whispering past her garter his thoughts were far from chaste.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She wore him like a trophy in a net between her thighs.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The powerful made lowly now her defeated prize.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He inhaled perfume and sweat and powder; fought scale and silk and size.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">His struggles made her prouder with his every frustrated cry.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She wished he could scream louder, but that would be unwise.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When his prison wouldn't rip Ray tried to climb the mesh,</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But failed to get a grip, battered as he was by her casual caress.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He looked up at her bounty between two towers of flesh.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Her step was slick and jaunty despite her vast largesse.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The little vigilante could find no quick egress.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ballet boots made soft footfalls as she left the parapet.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The victor skulked the hall silent as a silhouette.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Slunk into the courtroom brandishing her marionette,</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Alexandered the silken knot with her almost-bayonet,</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And tossed him sock and all under Lady Justice's statuette.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ChyugEtlZe0/X95AHh0xHGI/AAAAAAAABpw/eboAPwsFsUMFq0snFKMjpKfBobTDa6ZcgCLcBGAsYHQ/s800/800-judexJUDEX_MoC_015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ChyugEtlZe0/X95AHh0xHGI/AAAAAAAABpw/eboAPwsFsUMFq0snFKMjpKfBobTDa6ZcgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/800-judexJUDEX_MoC_015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p></div>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-78560126037312596572020-11-27T17:41:00.000-08:002020-11-27T17:41:03.663-08:00Story: Widow's Doll (Sexual Content, Dubcon, Femdom)<p>Author's note: This was originally written as a safety story for the 2019 Cruel January SizeRiot contest. Something I could submit if I wasn't able to finish "Queen of of His Lies".</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t4p84Oz6d-E/X8GqHcMuOAI/AAAAAAAABnc/Y26fZq1DwrwXyo0ChDNlgubCmxpyTYxpACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/86526903_xl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t4p84Oz6d-E/X8GqHcMuOAI/AAAAAAAABnc/Y26fZq1DwrwXyo0ChDNlgubCmxpyTYxpACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/86526903_xl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Widow's Doll</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">copyright 2019 Taedis</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Paula Grimaldi sat at the head of the table doing everything she could to keep from getting wet.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She wasn't a low woman. Unlike some people she'd been brought up right, not dragged. Only sometimes, when the situation warranted, would she ever think an innocent word in such a vulgar context. She certainly never said it aloud. Not even when there was a Mr. Grimaldi sharing her bed.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mark passed the serving bowl along, but his attention was fixed on Susan instead of the peas or his hostess. Their conversation had jumped from poetry to history to music in that way young people did when they were trying to seem deeper, more profound than their time on this Earth justified.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi didn't mind. They were young and cute and had been flirting like this every night since Susan moved in a week ago. Classes would be starting tomorrow and it was obvious neither wanted to start their Junior year alone.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi didn't mind. She knew Susan was a good girl. She suspected Mark was a nice man. It wouldn't be natural to pay more attention to an old landlady almost twice their age. And while Mark swooned on every word dropping from Susan's painted lips neither noticed Mrs. G. squirming in her seat.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mr. Grimaldi had joked about baseball statistics whenever she rebuffed him before their marriage. She let her mind tumble through numbers as she picked at her meatloaf, but landed in the game she'd enjoyed earlier. Killebrew stretched almost off the base trying to field a grounder hit to the left side. His lithe young frame, barely older than the children she was feeding, stretched like a ballet dancer across the diamond. His legs taut against his tight uniform. Tight all the way up to his hips and the curves of his hard … </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sorry to be a bother, but I could use Susan's help in the kitchen.” Mrs. G. needed to get up before she got herself in trouble. “You don't mind if I borrow her, do you, Mark?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Both were too polite to object.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm so glad you let me talk you into staying with me this year.” Mrs. G. took the pie out of the oven. “I feel much more comfortable sharing my house with you than any of the boys the college sent me. Especially after what happened with … you know.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I know.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. G. could hear the regret in the younger woman's voice. The yearning for something Susan had brushed close to once a very long time ago. Something she never had, but wanted more than anything else before. Something Mrs. G. had more than brushed.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Still. I have to thank the college for sending Mark my way.” Mrs. G. put the pie down. “Not that I was going to let him stay. I'd promised the room to you. What kind of world would we live in if people didn't keep their word?</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“But he seemed like such a nice boy. Such a lonely boy. No family. No friends. So far from home. I hope you don't mind I've had him around for dinner so often. Mr. Cheselniak's a nice man. Probably a good landlord. But his idea of cooking is tearing the foil off a tv dinner.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't mind.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan stared at the door as if she could stare through it to the young man beyond. She blushed and Mrs. G. knew what Susan wasn't telling her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You like him, don't you?” Mrs. G. leaned in conspiratorially close.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Am I that obvious?” Susan grew redder.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi grinned mysteriously at her young border. She had an answer on the tip of her brain, but the thing she had been waiting for all evening erased it with its arrival. Only then, when she felt a faint brine mist on her pearl did she let the weight of the night fall on her. Only then did she let the floodgates between her legs open.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Why don't you serve the pie while I powder my nose, dear.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi turned the water on as soon as she locked the bathroom. The lovebirds downstairs were too focused on each other to give her a second thought, but she couldn't take the chance either heard anything inconvenient coming from the toilet.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She put the lid down before bunching prim layers of skirt and petticoat up to her waist. She unhitched her garters and pulled her underwear to her knees before placing her almost bare bottom on the closed lid.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She supposed she should feel guilty about wearing the sanitary belt when she wasn't on her period. The pads cost money. It wasn't like she could put it back in the box until some time next week when she'd probably start bleeding again. Even if it wasn't disgusting it was too late for that.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It couldn't be helped. She needed something to hold things in place down there. Something comfortable for both of them. Something that would smother his screams while letting him hear what was going on in the world above him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi spread her legs and unsnapped the top of the belt. She pulled the heavy pad down and away from her until she saw him pressed against the damp hair surrounding her yearning opening. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">His cheek rested on her hooded pearl. She didn't need to look at his face to know he'd been crying; she felt those first tears in the kitchen talking to Susan. That's why she had to stay dry; to feel his tears wash over her womanhood. To know she was drowning them out with every gush of ladylike lust that poured out of her, over him, staining the cotton pad.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The pad and her crotch played tug of war with Greg's tiny naked body.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The pad won.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi wrapped her hand in a thick layer of toilet paper before picking Greg out of the pad. She flipped the short glass on the counter upside down and placed him on top of its glass roof.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She watched her former border shield his face from the the eight suns arrayed around the bathroom mirror. How long had she kept him down there? Eight hours? Ten? All the while trying not to think about the human life she had resting between her legs; the young man with a bright shiny future before him reduced to being a widow's fantasy and marital toy.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Did you cry because Susan's moved on?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Greg lifted his head to the sound of her voice and nodded.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You shouldn't be sad. She's got Mark in her life now. And you have me.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whatever Greg said didn't matter. He was angry, hurt, and scared. All of which only added to Mrs. Grimaldi's pleasure. She liked the way he puffed out his chest when he bluffed a strength they both knew he lacked. She put her hand around the glass, twisting it around until he spun slowly like a music box ballerina. He kept trying to face her, but she kept spinning him away.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“There's no way Susan would want you now. Not like this. You're don't have a man's power, only his shape. That's the Webster's definition of a doll. Susan's a grown up girl. She doesn't play with dolls anymore.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Shoulders as broad as the tip of her pinky finger gleamed in the bare bulb light and the dampness of her arousal. Her eyes travelled the perfect “T” they formed all the way down to his bare ass.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi put him back in her pad when he tried to run. She liked it when he fought back.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm going downstairs to listen to the game.” Mrs. G. wore the same mysterious smile she'd had since the kitchen. “Don't worry about talking too loud or playing music if you want. I can't hear a thing you do when I'm down there.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, ma'am.” Susan may have been a nice girl, but even nice girls knew an opportunity when they heard it.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't expect I'll come up those stairs until at least 10 o'clock.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Enjoy the game, Mrs. G.” There wasn't any mystery behind Mark's smile.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't expect to find you here, young man.” Mrs. G.'s tone was firm, but she was still smiling. “This is a respectable house and I won't have the gossip mill saying otherwise.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, ma'am.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you remember the last time we came down to the basement, Greg?” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. G. took a seat on the padded rocker under the vent that led directly to Susan's room.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It was last year, wasn't it? When it was still your room we were eavesdropping on. When I gave Susan some time alone with your things after you left school and dumped her in that note.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi smiled when she felt Greg's first punch land on her clitoris. It must have taken a Herculean effort to pull his arm back to strike her. He was pressed so tight between her wall of flesh and the taut cotton pad. Rage fueled his strength; exploded against her sensitive flesh.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It almost tickled.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I know I was the one who wrote the note, Greg, but it's for the best. If she really loved you she'd have recognized your handwriting. Either you didn't write her enough love letters or she didn't pay them much attention.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. G. couldn't hear Greg's scream, but she could feel it vibrate against her sensitive flesh. She could feel her first orgasm welling up inside her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Did you cry too? Back then? With her? I couldn't tell at the time. I think you remember why.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan and Mark's giggles echoed down the ductwork followed by the sounds of straining bedsprings. Mrs. G. rocked in time with the gently rocking springs two floors above.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you remember when that was your bed, Greg? I do. I'd come down here to listen to the radio and I'd hear you moaning in it by yourself. Even after all those months dating Susan she still didn't want to join you.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“How long has she known Mark? Has it even been a week?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The next punch sent sparks skittering from Mrs. G.'s crotch to her nipples. She allowed herself the first of many small orgasms that night. She'd save the best for later when she was alone in her own bed with the lights out and her clothes puddled on the floor and her widow's doll buried deep in her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I normally wouldn't be so lax about leaving an unmarried couple unchaperoned in my home, but they make such a cute couple. I've got a feeling Mark will make an honest woman of her.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. G. barely felt the third punch over the final tremors of her orgasm.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you think they'll get married here or St Louis where her family is?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Susan's moan echoed down the duct.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Either way I'm sure I'll be invited. I can talk my way into anything. I won't tell anyone, but you'll be there, tucked between my legs. I'll keep you there from the moment I leave the house to the last dance at the reception. I don't care if I have to go through a dozen pads.”</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Grimaldi felt a pressure against her throbbing womanhood. Something more constant than a punch. She knew Greg well enough to know he'd given up. Hurt his fists against her throbbing sex; his feelings in every moan that escaped Susan's throat. He was sobbing into her now. Crying at his weakness. His impotence.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Maybe I'll be a matron of honor. Getting the bride ready. Hearing all the filthy advice girls give each other on their big day. Talking about the man she's going to satisfy. Knowing it will never be you. Could never be you. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Knowing that the woman you love shares another man's honeymoon bed while you share a pair of panties with me.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Greg's tears washed away in Mrs. G.'s flood.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-3622903257973792122020-11-27T17:10:00.000-08:002020-11-27T17:10:42.821-08:00Story: Giantess Hut (Sexual Content, BDSM)<p> Author's Note: There have been times when I wasn't sure if I could pull off an idea for SizeRiot. When that happened I sometimes wrote a "safety story". Something I could submit if I wasn't able to make the more complex story work. That took some of the pressure off since I could always submit the safety.</p><p>"Giantess Hut" was the safety story I wrote for GentleApril 2020. The theme was rescue. I had an idea for a dark fairytale love story that wasn't coming easy so I wrote this as a safety piece. I've known a number of tinies (mostly women) who find themselves harassed by people who want them to them to be giants. I liked the idea of a tiny woman getting rescued from being conscripted into being a giantess. I'm not 100% happy with the way I landed this one, but I managed to get "I Could Let You Make Me" finished so I didn't have to worry about it. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jf9VYEYZ7FI/X8Gg-GRfMYI/AAAAAAAABnQ/mZ6PhAqqBKw_dazeb39vmQv--BChnHs8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/1dreamstime_xxl_13406330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jf9VYEYZ7FI/X8Gg-GRfMYI/AAAAAAAABnQ/mZ6PhAqqBKw_dazeb39vmQv--BChnHs8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/1dreamstime_xxl_13406330.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Giantess Hut</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">copyright 2020 Taedis</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Roger crawled on all fours following a DSL line thicker than a telegraph cable. There was no light inside Rachel's walls; only the wiring to tell him which way to go. Between climbing up to her floor and crawling through the wall he must've covered 20 feet; more than a mile at his current scale.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He saw the light when he skirted the next corner. The indirect glow of mammoth electronics filtering through a hole in the wainscoting a mouse had gnawed. Roger walked like a man the rest of the way, but had to return to his animal crouch to squeeze through the rough opening.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The table he'd emerged under was impossible. Each leg was a sequoia whittled square and varnished black rising up to a top that made a better sky than ceiling.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Light flickered on a screen bigger than IMAX. Strange sounds thundered down from it. Roger watched a whole minute before recognizing a game he'd played yesterday blown up a hundred times. <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He forgot everything when he saw her.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Rachel!”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rachel must not have heard his cries over the fighting onscreen. He shouted her name until he reached her bare foot and wrapped his arms around her big toe.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's me! Something went wrong. I'm shrunk and I can't fix it. If you don't do anything I'll die at this size.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Nothing. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If this is about me taking the credit for your invention, I'm sorry.”<br />The thunder quieted; the lights stopped flickering.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're my three o'clock?” Rachel's voice echoed above the edge of the sofa.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ssave me, Rachel!”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah, yeah. I was just … Can we play unaware for a little while?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I left my running shoes over there. Wait, you can't see where I'm pointing, can you?” Rachel leaned her head down till they could see each other's eyes. “They're over there and I am telling you they are stinky.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't understand, Goddess.” Roger kicked himself for jumping ahead in the script.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know what. There's a hole in the bottom of my lingerie hamper. Go fap under a mountain of panties while Goddess gets to enjoy the one damn hour of screen time she gets. How's that sound?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's not what I paid for,” Roger hated breaking character. “You're supposed to punish me. You know, for stealing …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm sure it was an honest mistake,” Rachel interrupted. “These things happen. Just head that way and you'll be normal again before you know it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No. You need to punish me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And what's the punishment? Like I don't already know.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I need to be taught the inherent superiority of women. Make up for thousands of years of patriarchy trying to put the divine feminine into a subservient roll.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you get shoved down my pants in this lesson?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's the only way.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We could try talking.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok, ok.” Roger needed to get this back on track. “If the cameras were off. If you could do anything you wanted with no consequences, what'd you do to me?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ignore you.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But the patriarchy.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“ … is something you read about on some femdom subreddit. If you really want to know about it talk to someone who isn't using it as an excuse for sexy revenge fantasies.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Your fantasy is getting shoved in the underwear of some giant you find hot, right?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's part of it, but what I really want to do is make up for centuries of repression.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Uh huh.”<br />“Honest.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What if I told you that's my fantasy too?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Awesome.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Only I want to be the little one.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You in another giantess's panties? Sign me up.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No. Me in some dude's boxer briefs.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Gross.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Trapped down there all dark and sweaty.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Shut up!”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fighting his cock for space as it grows under me. Then over me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's sick.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course the more I struggle, the more turned on I make him; the more trapped I become under his ginormous shaft.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm out of here.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Roger stormed off to the normal sized exit door. Before he left he looked over his shoulder and yelled up to Rachel.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're getting a shit Yelp review.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Roger slammed the door behind him.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Idiot.” Rachel unpaused her game. “Giantess Hut uses Gulp not Yelp.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gulp Review (Roger A.) </p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After searching their extensive catalog of “home grown” women </p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I decided to book a session with Giantess Rachel. The scenario </p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I supplied was a basic shrunken revenge fantasy. I'll give GH's set design</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">people credit; the place looked like I was in a giantess's apartment.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Five Alison Hayes's for their attention to detail.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I only wish Giantess Rachel was even a quarter as talented. I hate to</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">say it, but the internalized misogyny I experienced made me worry about</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">her mental health and social wellbeing. Her obsession with giant penises is </p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">offensive and debilitating to all women who struggle against sexism.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">One Allison. Do not recommend.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rachel ripped up a fake tree and threw it over the nearest castle. Her foot came crashing through a hut. The huts were empty; easy to replace. Destroying the village might've been fun if she'd been allowed to chose her wardrobe.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The castles were off limits. Tourists on the turrets paid good money to perv on her as she Godzillad her way through the medieval village. Rachel wasn't sure where the chainmail lingerie fit in. Other than up her butt. Chainmail thongs should've been outlawed by the Geneva Convention.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A man yelled her name from one of the castles.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do I know you?” Rachel had to squat to see him. She knew she was putting on a special show for the dudes on the balcony level with her cleavage. She didn't want to think about the eyeful the guys across the street were getting.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I read that yelp review,” the man said. Rachel didn't recognize him.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Gulp. Giantess Hut uses Gulp.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you really want to be tiny?” The man asked.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm kinda busy right now.” Rachel reached around until she found an empty cart and tossed it into another hut.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My name's Chris.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's nice. Right now I have to do my job, Chris. Maybe you can buy me a coffee after I run amok.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But that review.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Seriously, coffee later. Right now, Rachel smash.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't even want to think how many gallons are in that cup.” Chris took a sip of his as he stared up at the underside of Rachel's mug.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It started out the same as yours,” Rachel said. “Size change is cheap. If it's not alive.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That supposed to make me feel better about the price?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's for the company, not the drink. It cost a metric buttload making me the woman I am today. Company's gotta make that back somehow.” Rachel put her mug down on the table she was seated at and Chris was standing on. “Hope I'm worth it.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That robe looks more comfortable than your rampage gear.” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You didn't pay $100 to tell me I'm pretty. Whatcha want?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's about that review.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That review is what got me stomping through Camelot in a metal bikini. Another one like it they take the bikini away.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you want to be small?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How'd you end up so … not?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I signed up for the Doll House. By the time my application made it through the system they were filled up. Got reassigned here.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They can do that?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Couldn't you just stay normal?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Once you agree to size change you're gonna get changed. Even if you don't like the direction.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What'd you say if I had a way to get you out of this?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That you're a gallon of bullshit in a half pint container.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know someone.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's nice.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She could shrink you. Back to normal. Smaller.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So you could stuff me down your pants?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's your fantasy, isn't it?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know you.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Trust me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rachel flipped her coffee cup over and trapped Chris under it.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----<br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“When I count to ten Rachel is going to lift the cup, Chris. Just enough to slide your clothes under. If I'm not convinced you're naked we'll leave you there and try again tomorrow.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The woman took her time counting up. A clumsy pile of jeans, t-shirt, shoes, and underwear were pushed out when she finished.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that all?” she asked.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes, ma'am.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rachel lifted the cup. Chris covered his junk with both hands. His face was blushing. There was coffee in his hair.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm Karen. Rachel's boss. I hear you came to rescue her.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Karen was taller than Chris in her heels. More confident clothed.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She doesn't want to be here.” Chris looked down.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“None of us is where they want to be.” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Karen started slowly circling the embarrassed man. Her heels clacking on the hard tabletop. Rachel resisted the urge to hum the Jaws theme.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I only want to help,” Chris insisted.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“He did sound kinda sincere,” Rachel said. “Better than the other white knights.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Others?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Fifth one this week.” Karen stopped behind him. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sixth,” Rachel corrected. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Right. The one Cassandra had to deal with.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want to help,” Chris said.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No you don't. You just want to make yourself feel better.” Karen put a hand on his bare shoulder. “Be a hero.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe there's a way he can.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What we talked about with the others?” Karen ran her palm down his spine. “He's got an ok body, but this boy is clearly a sub.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't see him doing much to scratch your itch even if I make him a giant. Would you trust him if I did?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's another way.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm having enough trouble booking the giant subs we already got. Girl or boy.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll do anything.” Chris tried not to flinch when Karen's hand reached his ass.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“All this and stupid too.” Karen gave his bare cheek a fast spank.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What if I told you there was a way we could both be submissive?” Rachel asked.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Would people pay?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Through the nose.” Rachel smiled bigger than Chris.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm listening.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">------</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The cage bars always woke Rachel.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She'd turned in their sleep when he was flaccid. The bars were to her back; Chris was pressing into her front. She could feel his throbbing need pulse through the thick vein that ran under her toes, between her breasts, against her cheek.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rachel kissed him good morning. Chris couldn't feel it.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The briefs came down. Rachel closed her eyes at the light; hugged tighter to fight the cold. It'd taken less than a month to get used to the heat and the darkness. The pressure that varied with thoughts that flitted so far above her head it made her wet thinking about them. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It must be getting tight in there.” Karen's voice boomed from the light. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rachel felt a giant fingernail poke her shoulder blades before her supervisor gave the chastity cage a firm tug. She knew Karen wasn't talking to her or Chris.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Will today be the day Chris lets Rachel return to a normal life? A world not dominated by his cock? Will Rachel give Chris back the manhood she's been keeping such a close eye on? The poor boy's gagging for a cum as bad as she's gagging for fresh air. Which one of these pig headed subs will be the first to cave?</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A moment to finalize today's bets.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Most of the wagers were made electronically. A few curious pervs paid for the privilege of the live show.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Bets are final. We'll start with the man of the hour. What's it gonna be boy, should she stay or should she go?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Silence.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sorry, Rachel. Chris shook the big head “no.” The only way you're gonna kiss the little one goodbye is admitting defeat. Do you feel defeated?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you give up?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No way.” Rachel ran her tongue along the ridge under his glans. Chris stiffened, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. “I'm exactly where I want to be.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-1963322901814715992020-11-27T15:59:00.001-08:002020-11-27T15:59:46.951-08:00Story: Renegotiating Their Marriage (Shrunken Man, Femdom, Sexual Content)<p>Author's Note: Over the years I've had a number of stories build up in my archives that have never seen the light of day. Some I wasn't happy with or was waiting to release as part of an anthology that never came to pass. </p><p>This is one such project. Like many size writers of my generation I've long had an interest in doing my take on Matheson's Shrinking Man. I have a rather involved idea for a mashup between that novel and Leiber's Conjure Wife. So far every time I've had the time to start the project another has pushed it out of the way. </p><p>This isn't that concept. I was toying around with the idea of Lou stepping up to the little bully Scott became and taking control of their marriage. I wasn't entirely happy with where it went, but I think there may be something here other people may enjoy.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crkCOih6MdE/X8GSf06HIBI/AAAAAAAABnE/703ju0UWv_YUPq6Rkp__2l27JDxUgLaAgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/bigstock--121970483.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1644" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-crkCOih6MdE/X8GSf06HIBI/AAAAAAAABnE/703ju0UWv_YUPq6Rkp__2l27JDxUgLaAgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/bigstock--121970483.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Renegotiating</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our Marriage</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">copyright 2019</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Taedis</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It came to a head in November, 1955 after almost a year of steady slow attrition. Scott's body may have only melted away a fraction each day, shrank an inch each week, but his fear and pride grew twice that fast. By the time Lou put her foot down he was a half pint of flesh stuffed with eight gallons of darkness.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every day was another reminder of what he'd lost. Some new setback he'd have to deal with; another dozen people looking down on him. The big defeats took weeks, months to build up to. After almost a year of his impossible fall he could no longer fit into adult clothing. Drive. Hold a job. Make love to his wife. None of the measuring sticks he'd used to define his manhood before the glowing cloud baptized him to this new lesser life.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">They didn't even make a bike small enough he could pedal that didn't have three wheels.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He'd felt worst about Lou. Louise. They weren't newlyweds, but they were far from an old married couple. That cloud had taken away her husband. Widowed her. Left her haunted by a ghost that looked like Scott Carey, but only came to Louise Carey's knees. How long until he shrank so small she could forget him? At what height would he be exorcised?</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He'd done so many stupid things. Cruel petty things that made Scott loathe himself so much the hate spread to Lou. The affair with that woman at the carnival. Was it worse cause he didn't even remember her name? Peeping on the neighbor girl. He knew her name. Her age. But he still spied on her and thought things that made him want to punch himself when he was himself.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Maybe this is what I am now. What I've always been. That old Scott Carey was an illusion; his tiny ghost the truest me.</i></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It came to a head that November. Over a cookie jar.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou. Louise. Scott's wife moved the ceramic polka dot bear on top of the ice box that June after finding ants in her pecan sandies. Like all of Lou's solutions it was quick and practical; there was no way something as small as an ant could climb a refrigerator she had to stretch to reach.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou told Scott to get her if he wanted any. That it was too high for him now that he'd gotten smaller. Scott was level with her crotch then; he had to look up to her knees that November.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott never had much of a sweet tooth. Never looked inside the cookie jar or even wanted to until he was told he wasn't allowed. He waited the bare minimum before he made his first attempt on the jar. Waited until Lou'd left to get groceries before pushing the chair to the heavy metal door. Could still hear the revving of his, now Lou's car pulling out of the driveway when he stepped on the chair. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott took one bite of the cookie and tossed the rest in the trash.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He'd averaged a cookie a month since then. Never asking Lou to get one for him. Always waiting until she was off on some errand; never when she was at work. That would have been too easy. Or maybe a part of him was scared he'd fail and fall and didn't want to wait eight hours to get taken to the emergency room.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a hollow victory. A shallow success. Scott felt more like a little boy defying mommy than the adult he was alleged to be. But knowing there was still this one thing he could do that Lou thought he couldn't gave him some pleasure no matter how small. He could watch the forbidden fruit grow further and further from his grasp each morning he walked into the kitchen and saw it staring down at him. Mocking him. Knowing that soon it would be bigger than him if the doctors didn't stop Scott's daily demotion soon. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">For a few months Scott knew he was better than it. All it took was a chair, the countertop, and a little climb and he was master of his domain for a few fleeting seconds. He'd lost so much even the success of a childish defiance could feel profound.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">That November was the last time he attempted the act; the first he'd failed in his defiance.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The day started as normally as it could for an almost six-footer turned toddler. Scott slept in the spare room on a camp mattress spread out on the floor. The only furniture he'd permit were a few wooden boxes he'd store his clothes in. He didn't need a dresser or nightstand. They'd only remind him how much of him had evaporated away already.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou hired a man from town to take the doorknob off when Scott had trouble turning it. Scott didn't want to become trapped in there, stuck in his own room till Lou let him out like he was her pet, not her husband. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She suggested just taking the door off. Offered to do it herself; the hinges wouldn't be hard for her to work. And it would save some money. Money was always an issue, but Scott needed his privacy as much as his freedom.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott hid in the basement till the handyman left, but kept close to the door to listen to the big folk talk. Listen for any sign the strange man expected anything else from the pretty young widow all alone in her tiny little home. Strain to hear anything in Lou's voice that'd indicate she'd enjoy a man's company. A real man. One who worked with his hands; not some little boy ghost who hid from grown ups.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott used to work with his hands.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou wasn't home when Scott woke that morning. Her shift at the plant started before dawn and finished close to sundown. When he first moved out of their bed she'd come into his new room and kiss him goodbye before she'd head out for work. She stopped after Scott growled at her to stop mothering him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott hated being the breadwinner, but felt guilty when Lou had to take over when the plant could no longer keep him on. His brother felt terrible, but there was no way he could let someone that small operate those presses. Lou hadn't taken his place at his exact machine; just his roll. It was her leaving before dawn. Her coming back each night smelling of burnt rubber and metal fillings.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was nothing to be done. The gas and electric bills weren't going to magically pay themselves. The bank wouldn't accept the inches he'd lost in lieu of mortgage payments. The only thing Scott could do was put his foot down when Lou tried to wear pants to work. She tried to argue they were safer around the presses, but symbolism meant more to Scott. His former co-workers might joke about who wore the pants in Scott's family; he'd be damned if he gave them ammunition.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott still wore the pants. Even if they were cut for a two year old.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Breakfast was waiting for him in the kitchen. The ceramic bear looked down from him from atop the icebox. Staring down on him. Smiling down on him like some polka dot bear Buddha. Ticking down the hours till the tantrum, and the meltdown, and the foot coming down.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou was late getting home that night. The sun had gone down hours ago leaving the house in darkness except Scott's room. Lou had rigged fishing line to the pull cord of the overhead light that fell almost all the way to the floor. She'd offered to fix up the rest of the house that way, but Scott told her no. He didn't have a good idea why he wouldn't let her. Just that it made him feel weak when she did those sorts of things for him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott didn't like it when Lou was late. He wanted to yell at her. Or ignore her. He couldn't do either when she wasn't there.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He pulled the light off when he heard the car pull into the drive. He wanted her feeling guilty she'd left him alone so long. Alone and in the dark. It didn't matter he could make the darkness go away. Scott wasn't thinking that way. Scott wasn't thinking. He just didn't want her knowing he'd been waiting. Not till he told her. Till he could see the guilt wash down her pretty giant face. Maybe she'd cry. He felt bad he wanted to see tears, but that didn't make him want them any less.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The second hand place was open late.” Lou called towards Scott's closed door. She could see he was pouting in the dark again. “I found some stuff I think'll fit. The stuff you're wearing is falling off again. Why don't you come out here and try them on while I get supper started.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten herself anything new. Besides the dungarees gathering dust in the back of Scott's old closet.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou put the bags down and counted down slowly in her head. When Scott hadn't come out by the time she reached 30 she gave up and went to the kitchen. Lou had too much crap to do to wait for Scott to materialize. She'd spent too much time that day in front of a hot press in front of a foreman who ran even hotter. After spending hours keeping her boss's hands getting up her skirt Lou didn't have time for Scott's prima donna act.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It wasn't going to be a gourmet meal. A few months ago she wouldn't even count it as cooking, but casserole was better than a TV dinner. She'd opened the second can of Campbell's when she heard Scott in the living room rustling through the bags.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>How many things is he going to bitch about this time?</i></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Lou?” Scott called from the other room. Lou felt the tension build in her neck. “You got the wrong underwear. These are girls'.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What does the tag say?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“There isn't any.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Then what makes you think they're girls'? They're white aren't they?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“There's no fly.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's just the way they make them.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't like it.”<br />“Of course you don't.” Lou said under her breath. She tossed the macaroni she'd precooked into the pan.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You should take them back. Are they still open?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That packs the smallest I could find, Scott. And I think they're still gonna be loose on you. It's them or diapers.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What if I have to urinate?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Jesus Christ! Deal with it.” The macaroni spilled out of the tupperware in one huge clot sploshing soup and ground beef over the sides. “Just pull down your damn pants. Half the world does it.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“But …”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“If my 90 year old grandmother can pull down her panties to pee then the great Scott Carey can figure it out.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was silence on the other side of the door. Lou wondered if it'd be better if Scott stomped off in a huff. Give him time to stew while she calmed down and collected herself.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The clasp won't work.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott pushed the kitchen door open. It was a little heavier each day. He tried not to think about the day he wouldn't be able to. When he'd be too small, too weak to even move around his own house.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou looked over at him from where she stood by the oven. By now the casserole was bubbling almost as hot as she was. The man she stared at looked like her husband, but sounded like a little boy too proud to admit he couldn't do something. The childish overalls he was fumbling with didn't help his adulthood.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What's wrong?” Lou asked.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's broke.” Scott let the strap fall holding the pants up with his hands. They'd been made to be worn over diapers and wouldn't stay up without the straps or a good belt. “Get me some rope from the basement. I can use it to make a belt.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Come here.” Lou wiped her hands on her apron. When Scott didn't move she stepped over to him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Are you wearing your new underwear?” Lou picked up the right strap, worked it straight, and clasped it shut without any trouble.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I said I wanted to make a belt, Lou.” Scott wanted to pull away, but was a bit cowed this close to his hulking wife.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Are you wearing your new underwear?” Lou repeated.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes.” Scott growled the word as he stared at his shoes. Indignant, but intimidated enough to say more.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Show me.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm wearing the goddamned panties, Louise. What more do you want?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou didn't have the patience to answer. She put one hand behind his shoulder blades and pushed him against her legs. The other hand went down the back of his pants till she was sure he was decent.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Stop treating me like a child.” Scott tried to squirm away, but her powerful hand kept him pinned against her. He could smell the shop on her warm wet stockings.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Start acting like a man and I'll think about it.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou pulled her hand from his pants, but held him against her legs until she decided she needed to check the oven. It was petty and small of her, but it made her feel good for the first time in a very long while.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Supper'll be ready in ten minutes.” Lou let him go, patting his bum as he ran to the door and away from her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're dinner's waiting for you in the kitchen.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou called to Scott's closed bedroom door. The light was still off. She debated about asking if the bulb had burned out, but that wasn't likely. If anything was wrong Scott would have told her. Blamed her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It hadn't been the first time Lou had eaten alone since Scott got this way. The first time she'd put his dinner on a tray. She didn't bother bringing it to his room. The last time he'd tossed it into the wall in a fit of impotent pique.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou grabbed the paper and retired to her room. Scott could do what he wanted. Maybe she'd take a bath later. She could use it.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott had been a silent powder keg since the kitchen. How dare she treat him like that. Hold him against her while she checked to see if he'd followed her stupid orders. What was she doing ordering him around anyway?</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He imagined all the things he'd do to her once the doctors figured it out. All the humiliations he'd heap on her once he was the bigger one again. How he'd bend her over his knee then over his bed.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou was still in the kitchen when he first felt the need to urinate. He wasn't sure when he'd stopped using the term “pee” and replaced it with more clinical language. Sometime after he'd gotten too small to fit into mens' things. Excusing himself to pee was fine when he wore a suit; he felt ridiculous saying it when he was one step away from diapers.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott didn't want to see Lou. Couldn't risk taking the chance she'd walk out of the kitchen as he was going to or coming out of the bathroom. So he waited in his room with the light out so she knew he didn't want to talk to her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou took her time eating. Scott felt the pressure build in his bladder, but it was still manageable. Still inside his control. He was rocking back and forth holding it in by the time Lou called to him and he heard her clomp off to her room.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott waited a few seconds to make sure Lou wasn't coming back before he crept to his door. He'd taken the useless shoes off. The sneakers one step away from baby shoes. He'd be quieter that way. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was still a lock on the bathroom door, but it was left open for Scott whenever it wasn't occupied. Scott hated the lack of privacy, but the only alternative was putting his toilet in his bedroom and that wasn't acceptable. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Not that a child's potty counted as a toilet. At best it was a compromise; at worst another defeat. Scott couldn't use the real toilet anymore. He'd managed for a while using a step stool, but he eventually became too small. There was too much risk he'd fall in. Scott wouldn't be able to deal with the humiliation of having Lou fish him out of the bowl.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The zipper didn't want to come down by the time Scott pee-danced his way to the potty. It was ornamental rather than practical. A little bit of metal to tell the world the wearer was a boy. Nothing that was ever meant to be pulled down by the tiny hands of the presumed child who'd be wearing it. If they were in a diaper it wouldn't matter; if they were potty trained they'd just drop their pants and make it to the pot.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“God damn it!” Scott cursed quietly. He didn't need Lou hearing him and finding him there struggling to pee like some damned preschooler.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott gave up on the zip and attacked the straps keeping his overalls up. Lou had done it effortlessly in less than a second. Scott's tiny fingers went white trying to pull the first button from its hook, the pressure building inside him desperate to flood out.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He was close to tears by the time he felt the button give, the clasp open, the strap fall away. He squeezed his face and crotch tight trying to keep everything in as numb fingers tried to repeat their magic on the other clasp.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“no no no no” The words fell out of his mouth fast and hot as the urine coming out of his trapped penis. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott let his hand fall away from the clasp. Tears wanted to burn down his face, but he forced them back. Kept them down and made himself feel every drop of the hot piss pool in the flat seamless crotch of the panties Lou had forced him to wear, run down his legs, and puddle over his stockinged feet.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It took forever getting out of the wet clothes. Everything was soaked even the bottom of his t-shirt got splashed by the waves that erupted out of him into his pants. Scott wanted to scream for Lou. Make her come in here and fix things. It was her fault he'd made this mess; she should be the one to clean it up, not him. If she'd given him some real clothes none of this would ever have happened. But that would mean admitting he'd peed his pants. Scott couldn't do that. The shame would kill him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott stood naked in the bathroom. The overalls and panties lay in a soggy heap. They'd soaked up most of the puddle. The t-shirt was only damp around the edges until Scott used it to wipe himself dry.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">That got the worst of it off his skin. The rest he washed off with condensation from the exposed sink pipe. There was no way he could reach the sink or get water from the tub without trapping himself inside.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott's heart exploded when he heard Lou moving around her room. Had she got up to check on him? Get a snack? Use the bathroom? How long until she'd discover the evidence? Until she knew her husband was even less of a man than she'd thought?</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott didn't have a plan, just pride and a bloodstream full of adrenaline. He pulled the pile of soggy kids' clothes off the floor keeping them at arms' length as they dripped his shame back onto the floor. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">His little legs carried him into the hall. The door to his room was past Lou's. The knob was already turning on her door. He had to run to make it to the living room before his wife could spot him. The door opened just as he turned the corner.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott pressed his back against the wall. He wasn't a religious man, but he prayed, just a little, that Lou wasn't coming to this part of the house. To not find him like that, naked carrying the evidence of his humiliation.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He could breathe again when he heard the bathroom door open then quickly close.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott gave himself a moment. He could hear the sound of Lou starting her bath. Relief washed over him like a fresh rain. Lou's baths lasted over an hour; he'd have plenty of time to get rid of the evidence and get back to his room unnoticed.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Washing away the evidence would have been perfect, but the washing machine was on the wrong side of a door he couldn't open. The kitchen was an option. Lou'd made him steps to reach the sink. But the soap was behind another door closed tighter than his little muscles could move.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The thought of hiding it crossed Scott's mind. If he could just put it somewhere Lou wouldn't find it he could clean it in the morning. The basement was out. She'd hear him go down the stairs and wonder what he was up to. She was already in the bathroom. Scott couldn't reach the pull string to get the attic stairs down. He probably didn't weigh enough to pull them down anyway. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The bedrooms were out. He didn't want to spend the night smelling his failure and Lou would sniff it out if he tossed them there. The only place that made sense was the kitchen trash. The heavy can would hide the smell and it'd be three days before garbage pickup. Plenty of time to figure something out.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The cookie jar watched the small naked man tip toe his way into the kitchen from its perch on top of the ice box. The small kitchen trash can was taller than Scott, but he could reach the lid if he stretched; dump the clothes under it if he sacrificed his dignity. Putting the lid back wasn't as easy, but he finished with time to spare. He could wash up in the sink, eat his dinner, and still get back to his dark room before Lou got out of the tub.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now that the danger of discovery had passed Scott almost felt giddy walking around the house in the all together. In most ways Lou wasn't a prude, but she had a dim view of nudity outside the bedroom or the bathtub. Even when Scott was normal and they were alone in the house Lou never let him so much as cross the hall from their bedroom to the shower without wearing at least a robe. He'd felt silly putting something on in the bedroom only to take it off two seconds later in the bath, but Lou was insistent.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott enjoyed the rush of taboo nudity combined with the thrill of throwing away the damned kids' clothes Lou forced him to wear. He knew it was only a symbolic gesture. He'd have to fish them out of the trash tomorrow, but tonight he was savage and defiant and victorious.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I deserve a cookie.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Louise felt like a savage crouched in the tub folded over until the weight of her breasts rested on her upper legs. The water pressure was turned on as high as it would go; the hot water as far as she could turn it. She could still feel the autumn chill in the porcelain under her feet, but the scalding water was driving it off quickly. Wet heat turned to steam to caress her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>No one else will.</i> Lou was a bitter savage.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou liked being a savage. Hunkered down on her haunches until the last of the chill was gone and she could lay down in water hot enough to cook a Maine lobster. Crouching like a cavewoman in her own very private, very smooth cave. Lou's mother would have said it wasn't very ladylike, but sometimes being a lady was stupid. And exhausting. After the day she'd had Lou was more than happy to let civilization wash down the drain.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The water was up to her ankles by the time she reckoned it was warm enough to risk sitting. Lou let her butt down first, put her hands flat on the floor of the tub, then unfurled her legs until her feet stuck under the water.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She turned the tap off and leaned back into the hot water. It wasn't where she wanted it yet; she had to drain and refill the tub at least a couple times for the heat to fully penetrate the tub, but it would do for now.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou heard Scott in the living room. He probably thought he was being sneaky, but it didn't take much to make the floorboards creak in their old house; even Scott's 20 pounds could be heard through the closed door.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Is this what our marriage has devolved to? Scott tip toeing through the house? Me fingering myself in the tub? When did we stop being adults?</i></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i></i>Lou rubbed hot water on her face and let her hand take its time as it traced the curve of her body back to her center. Her palm brushed the tip of her nipple as she dragged two fingers through the valley of her cleavage, but it was only a dull pleasure. She let her hand backtrack. This time the fingers pinched her sensitive peaks so hard her breath caught. Lou didn't even know she was biting her lower lip until she let go.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It seemed more natural getting aroused in the tub. There were no stains afterwards. No mess to scrub away or blush over. No evidence if Scott snooped in her bed or the laundry hamper. She could admit to being wet; it was expected, not obscene.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou's fingers worked their way between her thighs and the richer wetness that flowed over her eager lips. Her pearl was rigid or pulsing or both. Her walls ready to engulf her fingers or the handle of the brush she used when she wanted to feel more than fingers inside her.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her body was ready; the rest of her was another story.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou had an active fantasy life. Even when their marriage was normal she'd sometimes pretend Scott was someone else when he made love to her. Montgomery Clift. A sheik who'd claimed her for his harem. Scott's brother. They'd all entered Lou, using Scott as a proxy.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">When she was on her own she always fantasized. Lou needed that extra kick of unreality to push her over the edge past the place her mother told her good girls didn't go. To take her to the place men seemed to be born into.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Only it wasn't working that night.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou imagined an army of Hollywood's finest eager to get between her thighs. That didn't work. The leading man from the tawdry romance she'd been reading on her lunch break wasn't fairing much better. Even the taboo of giving head to her brother-in-law wasn't enough to get her there and that always worked.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her mind kept coming back to Scott. Not the tall confident man she married nor the bratty child skulking through their home. A Scott who didn't exist outside the letters of some obsessed Canadian with a very different sort of fantasy life than Lou's. Scott tore up the first couple letters she'd sent. They'd arrived days after he'd gone public about his shrinking.He'd seemed so angry about them Lou had to know why. When he didn't tell her she started keeping them from him, reading them on the sly.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The letters were filthy. Impossible to believe as they were to put down. This strange woman wrote about what she'd do with a man the size of a child. A toddler. A toy. How she wanted to use Scott. Adopt him. Make him hers and hers alone. Carrying the toy sized version of him in her pocketbook or down the front of her panties. The woman had a diseased mind.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">And Lou had caught her fever.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She'd talked about it with Alice. Everything important got discussed with Alice. But Alice was working her way through a psychology degree. Talking with her always muddied the waters.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou sat up and pulled the plug. Maybe things would be easier after she refilled the tub. Got it closer to the sauna levels she usually preferred. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">That's when she heard the crash.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">-----</span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The linoleum floor was freezing cold against Scott's back when he woke up. He knew exactly what had happened; he was just a little vague about some details – why he was naked in the kitchen, why he fell asleep on the floor, and why water was dripping down on him from above.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The overhead light was still on, but it was darker than it should have been. His eyesight bleared and mis-focused until everything slipped into perfect clarity and he could see Lou bending over him, as naked as he was, dripping water all over him and a floor covered in cookies and shattered bits of ceramic bear.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“How many fingers am I holding up?” Lou flashed three fingers in his face, each taller than his head.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Three.” Scott answered.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What day is it?” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Thursday.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The date?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The thirteenth?” Scott had stopped paying attention to dates when he stopped going to work.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't think you've got a concussion. You're not bleeding. I didn't feel any broken bones. How do you feel?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Like King Kong after his date on the Empire State Building.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Landing on your head didn't improve your sense of humor any.” Lou laughed a little when she said it, relieved Scott hadn't killed himself. “What am I going to do with you?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou got to her feet. It had been over five months and twenty inches since Scott had seen Lou or any woman naked. Scott saw all of her now. She towered above him like somebody took a tenement building and chiseled away at it until it was one of those fertility statues from caveman times. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her legs were long and perfect flaring up to hips so wide so feminine he couldn't wrap his arms around them and touch his hands. Pink lips peeked out behind the thick wet pubic hair; winked at him as she twisted herself upright. Her bust had always seemed so small, so modest when he was looking down at her cleavage. Now he had to look up they were balconies jutting above him. Bouncing. Swaying. Jiggling. Glistening wet.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Looks like you're doing alright.” Lou stared at Scott's crotch; he hadn't realized he was hard. “If this was a trick to get me running out of the tub so help me …”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm sorry.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The two words hit Lou harder than she'd expected.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You get the dustpan, I'll get the broom. You're lucky it's Fall; we'd never get rid of the ants otherwise. Be careful where you step.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou watched Scott clamber to his feet, scamper around the broken cookie jar and the oatmeal raisin minefield, and get to the closet. If she focused just on him. His handsome face. His lithe nude body. If she didn't look at the doorknob above his head or the little trash can big enough he could hide inside. He was her old husband again. Beautiful. Powerful. Sexual.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Most of Lou was drying in the cool air. Part of her was drenched.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Get the lid off the trash while I get this swept up.” Lou ordered.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Wouldn't it be better to put it in the outside trash? The big one.” Scott sounded nervous.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I've already put on a show for you. I'm not letting the neighbors gawk at me too.”<br />“But the small one's almost full.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'll empty it in the morning when I'm dressed.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“But all those cookies will bring bugs.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What did you do, Scott?” Lou didn't sound happy.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Nothing.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Then why are you inching towards the trash?” Lou had her fists akimbo on her goosebump hips.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm not.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Landing on your head didn't make you a better liar either.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou stepped towards the can; Scott crept towards the door. He didn't push it open till he heard the lid come off; didn't start running he heard Lou mutter curse words under her breath then call out his name loud and angry.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott made it halfway across the living room by the time the kitchen door slammed open. The floor under him shook with the force of Lou's feet pounding the boards, shrinking the lead he'd made, bringing her angry face closer to his retreating back. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">They tell you not to look behind you if you're being chased. It just slows you down. Takes away the manic adrenaline focus needed to keep the legs pumping faster than the heart. Gets you caught. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott knew that. He looked anyway.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The sight of Lou running naked through the house, her breasts flying everywhere, her thighs tense springs coiling and uncoiling with each leap forward should have been erotic. Comical. Maybe a little surreal. It was terrifying.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He'd felt like he'd been living a horror story the past nine months since the shrinking became too much to ignore. A couple months back Scott thought he'd met the monster of the story. A man, a car, a mistake about Scott's age. But the real monster was behind him. She had legs twice as long as his entire body and arms so strong he'd never escape if he stopped moving.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whatever advantage Scott had starting first ended in less than half a dozen of Lou's gargantuan strides. Her palm reached over him, past his face, and stopped on his chest. It was only his wife's open hand, but it might as well have been a brick wall the way it stopped him cold. Instinct brought him to his knees. Made him tuck himself into a ball.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou piled on him. Drowned him in her flesh and held him tight on the living room floor. His brain screamed for him to fight back. Lash out. Anything to get away from this wife, this situation.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Water fell on his neck hot and ugly. Scott thought it was from Lou's bath until she started speaking and he could hear the tears in her voice.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Are you trying to make me hurt you?” Lou's voice reverberated all around him, her body an echo chamber holding him tight. “Is this … is this your fetish? Do I have to get a whip to get you to straighten up and fly right?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott didn't know what to say. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“We can't go on like this, Scott. It's a miracle you didn't kill yourself climbing the fridge like that. If you wanted a cookie all you had to do was ask. And your clothes. I'm guessing you couldn't open the clasps before you peed your pants.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott nodded, too ashamed to admit the truth out loud.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I was I the next room; all you had to do was call and I'd come running.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's embarrassing.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't care.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Well I do.” Scott's voice bled with his own tears.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's not going to matter any more.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What's that supposed to mean?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou wrapped her arm under Scott. He didn't even bother struggling as she lifted him to her chest. What was the point? The only thing he'd get out of it was grief and another defeat. A scream seeded itself in his throat when she cradled him to her breast holding him securely with both arms while she pulled herself off the floor.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I want to go to my room.” Scott sounded like a petulant brat, but it was better than yelling at her. He was still man enough to keep from doing that.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou walked to the corridor, past the bathroom. Instead of taking Scott to the guest bedroom turned his room Lou stopped at her door and pushed it open with her hip.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I said my room, Lou.” Scott couldn't see her face she held him so close. Just the bottom of her chin and her neck.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“This is your room, Scott.” Lou's voice was cold emotionless. She lay him on the unmade bed close to the pillow and turned back to the door. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott was baptized in the concentrated scents of the giant woman that had collected in the used sheets. Perfumes and powders. Her sweat and tears. Her other, more intimate smells. All of it belonged to Lou, cast off from her body. None of it Scott's. Was that all it took to erase him from the marriage bed? A few weeks and a couple laundry days?</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott was too busy with those questions to pay Lou much attention.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You are my husband. This is our bed. You will sleep in it from now on.” Lou closed the door. Scott heard it lock.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't want to.” Scott kicked himself backwards until the pillow touched his shoulders.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I've had enough of your wants.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou circled the bed slowly like a great white sniffing her first drop of blood in the water. She hadn't bothered getting dressed. Clothes would just get in the way of what was going to happen next. Just slow things down; clutter up her plan.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott could see everything as she strode around him. The holy trinity of teenage boys – tits, ass, and pussy, blown up to proportions even the horniest high school boy couldn't imagine. Scott's head was angry, but his eyes were glued to the sway of Lou's hips, the way her breasts bounced, her ass jiggled. He caught glimpses of pink winking at him through Lou's full bush.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You took a vow, Louise.” Scott knew it was a weak argument, but it didn't keep him from saying it loud and angry. “Love, honor, and obey.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“We need new vows.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou stopped where she stood a couple feet from the bed, an arm's length away from where Scott was cowering by her pillow. She reached down to her left hand and removed the final two things she'd been wearing.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The wedding and engagement rings only made a small clatter when she tossed them on the night stand. Lou stood in front of her tiny husband naked, truly naked, for the first time in a very long while.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Lou … I …” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou stepped forward and snatched the last thing Scott was wearing from him. The piece of cord he'd hung his own wedding ring from when he'd shrunk too small to wear it any more.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Now we're both naked.” Lou looped the cord around the lamp on the nightstand and let Scott's ring dangle just below the shade. “No clothes. No vows. No bullshit.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou stared down at Scott. He looked so small and helpless. Angry and confused. It was obvious now she'd let things go too far too long. Something had to be done. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Did Ruth spank you when you were bad?” Lou asked.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Leave mom out of this.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Did … she … spank … you?” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes!” Scott spat the word out. “When I was bad.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Did you like it?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Of course I didn't.” Scott looked up at her trying to read the expression in eyes he could barely spot over the swell of her breasts. “It was punishment.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Alice thinks you want me to spank you.” Lou knew she'd dropped a lit stick of dynamite into the conversation. “She says that's why you act like such a brat.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“And what exactly does Alice know?” Scott pulled himself to his feet.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Everything.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That wasn't the plan, Lou. Everyone was supposed to think I was in Vienna getting clucked at by men in white coats. How else were we going to keep the reporters from hounding us?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't see any reporters.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's not the point.” Scott could feel the anger rising at Lou's betrayal. “What does she know? And don't say 'everything.'”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Alice knows you're still living with me.” Lou picked up her Camels from the nightstand and lit one. “That the cure failed and you've been steadily shrinking ever since. She knows you cheated on me with that dwarf from the carnival. That I let you. She knows you peeped on our high school neighbor girl after you got too small for your little slut. Peeped until she almost caught you with your dick in your hand.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That didn't happen.” Scott flushed in shame. How did they find out?</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Alice thinks you wanted to get caught.” Lou exhaled upwards sending smoke into the air like an active volcano.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's stupid.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“She thinks you want to be punished. That there's some part of you that gets off being small and weak and pathetic. That you've got all this male pride getting in the way of you being true to yourself. It's that macho crap that makes you act out the way you have trying to force me to punish you for not being man enough.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I thought you said there wouldn't be any bullshit.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou took another puff of her cigarette. Scott couldn't tell if she was angry or just thinking. She wore her tension like a dress made for another woman. Stiffly. Uncomfortably. There was a place she was taking this, but Lou wasn't sure if she was ready to take that step.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott was too focused on watching Lou put the cigarette in the ash tray to notice her repositioning herself. He didn't know she could dart in and pin him to the bed until her weight came crashing down on him pushing him deep into the mattress. If she'd done this outside she'd have broken him. On the kitchen floor she'd have killed him. On the bed he was only trapped and smothered under a wave of flesh he'd carried over his shoulder as recently as last year.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He let the scream that had been growing inside him out. Scott screamed until his throat couldn't make another sound. He punched and kicked and wailed at the soft pink avalanche he'd been buried under. Married to. Fought until he couldn't breathe then fought some more.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou could feel him wriggling under her. His blows meant less than nothing to her. Scott didn't think to use his teeth, but even a couple bites weren't that much. It was the anger Lou felt the most. As if all the hurt and pain inside her man had been compressed and condensed to the point it had to come out in one fast explosion.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott was a grenade; Lou had jumped on him to take his explosion. Not to save others; to save him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou waited till Scott lay spent and motionless under her. Hot fat tears ran over her belly. Was Scott crying or blubbering? Was it her imagination?</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou sat up and looked down at her defeated husband. Beyond the tears and the shock, under the sweat and the humiliation, Lou saw what she expected to see.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“If you don't like being put in your place, Scott explain the hard on.” Lou took another drag off her Camel.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott stared down his chest at his proudly erect manhood.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's not …”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm not going to spank you, Scott.” Lou put the cigarette out. It had mostly gone to ash waiting for her to wrestle Scott.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't …”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You've talked enough.” There wasn't even token resistance when Lou picked Scott up and pulled him to her breast. “You don't deserve this, but maybe it'll keep you quiet for five minutes.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott opened his mouth to protest only to have a nipple shoved in it.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Like I said, I'm not going to spank you.” Lou pulled her legs up on the bed and scooted backwards till her back was resting on the headboard. “I'm going to need to be harsh with you, but that's not the sort of harsh I care for.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That doesn't mean I'm not going to punish you. Despite anything you might think I still love you. I still want you in my life. If you keep doing stupid crap I'm going to lose you. If I have to be cruel to keep you alive I can be the biggest bitch you've ever met. If I have to have to humiliate you to bleed off the testosterone poisoning I'll do that too.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Here's how things are going to be from now on.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I've been the head of the household for a while now; we're going to stop pretending I'm not. If you were making clearer decisions I'd consider keeping you on as an equal partner, but anyone stubborn enough to piss his pants instead of ask for help hasn't earned that level of respect. Maybe you'll earn it back, but for now you're so low you have to salute the low man on the totem pole.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Alice thinks I should start calling you my wife and have you refer to me as husband or man of the house. I'm not going to do that. Yet. Not unless you keep acting like a damned fool. I'm a woman, you're a man. I don't know about you, but I'm proud of my sex. Calling you a girl is just a put down to girls.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That doesn't mean I'm not above some of the trappings.” Lou grabbed Scott's wedding ring off the lamp and slid it on her finger. “I wear the husband ring from now on. After I get it resized it'll fit perfect. You can wear my rings on your cord till you're small enough to wear them as bracelets. Or collars. I wear your ring I take over your vows; you carry mine you follow wife rules.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you understand?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou pulled her nipple from Scott's mouth. He hadn't realized he'd been suckling on it until it was gone. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It doesn't have to be that way.” Scott said.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“No, but it's the way I've decided it's going to be.” Lou reached across, picked up her rings, and looped them around Scott's empty cord. “You can make this hard or easy. It's your choice. I'm not giving you many of those; don't screw it up.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Okay.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">A weight lifted from Scott as he said the one simple word. He hadn't felt it till it was gone, but now that it had Scott felt freer than he had even before the shrinking. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you love me, Scott?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Of course.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I love you too.” Lou pushed Scott off her chest enough to put the cord around his neck. Her rings, Scott's rings dangled lightly on his chest. “I promise to cherish and protect you all the days of your life. Do you promise to honor and obey me?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I do.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou kissed him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's been a long time since we shared a bed.” Lou laid back, let her arms fall away from her tiny husband. “You haven't been keeping up your husbandly duties. Your wife misses the attention.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“How?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You've got a civil tongue in your head. You do the math.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott tried to put his feet on either side of Lou's torso, but his legs wouldn't spread that far. He compromised by kneeling on her belly on all fours. Lou didn't seem to mind the weight. There wasn't much of him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott kissed the still wet nipple. It was so much larger than he'd remembered. The rigid tip more like the udder of a cow than any part of human anatomy. It wasn't until he'd wrapped his mouth around it again that he came up with another analogy to a different body part. One Lou didn't have.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">A penis. Erect and pulsing in his mouth. The thought of giving a blowjob would have disgusted Scott earlier, but things were different now, and Lou was still his wife.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott kissed his way down Lou's breast. She could feel the trail of his spit cooling in the autumn air as his warm face crawled closer to her center. Lou's legs were already open by the time Scott reached her navel; she spread them wide when he gave Lou a preview of what was to come.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You haven't gone down on me since we dated. And only then the one time.” Lou's voice was heavy with need and nostalgia. “Remember how you promised to eat me out if I gave you head? How you stuck your face between my legs for a couple minutes before making me pay up? I must have blown you a hundred times since then and you're only up to seconds.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou guided his face where she'd feel it most. Best. Closed her legs over his miniature shoulders trapping him there until she was done with him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Remember where I put you, husband. Pay attention to all my moving parts. From now on this is going to be part of your job. Your duty. You may be too small to work or clean the house or cook me supper, but you can give me this. You can keep me happy.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Scott could smell Lou's heat before he tasted it. Her pearl was throbbing hard, slick with her juices, and absolutely fascinating. He kissed along the hood feeling it push back against his cheek. His own cock began to throb to Lou's beat like his entire body was an extension of her pussy. He wanted nothing more than to crawl inside her pink walls and kiss her from the inside.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lou rode his small face to ecstasy and back then rolled over and hugged him little spoon to her much larger body. Scott asked to cum too, but she didn't let him.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">He hadn't earned it yet.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-31784687243224299212020-11-27T15:20:00.002-08:002020-11-27T15:20:38.823-08:00Story: Overwhelm Me A Little 2 (shrunken woman, gentle)<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tle6GduUteo/X8GI9LNwj7I/AAAAAAAABm4/7-w_4z2oEtEyAMdLxcEkQIP60rHCSmBtACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5970313_xl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1389" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tle6GduUteo/X8GI9LNwj7I/AAAAAAAABm4/7-w_4z2oEtEyAMdLxcEkQIP60rHCSmBtACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5970313_xl.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: large;">Two</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I've already measured you three times. That's two times too many.” Mel rested her hand over the pitted wooden ruler she'd found in a drawer in the back of the coffee shop sandwiching it between her palm and the table. “I know you've gotta be freaking out being so small, but checking every five seconds isn't gonna make you any bigger.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm not worried about …” Sara let it go. It was hard enough explain her need to be small to herself. She'd already confused Jackie; she didn't need to trip through the same conversation with Mel.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's all right, sweetie.” Mel ran a reassuring finger over Sara's back, scared she might break the little woman.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">They huddled together at the table furthest from the window. Mel with her back to the front of the shop; Sara sitting crosslegged on an overturned coffee cup looking up at her huge friend. It was the dead part of the afternoon so there weren't any customers to overhear them. And the Closed sign had gotten flipped at some point so there weren't any rude looks. Mel wasn't sure if she'd been the one who did the flipping or if it'd been Jessie. She'd been more than a little freaked out when he pulled Sara out of his pocket. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Where's Jackie?” Sara didn't dare tell Mel how much she liked being touched like that. Like a wee tamed mouse getting petted by her owner. Even thinking about it like that made Sara feel vaguely guilty.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mel lifted her hand from the ruler and tapped her phone until the map came up. “Only a couple miles. Traffic must be crap.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“If it was going to work, it'd've worked by now.” Sara arched her back as Mel continued giving her soothing strokes.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Let's give it another mile first.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's not how his aura works. If I was going to snap back to normal that'd have happened a long time ago. Face it, Mel, I'm going to be this way for a very long time.”<br />“Maybe this would go better if you let Jackie take you to the lab,” Mel tried to make it sound reasonable even though she knew how hard Sara had objected before.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you want me to get probed, cause that's how I end up getting probed.” <i>And cured,</i> Sara added to herself. Mel didn't need to hear that.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I know, but they've gotta be super smart. Look at what they did to Jackie.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yeah, he's stuck in traffic when he could be getting to know his shrunken girlfriend better.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Jump the gun much?” Mel asked.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You didn't even make it all the way through your first date and now you're his girlfriend?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“This kind of experience bonds people, Melissa.” Sara leaned forward under Mel's finger. “In powerful ways that don't always make sense to those who haven't lived through the same events.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Or maybe he's just a hot dude who silver plattered your prime fantasy.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“'Silver plattered'? Since when do you verb nouns?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“About two minutes after we started hanging out. You wanna talk about strong bonds.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Aww.” Sara wrapped her arms around Mel's finger and rested her cheek against the swirl of the fingerprint. “Have I told you how awesome you are lately?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You need anything while we're waiting?” Mel didn't respond to Sara's question, but she didn't pull her finger away either. “I know for a fact you haven't had anything but coffee all day. You have to be hungry by now. Or crying for a pee.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I went earlier, but you're right, my little tummy is empty.” Sara let go of Mel's finger and rubbed her belly with both hands.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're not going twee on me, are you?” Mel asked. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What's wrong with twee?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't even know where to begin.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm cute and tiny right?” Sara crossed her arms defiantly over her chest.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm not answering on the grounds you'll use it to win.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“And sweet?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Like a sugar plum.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm one complex carbohydrate and don't you forget about it.” Sara nodded her head sharply at that.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Now that we've settled that whatcha want?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I've spent my entire life imagining my first meal as a tiny.” Sara stood on the cup and made gestured Mel in closer with both hands. “Gimme your finger again.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Tiny?” Mel held her index finger close to her shrunken friend.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's what we call ourselves.” Sara pulled herself up until she was dangling from Mel's hand feet waving above the upturned cup.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Wow,” Mel said. “You never used to be able to do that.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Well I did lose 99.8% of my mass.” Sara twisted around until she was no longer over the cup. “Can you even feel me?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're using my index finger like a cross between a diving board and a full body pillow. Of course I feel you.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I mean the weight.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Honestly … I've worn gloves heavier than you.”<br />“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” Sara dropped barefoot to the table. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“How can they call themselves tiny …” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Tinies,” Sara interrupted.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“How can they call themselves anything. You're the only person this has ever happened to. Right?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“So far.” Sara strolled over to the salt shaker and rested her forearms on the pitted metal. “But there are hundreds of us out there who want this. Maybe even thousands. No one knows cause no one's ever bothered to study us. There may have been tinies in Colonial times or ancient Rome. The technology just wasn't there until … now. Literally today.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“We'll never get you fed getting sidetracked. Tell me what you want and we can share deep thoughts while you nosh.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Give me one of those cookies. The ones by the register that are bigger than me.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“No.” Mel gave her a look.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you have any idea how frickin' cute I'd look eating one of those? And who doesn't want baked goods they have to hug?”<br />“You have not eaten a thing all day. There is no way in Hell I'm gonna pump you full of pure sugar. You'll get sick.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Please!” Sara gave Mel her patented puppy dog eyes.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sorry, but no dice.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It's ok.” Sara shrugged her shoulders and the sad puppy washed out of her eyes. “I don't want this to get weird, but I kinda like it when you take charge. It's like you're watching out over me. Makes me feel protected.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're gonna feel like the gold in Fort Knox you stay this small much longer.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes ma'am.” Sara stood to attention as best she could barefoot in a bathing suit and saluted the giant waitress. “Anything you say ma'am.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'll be back with your lunch, private.” Mel smiled down at her friend before heading back to the kitchen. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The coffee shop wasn't a full restaurant. It didn't even have an oven or grill. They got a few baked goods brought in when the owner thought they'd sell and there were some sandwich fixings for the retirees who came in when the senior center bus rolled by. There wasn't much, but Mel put together a plate.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sara was wrestling a sugar packet out of the holder by the time Mel made it back to the table. It was obvious the little woman was having trouble. To Mel it only weighed a few ounces, but at Sara's scale it must've been a fifty pound bag. Fifty pounds wedged tight between dozens of other equally heavy bags.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Not so easy being tiny, is it?” Mel said pulling the packet casually from the bowl. Sara misjudged her grip and landed indignantly on her butt.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Never said there wasn't a downside.” Sara pulled herself to her knees and dusted off her backside with the side of her hand. “What's for lunch?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Cheese slices, veggies, and some nuts I found in my bag. I pinched off some bits of bread in case you want to make micro-sandwiches. There's smears of condiments to chose from on this edge of the plate. ” Mel put a plate on the table in front of her, several inches from where Sara knelt. “If you have trouble chewing the nuts I can run 'em through the coffee grinder. We can split a muffin for dessert once I'm sure you've had a well rounded meal.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Thanks Mel.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">It took Sara several steps to get to the plate once she got to her feet. Mel had done a decent job of making sure everything was in easy reach, but that wasn't the experience Sara was after. The lip of the plate was level with her knees. It wasn't the hardest climb, but Sara took her time making sure her feet didn't slide on the smooth surface.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“This is incredible.” Sara gathered up the most appealing veggies and nuts holding them against her chest with her arm. She had more than she could eat by the time she sat down on the slice of provolone in the center of the plate. “It's like I'm sitting on a homogenized picnic blanket.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Happy?” Mel picked up a piece of green pepper and popped it in her mouth.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The only thing that could make it better is if you were to roll me up in this cheese. Like Cleopatra got rolled in the carpet and delivered to Cesar.” Sara rolled around on the cheese to emphasize her point. “Only instead of Cesar you'd give me to Jackie. You could tell him I had to leave, but you made him a snack for all his troubles. And he'd be super sad he didn't get to see me again. And later on he'd get so hungry he almost forgot how sad he was and he'd remember the cheese rollup he stashed in his pocket and he'd bring it to his mouth and I'd look out from my little cheese hole and see his beautiful lips opening up wide and I'd call out 'please don't eat me' and he'd stop and he'd hold me in his hand and we'd talk for hours sharing his cheese snack.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Stop playing in your food.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes mom.” Sara rolled her eyes and stopped rolling her body.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sara sat up and grabbed one of the peanuts. The thing felt like a coconut in her hands. One without milk or a hollow center; shell all the way through. She didn't bother trying to bite it. Sara may have only been this small a few hours, but there were some things she could just tell weren't possible any more. Eating a peanut out of the bag was no longer an option.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">She crawled to the edge of her cheese picnic blanket and found an uncluttered piece of plate. She raised the peanut far above her head and slammed it down hard on the porcelain ground. The first hit split the nut in two down its seam. Sara kept slamming smaller pieces down until she had something she could chew.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“So you're saying tinies are kinda like trans people?” Mel asked after watching her friend struggle to eat a simple nut.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't think I did,” Sara said around a mouthful of lettuce.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“When you were talking about tinies before. Some of what you said reminded me of stuff I've heard Brian and Alicia talk about. How there were always trans people, it's just most society didn't know what to do with them. How they weren't really recognized until medicine and psychology caught up. If they had been born a hundred years ago they'd've been screwed.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm not sure I'm comfortable making that comparison. I'd need to … I don't even know what I'd need to do.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's a first.” Mel's phone dinged when Jackie messaged. “It's Jackie. Your giant maybe-boyfriend just crossed the Henniker town line. Technically he's a county away and you're still pocket-sized. Want to call this experiment a dud?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Tell him to drive back. If he goes much further it'll be midnight before I see him again.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Done.” Mel hit send and stared at the phone till she got a response. “He's seen it and … he's sent me a thumbs up emoji.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Would it be a super dick move if I asked you for another huge favor?” Sara gave Mel another round of puppy dog eyes.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Like anything about you counts as huge anymore.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You have no idea how good it feels getting talked down to like that.” Sara pulled off a piece of her cheese blanket and popped it in her mouth. “I feel it right here in my little heart,” Sara said, talking around the mouthful of cheese and patting her chest with her palm.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Skip the Hallmark feels and tell me what you'd like me to do.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Would it be too much trouble to get me a shower?” Sara scrunched her face up like she was asking the impossible. “I'm still kinda on my first date with Jackie and I'm more than a little gross.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You don't look too bad to me.” Mel leaned down and squinted at the woman resting on their lunch.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The sunscreen dried and I've got stuff sticking to me.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sand?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Lint.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“From Jackie's pocket.” It was a statement, not a question. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sara nodded her tiny head.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“There's a spray nozzle out back in the real kitchen, but that's got two speeds – off and blast the dishes into submission. If it didn't drill holes in you it'd knock you flat on your butt.” Mel paused a second to think. “I could put you under the faucet and only open the tap a little. It'd be more like a waterfall than a shower.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That sounds amazing.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Only thing is our sink is … is there a word worse than abomination? I think you'd catch something if I made you stand on it. What about a nice warm bath?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“In abomination sink?” Sara gave Mel a skeptical look. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Of course not, doofus.” Mel tapped the back of her fingernail against the upturned coffee cup Sara had used as a seat. It gave a low ring. “In a nice clean cup.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That wouldn't be too much trouble?” Sara asked. “Cause bathing someone sounds like an awful lot of effort.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“One. I don't see anything wrong with your hands; you can bathe your own damn self.” Mel ticked off the count on fingers longer than Sara's body. “Two. All I gotta do is pour water in a cup. That is literally what I do six hours a day, six days a week. Three. You've been through a lot today and it ain't getting any easier. Let me pamper you a little.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're the best.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You keep telling me that.” Mel rose to her feet and picked up the cup. “Now finish your lunch while I get things set up. If you're a good girl we can share a cookie after bath time.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You are really getting into this mom domme thing aren't you?” Sara decided lunch was over and left the plate. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Mel didn't turn back as she walked up to the counter and filled the cup from the tap. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm calling bullshit.” Sara took a seat on the table resting her back against the salt shaker as she watched her giant friend prepare her bath. “You've had this protective mama bear vibe long before I knew ya. And you've NEVER been shy about telling me when you think I'm wrong.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“M.K.B.,” Mel said. “Melissa Knows Best.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“See! That's exactly the mom kinda attitude I mean.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You'd rather I didn't look out for you?” Mel made her way back to the table carrying the cup and a metal cream dispenser. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Don't get me wrong. I am loving the fact you're taking care of me right now. Loving It! That's a huge part of the fantasy. At least for me. I just find it a little … I don't want to say weird cause I don't want to hurt your feelings and you're being amazeballs right now, but it is a little odd that when I'm plopped in your lap completely helpless you go into mother hen mode. Right down to ordering me around like I was a little kid.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“If you don't want to be treated like a little girl maybe you should stop acting like one.” Mel placed the cup on Sara's right, the dispenser on Sara's left, and took a seat.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I can't even tell if you're joking right now.” Sara pulled herself to her feet staring at her friend's expression. “I swear to god you've got resting mom face.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Is that like resting bitch face only you replaced bitch with mom?” Mel asked deadpan.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You even ruin jokes the way my mom does.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's nice, sweetie. Now hop in the tub like a good girl and we'll have you squeaky clean in no time.” Mel laid flat wooden coffee stirrers against the lip of the cup and the table. It only took five of them to form a plank wide enough Sara could walk up.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” Sara tested her weight on the rough wood.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Immensely.” Mel's eyes flashed bright. “I've got more common sense than all my friends put together, but none of them ever do a dang thing I tell them. Your thing is being made tiny and helpless and getting ordered around. You've shrunk; I figured I'd lean into it. Tell me you don't like it when I tell you what to do.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I hate you.” Sara slowly lowered herself into the warm water. She glared at Mel, but it was a friendly pouty glare.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Cause you're a proud little mouse who doesn't want to admit the truth?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Are you fishing for me to say those three little words?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I think I'm being pretty obvious, don't you … little girl?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's not fair.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Ordering you around like you want or teasing you?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Cause my little Barbie likes it?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm not Barbie.” Sara crossed her arms over her chest. She hoped it looked defiant and not like she was hugging herself.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“No. You're not big enough.” Mel smiled down on her tiny friend. “I could ask Jackie to stop at a toy store on the way back and pick up a real Barbie and we could see how you measure up.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sara shook her head violently from side to side while hugging herself tighter. She had no idea why Mel had decided to be this way, but it was feeding into her fantasy in ways she'd never imagined.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“We are going to need a sitter for you. When I'm at work and Jackie's in the lab. We can't leave you alone. That'd be irresponsible. And putting you in a cage … that'd be cruel. We could have Barbie look after you.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mel stared down at Sara. It was obvious the shrunken woman was doing her best to hide the reaction Mel's teasing was having on her. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don't want Barbie looking after me,” Sara said like it was a reasonable option. “I want you. Or Jackie.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“And why's that?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Cause I'm fucked in the head.” Sara wanted to submerge completely, but left her face above water.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“No. No you aren't.” </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">The words came softly from Mel's lips, but they buried themselves like a bullet in Sara's heart. The tiny writer let herself go under long enough for the tears to blend in with her bath. She floated there silently for a very long time trying to put her thoughts into words that wouldn't mess everything up.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mel kept the bath warm while Sara did what she had to do, pouring fresh hot water from the metal dispenser. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“When someone I trust, someone I like, gives me an order,” Sara said after collecting her thoughts. “It's like I'm covered in their love. Like a warm blanket. Like they're pushing me around because they care. And I want to obey cause it shows how much I trust and care about them.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Would you do anything I told you to?” Mel asked.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sara nodded and added a “yes” when she wasn't sure Mel could see the miniature gesture.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Then I'm going to give you a very special order. The most important order you'll ever get in your entire life. Do you promise to be a good girl and obey me?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I will.” Sara closed her eyes and let herself slip further into subspace.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I know this is your fantasy being tiny like this. I know you love being treated like a toy, or a doll, or a pet. And I hope you can enjoy some of that while you can. But I'm going to need you to promise me you're going to do your best to become normal again.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You're using my fantasy against me,” Sara said, her eyes still closed. “You sure my mom didn't hollow you out and wear you?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“If you have a chance to become your old size again you will take it.” Mel ignored Sara's attempts to deflect. “You will do everything in your power to get back to your old life.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, ma'am.” Obedience flushed through Sara like a powerful narcotic.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“And why is that?” Mel asked.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Because Melissa's always right,” Sara said contritely. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Good girl.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sara stuck out her tongue at her giant friend.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I'm gonna give you some privacy while you finish up. I'll get the water as hot as you can stand, give you a couple drops of hand soap, and let you get out of that suit to take a proper bath. Toss it over the lip and I'll collect it off the table. A couple minutes under the hand dryer in the women's room and it'll be dry as new. Let me know when you're ready to come out and we'll get you into it.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mel turned her head enough she could see the table but not its occupant. After a few seconds a tiny piece of cloth landed with a wet splat on the old wood. Mel had to pick it up and unfold it to recognize it as Sara's bikini top. It seemed so unreal holding a piece of doll clothing knowing it fit someone she knew.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then Mel was holding a normal bikini top. Wet and warm like Sara had just taken it off and handed it to her. Like the last hour had been an elaborate joke. Some stress induced hallucination.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sara … honey. Did you do … anything?” Mel had no idea what else to ask.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Just took my ladies out of boob jail,” Sara said. “I'm not doing anything dirty. Honest.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Mel just held Sara's now normal-sized top by the straps over the coffeecup bath.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“That's not …” Sara let the sentence fizzle out.</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“It is.” Mel held the top between her and the cup blocking her view of her half naked friend. “It turned into this five seconds after you took it off.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“And tossed it away.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Like what's supposed to happen when things leave Jackie's field,” Mel said. </span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“So anything that leaves me turns normal?”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I guess.” Mel carefully draped one of the bikini cups over Sara's bath. The larger woman needed to reach her phone, but she wanted to give Sara her privacy. “I need to call Jackie.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“So what you're saying is, if I were to shimmy out of these bottoms and toss 'em over the edge I would have absolutely no normal clothes left. All my stuff would be too big for me and I'd be forced to wear napkins or doll clothes. Or whatever.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Why would you …” Mel was tapping Jackie's number when the answer hit her. “No! You keep your pants on! That's an order.”</span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Too late.”</span></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-35939386785788010772020-08-30T10:42:00.022-07:002020-08-30T10:50:43.450-07:00Story: Christmas Wanted Him Dead (and notes)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q83HFKY2zd0/X0viUmKmI5I/AAAAAAAABmA/pfKvdk3rw-IrC6oLT39z1XfJvPbBbm2hACLcBGAsYHQ/s800/Let%252BHim%252BHave%252BIt%252B01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q83HFKY2zd0/X0viUmKmI5I/AAAAAAAABmA/pfKvdk3rw-IrC6oLT39z1XfJvPbBbm2hACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h225/Let%252BHim%252BHave%252BIt%252B01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Image from "Let Him Have It" (1991) </div><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Christmas Wanted Him Dead</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">copyright 2020 Taedis</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">(Warning. Contains gun violence and execution.)</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Based on a true story with some sci fi nonsense thrown in.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Submitted for the HistoricalJuly20 <a href="https://aborigen-gts.org/size-riot/" target="_blank">SizeRiot</a> writing contest.</p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">27/01/53 (10:01 PM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's against the rules to show myself to anyone. I could ruin everything. I could get hurt.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But the guards left Derek's cell at 8:30 and there's no sign they're coming back. They were supposed to stay with him all night playing cards. He's alone. Scared.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek's a convicted murderer. The tallest prisoner in Wandsworth. I'm watching him from a vent so small only a mouse could slip inside. He could kill me a dozen ways and no one would ever know I was here. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">If I was thinking with my head I'd stay quiet, but my bleeding heart won't shut up.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I yell Derek's name till he looks straight at me.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">02/11/52 (9:25 PM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It took two days to climb the warehouse. It was filled with candy, but all I could smell was sulphur.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was going to be a bad winter.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A pigeon couldn't fit where I perched, but I could see everything sitting on the lamp above the lift shed.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I heard them climbing the drainpipe before they set foot in the light on the roof. Derek looked so young. I know he's 19, but I'd only ever seen his picture before. Even babies look old in black and white.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It wasn't a heist. Not a caper. Just a couple bored guys playing crooks. Derek seemed surprised when the door to the stairs wouldn't open, like it hadn't occurred to him it'd be locked. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek tried to hide when he heard the police, but it was too late.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">27/01/53 (10:02 PM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you a fairy?” Derek asks. He really is an 11 year old in an adult body.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My name's Minh.” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that a fairy name?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's Vietnamese.” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've never met anyone from Vietnam. I thought they were normal size.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm an exception.” I cross my fingers and hope he won't ask any followups. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What're you doing in my vent?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm bored. Looking for a chat. Maybe play some cards.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You pulling my leg?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“All night?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not tired.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">09/12/52 (9:07 AM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The case for the prosecution is this: Craig deliberately and willfully murdered that police constable and thereafter gloried in the murder; that Bentley incited Craig to begin the shooting and, although technically under arrest at the actual time of the killing of Miles, was party to that murder and equally responsible in law.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The prosecutor was Christmas Humphreys. Christmas was a Buddhist poet. He wrote “When I die, who dies?” Christmas led Derek's prosecution knowing Derek would hang if convicted. Mercy was an option, but Christmas wanted him dead.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There weren't any gasps of outrage. No stunned theatrics. Everyone in the Old Bailey was too busy coughing for melodrama. The dead wind over London wouldn't lift till later today. All the coal smoke piled up in the streets until the buses had to stop running it got so hard to see. They were already calling it the Great Smog.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I was coughing too, but no one noticed. I hid behind a bust perched outside the gallery. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The death of an officer is always a tragedy,” Defense began. “But in this instance an accidental one. This 'incitement' my learned colleague for the Crown mentions has other, less explosive interpretations. The …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is Defense referring to the phrase 'let him have it'?” The judge asked.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That got a reaction. 12 years ago a man named Appleby said those exact four words to a man named Ostler. Ostler shot and killed a police officer. They hung Appleby. I'd only read about it in books; the people in the courtroom lived it. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes, M'lud.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you continuing to assert your client never uttered that phrase?” The judge is Baron Goddard. We don't have titles in Canada; I'm probably messing that up. “May I remind you we have the sworn statements of three officers of the law to the contrary. Are you implying they are less trustworthy than a petty thief?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, M'lud. I plan to suggest a more literal interpretation. DS Fairfax in his own words asked Chris Craig, the alleged shooter …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The shooter,” Rayner corrected.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“… the shooter to hand over his gun. Telling him to 'let him have it' might reasonably …”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I see where you're going. That line of speculation has no place in this courtroom.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Goddard couldn't let Defense string two sentences together. Screw his title.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">27/01/53 (10:35 PM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's a nasty cough you got there.” Derek towers over me on the other side of the table. “You should get that looked at when you're back in Vietnam.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I will.” He's trying to be kind; I don't tell him I'm from Canada.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They gave me a thermos of tea if you'd like some. Iris always says it's good for what ails ya.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thanks.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The tea's strong. Bitter. Derek offers me his last sugar cube. I gouge a little out and drop it into the thimble I'm using for a mug. There isn't any milk.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Iris is your sister?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek nods his head fast before he takes his first sip. “She's great.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“She must be out of her mind worried about you. Your whole family must.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I didn't shoot nobody. They ain't gonna hang me. Not for somethin' I didn't do.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I hope not.” I mean it. Even knowing what I know.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“They wanted to hang me before New Years, but here I am. Dad says Parliament's working on a pardon. Dad wrote a letter to the Queen if that don't work. I'll be home by Easter, mark my words. All I gotta do is be good and wait.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">02/11/52 (9:34 PM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm a police officer.” Fairfax looked winded having to climb the drainpipe. The fact that the perps were hiding by the time he reached the roof didn't help his mood. “Come out from behind that stack.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Nothing had happened yet. No shots. Nobody killed. I could keep track of everyone. Derek and Craig were behind the lift house. Fairfax stood a few meters away where he'd climbed up. PC Claude Pain made it to the roof on a borrowed ladder. Norman Harrison was trying to make it across from a neighbor's rooftop. James McDonald was six feet up the drainpipe getting nowhere fast he was so out of shape.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek gave up immediately. He had brass knuckles and a knife in his pocket, but he didn't pull them out. Didn't resist as Fairfax pulled him to the side of the stack opposite Craig.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek didn't try to run till Fairfax tried to backhand him.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My heart jumped when the bullet slammed into Fairfax's shoulder. I was so focused on what Bentley and he were supposed to say it hadn't occurred to me they wouldn't say anything.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Craig winged Fairfax; Sidney Miles was going to die.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">11/12/52 (12:32 PM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After three days of hearing Judge Goddard make the prosecution's case the jury only needed 75 minutes to convict. Fairfax, Harrison, and McDonald all testified Derek said and did things I know he didn't. Harrison and McDonald weren't even on the damn roof when Fairfax was shot. Pain was. He didn't testify.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek didn't pull the trigger. Hadn't shouted orders. He'd been under arrest when Miles was shot. Derek couldn't read the statement the cops said he'd dictated. He misspelled his own name the first time he tried to sign it. The thing read like a cop wrote it to impress a judge.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Craig's sixteen. Too young to hang. But a cop's dead and everybody's out for blood.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I knew what was coming, but I cried when the jury foreman answered “guilty”.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The bailiff placed a black silk square over Goddard's head. I could barely stand to look at him let alone listen. I watched the slow twist of a smile worm its way out of his dour expression as he told a 19 year old boy he was going to die. That he deserved to die. I don't hate anyone, but I hate Goddard.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'd read about the accusations Goddard's clerk made. About the judge's reaction to handing down the death sentence. Why he needed a change of pants after sending someone to the gallows. I always thought it was bullshit. No one could be that wicked.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm not so sure now.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">28/01/53 (7:47 AM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm wired and tired staying up all night. I listen to Derek's bad jokes, his insistence they can't hang him, his stories about his family and dogs. We play cards even though they're bigger than me. I shouldn't have introduced myself; now I have to say goodbye.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you know the story of Merlin?” I ask Derek.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“King Arthur?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I guess.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Merlin lived his life backwards. He didn't know the past cause he hadn't lived it yet, but he remembered the future. Does that make any sense?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek doesn't understand, but he nods anyway.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm like that. Sorta. You don't know it, but you're very important. Once people find out all the mistakes they made with your case they're going to change things. What they did to you they won't be able to do to anyone else ever again.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No one else's gonna have to wait all night to be pardoned?” </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“no”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that why you're here?”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Where I come from there are people who want to forget you happened. Want to lie about you. I came here so they can't.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The door opens with Derek's last breakfast. I hide behind the cards.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll sneak you some food later,” Derek whispers to me. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek's almost out of later.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">02/11/52 (9:50 PM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The police were issued guns. Snipers took up positions in neighbor's gardens and roofs. The alleys and streets were crammed with firetrucks and ambulances. All for one man with a gun too big for his bullets.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek did nothing but cry since Fairfax was hit.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I counted the shots; Craig ran out of ammo before Miles made it to the roof. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I closed my eyes and let the recorders do their work. The future might need to know which sniper killed Miles, but I don't.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">28/01/53 (9:00 AM)</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The cell door opens. Two uniformed guards and two men in suits enter. Derek thinks they're here to give him his pardon. He's given a cup of brandy and an order to drink instead.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The hangman in the suit shakes Derek's hand before his assistant binds Derek's wrists.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's all right, Derek,” the hangman says, patting his shoulder. “Follow me.”</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The gallows is on the other side of Derek's cell.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek walks unaided to the chalked off mark on the floor. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I didn't say it. I didn't tell him to shoot that policeman.” They're Derek's last words.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The white cap goes over his head before the noose goes round his neck. His legs are bound with leather straps. The hangman kicks the release bolt that kept the lever cocked. Derek's floor disappears.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek Bentley died almost instantly twelve seconds after the door opened.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">02/07/53</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm miles from civilization. My equipment says I'm where I'm supposed to be.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In thirty years there'll be a McDonald's where that tree stands. It'll be open for decades. Abandoned longer. I'll be 26 when they raze the husk and find my three inch corpse in the rubble.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">They'll find my note telling them the when, where, and why to send me back. They'll find my tapes. They won't play them back until after future me, younger me is in 1952. It's all <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="en">Schrödinger data until I walk through that door three months ago, two hundred years from now.</span></span></span></p><p align="LEFT" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">They can only make a very small door. Not big enough for normal size people. Not big enough for the machines that could make me big again or open a door to the future.</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" lang="en" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I didn't see my body. They didn't tell me how old I was when I died.</span></span></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The cough has been getting worse.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It's been a very bad winter. I won't be home for Easter either.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">References:</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2hA_Xjr33E" target="_blank">Let Him Dangle</a> by Elvis Costello. The first time I'd heard about the Bentley case was in this song. There's legitimate doubt that Derek ever said "let him have it, Chris" and the bit about the hangman doesn't jibe with my research, but the basic story is there and powerfully told.<br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VV2XJDs8FYc" target="_blank">Let Him Have It</a> the 1991 film based on the events. Derek's sister worked with the production team. It's believed that this film put Derek's case back in the public eye leading to a reexamination of the case. Christopher Eccelston gives an excellent performance as Derek. <br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2469649.To_Encourage_the_Others" target="_blank">To Encourage The Others</a> by David Yallop. Yallop's definitive work on the subject. The author interviewed dozens of people involved with every aspect of the case. Very detailed, but accessible reading. If you want to know more about this story I highly recommend this book.<br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://wp.lancs.ac.uk/enclair/2018/11/01/case-notes-s01e01-derek-bentley/" target="_blank">Case Notes S1E1</a> A podcast about forensic linguistics and its use in proving the confession Derek signed was dictated by the police. Thanks to Aborigen for pointing this one my way. At one point I debated about showing this in the story, but decided it would take up too much of my space and be too much of a stretch for my shrunken narrator.<br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Notes:</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Derek Bentley was given a Royal Pardon in 1993 forty years too late. The conviction stood another five years until the Court of Appeals threw it out. Derek's sister Iris died the year before.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Chris Craig. The version of this story submitted to SizeRiot replaces Chris Craig with his older brother Niven. Chris was 16 when he and Derek climbed onto that warehouse roof. Too young to face capital punishment and too young to be in a SizeRiot story. His brother Niven was 26 at the time. The story as submitted references a technicality that kept the shooter from facing the gallows. This version puts Chris back in the story. Chris turned his life around after a ten year stretch in jail. He gave up petty crime and became a plumber.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The line "a gun too big for his bullets" was literal. Chris had a large collection of handguns, but had to scrounge for ammunition. He had to modify smaller rounds to fire in the larger guns. On the night of the robbery his gun misfired twice because of this. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Judge Goddard was a piece of work. He tried to bring back flogging as a form of punishment claiming it would reduce the growing crime rate (which wasn't actually growing). After he died his clerk wrote a book about him in which he claimed the judge needed a change of pants after passing the death sentence cause he'd ejaculate after giving it out. I think that's bullshit, but the fact there weren't cries of outrage over the accusation speaks volumes about Goddard's character.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The defense didn't get opening remarks in the real court case. They had the option of having a closing argument or calling witnesses. Derek's parents waited till the end of the trial thinking they'd get called to the witness stand, but the defense decided to bet it all on their closing argument.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The public defenders who took on the case had been heard to say they wanted to see both men hung.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Smog_of_London" target="_blank">The Great Smog of London</a> ended the day Derek's trial started. You can't make that shit up. Well you can, but people look at you funny and shake their heads.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Regarding size:</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A number of readers commented on the lack of focus on size in this story. That's fair. I wanted to put a spotlight on a moment in history with a narrator who both was an eyewitness to events and knew how history would be written. As soon as I'd decided time travel was part of the plot I knew it would feature a tiny narrator. I stole the idea of shrinking to fit through a narrow time window from the Time Pool stories in the Atom comics of the 60s. In fairness they stole the idea from another comic from 1940. I added consequences to make the tone match the story I was telling.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Some readers have suggested I could have taken the size element out and not notice any difference. That's possible, but I wouldn't have written that story. Mihn's size meant they could be in the center of the action on the night in question and gave them the ability to be with Derek on his final night. Another technology could be used, but the ones I came up with would either distance them (using a drone) or made them superhuman (invisibility, teleportation, etc). Having a normal sized Mihn try to pass as a reporter would have gotten them into the courthouse to witness the case play out, but not Derek's cell that night. I've been bouncing ideas around for other work arounds (bribery, Jedi mind tricks, etc), but none work for me as well as shrinking.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For me the fact that Minh can't enter society is a huge part of the character. Both Derek and Mihn are kept apart from the rest of the world. Derek by his sentence; Mihn by their size. There are rules for time travel, but Mihn starts the story breaking them. If Mihn were normal sized I'd have to come up with a damn good reason why they didn't go to a doctor about that cough. Or change the story and have Mihn live out the next 50 years under an assumed name. That works as a story (my brain's already mulling over the plot for that), but it's not the one I wanted to tell. </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">All that being said, this may be a size story for me because I want it to be. I might be too close to the oak to see the forest.</p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">If you're looking for more of a size focused piece might I suggest <a href="https://taedis.blogspot.com/2020/07/story-overwhelm-me-little-gentle-male.html" target="_blank">Overwhelm Me A Little</a>. It's takes a little while for the size to come into play, but once it does ... </p><p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-43747798468165435062020-07-30T13:19:00.001-07:002020-07-30T13:19:51.379-07:00New Novel Premiering At SizeCon 20 Micro<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Through a combination of good fortune, hard work, and lucky timing I am pleased to announce I will be premiering my latest size novel at SizeCon Micro taking place this Saturday. Starting the morning of the Con interested readers will be able to buy PDF copies through e-junkies. Print copies are still in the future, but that's not a concern for an online con.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">One Big Love is a different kind of novel for me. Those of you who've read my longer form work know I tend to lean heavier into the fetish in them than I sometimes do with my short stories. A heavy focus on the kink side of the community. Sometimes cruel, others gentle. Always with a lot of sex.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This novel, not so much.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This is the story of a woman who finds love and has to figure out how to keep it while navigating both her first polyamorous relationship and being the size of a Princess Leia action figure. That sounds like a recipe for sexy fetish shenanigans, but that's not the thrust of the book. It's a shrunken woman love story. An exploration of more than just romantic love.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There's some steamy scenes, but anything too explicit takes place off camera. There are some moments of risk and violence, but things work out. It's a gentle story. If you enjoyed “Overwhelm Me A Little,” “You Are Not Alone,” or “Moving Day” I think you'll like this. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I've got a gorgeous cover made for me by Morgana Art. I'd share it now, but I want to save it for the big reveal in a couple days. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I hope you like it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">From the cover:</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Anna's life was ok. Not great. Not terrible. OK. She wasn't working her dream job, but she liked data analysis and the sleepy state she ended up moving to. She had a best friend with anger management issues. A nurse roommate with a cute accent. A fiance who worked a lot. A mom with a brain sharper than Oppenheimer's and a mouth filthier than most truckers. And a dad who got her jokes.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The accident changed everything. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was Anna's day off, but she came in anyway. If her mom was going to change the world Anna wanted to be there to bask in the reflected glow of history. Besides, it was a good excuse to introduce her to her future son-in-law. The nurse and the best friend were there for other reasons.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When the smoke cleared Anna was the size of a toy kept alive by a trick of physics even her genius mom barely understood. Not that the mom didn't have her own problems with the transformation she underwent.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In less than five minutes Anna went from independent woman to someone completely dependent on other people for everything. This is the story of a woman who loses everything, but still wants to love and be loved. A woman figuring out what relationships mean when her girlfriend can hold her in the palm of her hand and her boyfriend's kiss reaches from her chin to her navel.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">(This 80,000 word science fiction novel contains adult themes including adult language, brief violence,</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">polyamorous exploration, and mature subject matter.)</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-33464262197977067022020-07-25T12:54:00.001-07:002020-07-25T13:08:37.629-07:00Story: Overwhelm Me A Little (Gentle, Male Growth, Sexual Situations, Brief Consensual Bondage)<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h8h59vCQPtc/XxyM9WM7Z7I/AAAAAAAABlc/i24FnV0m_TQNloCY7Wdk3gUh8U5AqeTsQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-07-25%2Bat%2B3.47.00%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h8h59vCQPtc/XxyM9WM7Z7I/AAAAAAAABlc/i24FnV0m_TQNloCY7Wdk3gUh8U5AqeTsQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2020-07-25%2Bat%2B3.47.00%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><font size="5">Overwhelm Me A Little</font></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">copyright 2020 Taedis</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No one wants coffee at two in the afternoon unless they're a perv, weird, or a writer.” The orange coffee cup Mel slid on the table was almost comically oversized. “I speak from experience.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Good thing I'm all of the above.” Sara had to use both hands to lift the hot cup to her lips. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You think you're cute don't you?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm frigging adorable, babe.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The coffeehouse was empty except for the waitress and her customer buddy in the corner table.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're holding enough caffeine to make a grown man bounce off the walls for hours.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>“What a waste. Bouncing off me would be way more satisfying.” Sara rolled her eyes when she said “way”.<p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You need me to hose you down before Mr. Blind Date shows? I've got one that'll reach.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Here's hoping he does too.” Sara raised her cup with both hands towards Mel before taking her next sip. “Cheers.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Serious?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It was either joke about his hose or you making me wet.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I love you to pieces girl, but that ain't happening,” Mel said. “Desperate, but hetero.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hetperate.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that a real word?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It is now. Told you I was a writer.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How long till he shows?” Mel asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Any minute.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nervous?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“More than I've ever been in my entire life.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thought so.” Mel put her hand on Sara's shoulder and looked her square in the eyes. “I'll be here in case things go south. Will it help if we go over the signals one more time?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If it's going bad I'll pull my earlobe.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And I'll call saying your uncle just got brought to the hospital.” Mel nodded. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If he's a psycho I'll rest two fingers on my chin until you call 911 on his ass.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Awesome. Need anything else before I crawl behind the counter and pretend I've never seen you before?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm good.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're a lot better than good.” Mel flipped her hair when she spun around to return to the counter. “Don't let that go to your head.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sarafina?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The man smiled when he asked her name. His teeth sparkled like compacted galaxies in the night sky that was his face. He was the handsomest man Sara had ever seen outside a picture.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My friends call me Sara.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's nice to meet you, Sara,” the man offered his hand. “I'm Jackie. Bev's told me a lot of good things about you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You too.” Sara rose to shake his hand; her smile was wider than her face. “Sit. Please.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're gonna have to be patient with me.” Jackie took the offered seat. “This is my first blind date. If I get this stupid look on my face or don't say anything for twenty minutes bop my nose and maybe I'll reboot.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Please. If anyone's gonna deer-in-the-headlights this thing, it's me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Any suggestions about avoiding that trap?” Jackie asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Exposition swap?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Bev told me you were a writer.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You know what words mean.” Sara looked up at him over the rim of her oversized cup. “I like that in a man.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What'd she tell you about me?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>That you look damn fine without a shirt, </i>Sara thought, but said, “You're a grad student in physics. You play soccer, but you're the kinda guy who calls it football. There was a lab accident. You're a giant. Sometimes.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sometimes.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I told you there'd be no one here.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie stepped from cut grass to hot sand without slowing down. The breeze rippled the surface of the lake as it came in from the north making tiny waves that crested as high as Sara's toes before crashing down into the wet sand. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The coffeeshop part of their first date had gone well enough both were comfortable with the beach part. Jackie was looking forward to the cool water. He'd promised Sara to be a giant for her for a little while. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara couldn't think about anything else on the drive there.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There wasn't any place to change so they'd worn their suits under their date clothes. Sara went ahead to the beach leaving Jackie a couple hundred yards away in the car. They were only stripping down to swimsuits, but it'd be weird getting undressed with someone they'd just met.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara left everything but the bikini she was wearing on the blanket and walked the rest of the way to the lake. There was no one else in sight other than a duck and a couple confused gulls. They weren't going to steal her phone or fly off with her wallet. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She'd barely gotten her feet wet by the time Jackie arrived wearing nothing but a pair of white trunks, a dazzling smile, and a sheen of sweat that looked like the sun itself had reached down and polished his dark brown skin until it glowed. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You don't mind if we cool off a little before I …” Jackie was standing over Sara before she realized he'd crossed the distance. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No. Sounds great. You need sunscreen?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Took care of it in the car. You?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm good.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sweet.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie walked into the water until he was deep enough to float. Sara watched his muscles disappear under the lake. She'd only just met them, but she missed them already.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Think with your head, girl.</i> Sara said to herself and waded in after her blind date.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“When the time comes,” Sara'd spent the last ten minutes trying to figure out the most delicate way to ask the big question without seeming like a total perv. “Are you gonna need a change of shorts?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“When I get big?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. It'd make sense if you grew, but your suit didn't. Or did they make you a pair of science shorts?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not a problem,” Jackie laughed as he said it. “There's this … we're still working on a name, but you could think of it as an aura.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you're saying you give off giant vibes, but don't actually grow I am going to be so disappointed. I'll find it in my heart to forgive you, but you'll have to endure sad puppy face until then.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How long'll that last?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Up to ten seconds.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ouch.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's the price you pay playing with my heart,” Sara said. “But seriously, you're not a new age giant? Inner growth is awesome, but when I sign up for giant man action I wanna get physical.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie smiled when he looked at her, but said nothing.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara watched him so intently she knew the second he'd stopped bobbing in the water, but it took her brain a moment to figure out what that meant. She lowered her face beneath the surface to see the rest of Jackie's body. His feet were touching bottom; Sara's weren't even close.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When she pulled her head up Jackie's shoulders were already above water. He'd been up to his chin when Sara dived. She paddled closer and reached out to him. Her hand and his neck looked normal by themselves; her fingers looked tiny against the backdrop of his chest.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie's growth was a steady slow thing. Not as fast as Sara'd imagined, but quick enough she could see it with her own eyes; feel it under her fingers. Sara's hand slid down his neck to his chest. Or maybe Jackie slid up. Sara rested another hand on him while she could. The muscles felt taut and powerful, but she mostly wanted to feel his growth. Wanted to experience it with all her senses. If she hadn't just met him she'd've tried to taste his growth.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara let go when Jackie's trunks slid up to where she was touching. As much as she might want to this was still a first date. Somethings had to wait.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie was knee deep in lake when he stepped out of it. He must've been a dozen feet tall when he reached the blanket. He took something from the bag, but Sara couldn't see what it was.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm guessing you're not pulling out the sad puppy dog face.” Jackie turned to face Sara.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hell, no.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How big do you want me to get?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Would 60 feet be ok?” Sara bit her lip. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah, there should be room enough for that. Just let me put some distance between me and the blanket.” Jackie started walking to the other side of the small beach.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Does it hurt?” Sara asked. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It feels pretty great.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're like … triple my size. How come you still sound normal?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Part of the aura I was telling you about. No matter how big I get my voice won't sound like thunder; yours won't sound like a hamster on helium.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Your science shorts have gotten bigger too,” Sara pointed out. “Is that the aura too?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes. Anything very close to me grows too. My clothes. The sunscreen that didn't wash off. Things I'm carrying.” Jackie held up Sara's bottle of suntan lotion, bigger than it'd ever been.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You could end world hunger,” Sara said. “You could make a carrot a hundred feet tall. A donut the size of Detroit.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I wish.” Jackie shook his head. “Soon as something leaves my aura it goes back to normal. I'd demonstrate, but the only things I have are this lotion and my shorts. I'm gonna need both.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Good call.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I think this should be enough space,” Jackie said. “How fast do you want me to do this?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Take your time.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara floated there staring up as Jackie slowly brought her earliest childhood fantasy to life. When she'd imagined this moment Sara wasn't sure how she'd react. With awe and wonder at the miracle she was witnessing or with earthier feelings.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara hadn't expected it to feel so normal. Yes, there was awe and lust, but also comfort.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What now?” Even taking his time it only took Jackie a couple minutes to clear 60 feet. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Would you mind picking me up?” Sara's voice was so small she wasn't sure she heard it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not at all. Mind if I reapply my sunscreen first? Most of it washed off and I pick up a lotta rays this big.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No. That's cool.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara thought she was going to melt into the lake as she watched this man, this god slather then rub the thick lotion into his skin. Every muscle, every speck of him was magnified and highlighted. Even the defects, the cut he gave himself shaving that morning, the scar on his shoulder, only made the rest of him look better.He was magnificent. Sara'd thought Jackie was the most beautiful man she'd ever met when he was six feet. He was 10 times that size now and a thousand times more attractive. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't want to sound gross or anything.” Jackie looked sheep dog bashful. “But you could probably use some more sunscreen. And since I'm picking you up anyway … maybe I could …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You want to lotion me up?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's not weird, is it?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It sounds lovely,” Sara purred. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie smiled shyly as he filled his left palm with the thick white lotion. He tossed the empty bottle towards the blanket. It was normal-sized by the time it landed. He knelt with one knee in the sand offering his right hand to her.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara put one tentative foot on Jackie's forefinger, but thought better of it. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You ok?” Jackie asked. Even bent over he towered over Sara.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah, it's just … I've got all this wet sand on my feet. If you invited me inside your apartment I'd feel super rude not wiping 'em off first. I don't know the etiquette for being invited onto someone's hand, but it has to be way stricter. I mean you use it for …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara stopped talking when she thought about all the things a man in his 20s did with his right hand. She looked at the sand to keep him from seeing her blush and to keep from staring at the front of his swimsuit.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't mind,” Jackie said. “A little sand's not gonna hurt me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. So funny thing.” Sara could feel herself start to babble, but she needed her brain to stop thinking pervy thoughts long enough for her to at least pretend she was normal. “My sophomore creative writing professor partnered the class up. We were supposed to write a page describing the other person. I don't know what the girl I was paired with was thinking, but she compared my skin to sand.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Really?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So I'm supposed to look down at you and go 'Hey, what's that bikini doing floating in the air like that? Is it haunted?'”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I have no idea what she was thinking.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm thinking bikini ghost's got a pretty nice shape.” Jackie wasn't looking so shy now.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you trying to make me blush?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You already were. I'm just giving you an excuse.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Emotional intelligence,” Sara smiled as she looked up at him. “I like that in my giants.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you going to stand there telling me how much you like me or are you going to step on?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Humor me and pass me a towel first.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Their towel lay twenty feet away; Jackie didn't have to stretch to reach it. Sara's eyes played over his glistening skin as he picked it up. Even that slight motion seemed majestic. Powerful. This was a man who could literally destroy her without a second thought, but all she needed to see was the way he hooked the towel on his pinky before offering it to her. She'd only just met Jackie, but she knew he was meticulous, careful, and kind.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara took the towel, rested her hand on the tip of Jackie's pinky for support, and wiped sand off her foot. When she was satisfied the first was as clean as she could get it Sara dropped the towel on the ground, lowered the clean foot on it, and wiped the dirty one on it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thank you,” Sara said letting go of Jackie. “I'm ready to walk all over you now.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“As you wish.” And Jackie extended his hand.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Somehow Jackie's fingers felt both sturdier and softer than Sara expected. A slow burn male heat radiated off them into Sara's bare soles. She curled her toes around the soft ridges; had to force herself to accept they were his fingerprints. Maybe it was the heat, maybe the fantasy. At that moment Sara wanted Jackie to leave his thumb print on her back in red ink. She wanted his mark on her flesh. Wanted it tattooed into her skin. Permanent. Possessive.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>This is still a first date,</i> Sara told herself. <i>Dial it down a notch, girl.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When Sara reached his palm she made a show of jumping straight a couple feet into the middle of his hand.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Did you even feel that?” Sara asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course I did. A little,” Jackie lied. “Why the jump?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I wanted to land on your life line.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My love line's gonna try to not take it personal.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a little early for that, don't you think?” Sara started tightrope walking the long firm line.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You read palms?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, but I think I'd be great at it with a little research.” Sara looked down at her feet as she stepped along his palm. “According to this I'm going to meet a tall dark stranger who's going to whisk me off my feet.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I thought you were supposed to tell my future.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not the way I do it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You ready for lotion?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Born ready.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie took his time rising to his full height. The ground under Sara's feet lurched a bit, but Jackie kept his hand steadier than she thought possible. Sara was able to stay on her feet the whole ride up.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Wow, it's …” Sara let the words trail off.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know.” Jackie nodded. “I've been doing this for months and I'm still not used to seeing things like this. You should see it from a couple hundred feet up.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Let's save something for the second date.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So we're doing a second date?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I refuse to answer on the grounds it might make you smug and self satisfied. You want to make time with the haunted bikini you gotta stay humble.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've just discovered the flaw in my super clever plan,” Jackie said after lifting Sara's hand level with the lotion hand. “If I use my left hand to apply lotion I'm going to spill the lotion. If I use my right I'm gonna drop you. Are you cool going ankle deep in a puddle of sunscreen?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Right now I wanna slather myself in it and use your chest as a slip 'n slide</i>, Sara thought, but answered “That's cool.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie offered a pinky for support after Sara stepped onto his other hand. Walking through the lotion felt like wading though a mud puddle only the ground under her was much slicker. Sara would've lost her balance without something firm to hold onto.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Alright, I'm here.” Sara kept her legs apart and raised her arms in the air. “Paint me like your French girls, Jack.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How long have you been waiting to go Titanic on me?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Literally all my life.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Wasn't Kate Winslet naked when she said that?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's third date stuff, buster.” Sara wagged a finger up at Jackie.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm getting a third date.” Jackie nodded his head in satisfaction.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Less smug more sensual giant massage.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie dipped the tip of his forefinger in the thick white lotion. Sara shivered when he touched it to the underside of her left hand. She hadn't fully adjusted to his touch when he started running the slick finger down her arm, along her torso, over her hip, and down her leg.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara curled her toes in the lotion puddle while Jackie did the same to her right side. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You ok?” Jackie asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah.” Sara nodded fast.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You sure? You're breathing a little heavy.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's a little intense. Good intense.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This is your fantasy right? Part of it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you want to tell me about it? You don't have to. I'm just curious. And nosey.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's complicated. Probably a little weird. A lot weird.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't think so,” Jackie said.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thanks.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've got time for complicated if you want to share. I can put you down and become normal again if this is this is too intimidating.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's not,” Sara closed her eyes. “I feel safer when you're like this.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm bigger than most dinosaurs and this isn't my max height. I could literally Godzilla my way through any city I wanted.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But you don't. You've got all this power. You could do anything you want, be anything you want. And you chose to be kind.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We barely met. You don't know me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I know you. Maybe not all the history and details, but I know the important you. I wouldn't be breathing heavy in the palm of your hand if I didn't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So you're looking for a protector?” Jackie lifted Sara's hair off her back with his dry middle finger and worked a thick line of lotion from the nape of her neck to where her skin disappeared under the bottom of her swimsuit. “Someone to watch over you?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Definitely. Sometimes. Maybe. Like I said it's complicated. I've been years trying to figure it out and I'm still struggling to put it in words.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And the sometimes you don't want a protector?” Jackie ran two fingers down the back of Sara's legs from the edge of her bikini bottom to the white puddle she was standing in. “What do you want then?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“To be overwhelmed.” Sara opened her eyes and looked up into Jackie's thoughtful face.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sounds risky.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's why kindness is so important.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you want me to do your front or do you want to?” Jackie asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You do it.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie worked the line of sunscreen from Sara's right shoulder to her left. The bottom of his forefinger brushed her cleavage. The ridges of his fingerprints slid smooth and slow against her sensitized skin. Sara wanted Jackie's finger to roam over the parts of her body he was avoiding. To feel his powerful touch, his one finger, on her straining hidden flesh.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But the next line of sunscreen crossed the horizon of her belly between her swimsuit. When he brought the lotion up her legs he stopped at her thighs an angel's breath away from where she wanted him. It took all of her willpower not to thrust herself down on the pad of his frozen finger.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok. You're all sunscreened up. What now?” Jackie took the finger away before Sara's will could crumble.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Overwhelm me.” Sara kept her arms spread wide, but let them fall to her side.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What happened to taking it slow?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This …” Sara gestured at the hand she was standing on, Jackie's chest in front of her, and his face above. “Everything's so intense; my head's all over the place.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sounds like a good argument to pace ourselves. I'm thinking fifth date. Maybe sixth.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah, you're right. That's the smart thing to do. But …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“But?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe you could just overwhelm me a little.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You really want this, don't you?” Jackie pulled her closer to his face. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“More than words.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I should say no.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Please.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not saying it's gonna happen, but what did you have in mind?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara told him.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If we do this do you promise to tell me if it gets too much,” Jackie said. “Or I hurt you. Even a little.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I promise.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If I do this for you then you have to do something for me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is it butt stuff?” Sara made a face.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's not … no. That's … I don't even know how many dates that is.” Jackie took a second to collect himself. “When you're finished being overwhelmed I want us to just lay down, catch some sun, and talk about what happened.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That sounds good.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Good.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you think it'd be ok if I lay down on your chest? After we finish.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know,” Jackie said. “I was aiming for some cool headed aftercare. I'm not sure you can get in that kinda headspace when we touch. And I'm big.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll feel safer. And … it's not a Fantasy fantasy, it's … this is gonna sound stupid but I write stories about stuff like this. And at the end the lady hero ends up laying on her man's chest feeling his heart beat under her. I think it'll help calm me down after …” Sara looked down at the puddle she was standing in and nodded at it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That sounds nice.” Jackie gave Sara a smile. “Can I read your stories sometime?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've never had the guts to share them with anyone.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's not what I asked.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course you can. You're not just anyone.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie's instinct was to ask Sara if she was sure about this, but he'd already asked her that five times and her answer just got more emphatic. She was growing impatient. Jackie didn't know her that well yet, but it wasn't hard to tell that each delay gave her more time to come up with a more extreme fantasy. Imagine more things her new giant friend could do to her. So far she hadn't said anything about them, but it was only a matter of time before her will gave out.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You like be ordered around, don't you?” It was barely a question. Jackie already knew the answer.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara nodded up at him from where she knelt in the lotion puddle.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want to see more of you.” Jackie spoke slowly. His breath fell warm and heavy on Sara's goosebump skin.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara wasn't sure she'd heard him right. They'd spent forever negotiating what he'd do to her, but they'd never said anything about nudity. It already felt like he was gazing through her. Looking past her with eyes that had grown so large they reached into spectrums her tiny body could only imagine. X-ray. Infra-red. The glint in the Invisible Man's eye.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The thought of it didn't bother Sara. Jackie could already see everything, what did a couple strips of fabric matter? She could be wearing Lancelot's armor and she'd still be just as exposed; feel just as inconsequential in his huge hand.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.” Jackie stopped her when Sara started pulling the straps of her top down. “You said you wanted to wait till our third date before the suits come off. I'm ordering you to honor that. If your bikini starts to come off while we're playing you are to immediately tell me. I'll give you time and privacy to fix it. We'll finish after you're decent. Do you understand?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.” Sara let go of the straps and shook her head. “I don't know what else you want to see.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Put your hair up. I want to see your pretty back.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't have anything to tie it up with.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie ran his free hand over his scalp through his thick hair. When he was done he placed his hand parallel to the one Sara knelt on, level with her chest, inches from touching her.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Pick one,” Jackie said.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara didn't know what he was talking about until she took a closer look at the clean hand hovering in front of her. At first she didn't know where the thin black ropes that lined Jackie's palm had come from. It wasn't until she picked one up that she realized they were his own loose hairs. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara managed to get out a soft “thank you” though she didn't know why she was thanking him. It just seemed right.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The hair she chose was one of the smaller ones. Barely longer than her arm, half as thick as her fingers. She wrapped it tight in both hands and gave it a firm snap to test the strength. She tried three times until she was positive she wasn't strong enough to break it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>He could tie me up in his own hair and there'd be nothing I could do about it. He could do anything to me and I'd be helpless to resist.</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It took both hands to wrestle the wet mess into place. Sara didn't have the longest hair in the world, but when it came down it didn't want to go back up without a fight. A mirror would've helped, but all she had was half her reflection in Jackie's eyes. She hoped he liked the other half of her his eyes kept.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the end Sara had to settle for having the hair up. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was still a mess. Only now it was a mess piled on top of her head instead of splayed out over her back.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's better,” Jackie said. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">His warm breath washed over Sara's front while his powerful finger traced a line down the newly exposed flesh. It was different this time. Without the lotion. More intimate. Sensual. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You like that, don't you?” Jackie asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“yes” Sara barely got the word out she was breathing so heavy.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You like to be controlled.” It wasn't a question.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sometimes.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Like now?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“yes”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I think you're a very brave woman. Thank you for trusting me.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie worked his finger up and down Sara's back. Was it her imagination or was he petting her? </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Get on all fours.” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie's order was casual, but firm. There was no room for disobedience. Not in Sara's mind.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara let her hands sink wrist deep in the white puddle. Her breasts pointed straight down, her butt pushed out. Sara had a pretty good idea what she looked like bent over in that submissive position. She hoped Jackie liked what he saw. Her face stared down at the thick lotion, she couldn't see Jackie's expression.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I would like to kiss you,” Jackie's face must have been right on top of her. Sara could feel his breath on every part of her not in the puddle. His head blotted out most of the sun. “Would you like that?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Very much.” Sara bit her lower lip. This was really happening.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I will count to five,” Jackie said. “I will kiss you then unless you change your mind.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara wasn't about to change her mind and they both knew it. Jackie teased her dragging the count on. Sara wanted to just scream “FIVE” and make him kiss her, but that wasn't her role. She may have been in control of the scene, but she wasn't in charge.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Their first kiss went from Sara's shoulder blades to the small of her back. Jackie's lips were strong, wet, and warm. Their touch was gentle and controlled like he was hugging her with his mouth. Everything went dark above Sara as Jackie bent his head down to reach her. He'd taken her sun and replaced it with the night sky of his face. Sara wanted to be even smaller. To have more of her hugged, by that powerful sky. To fall up into it and give in to the cosmic forces inside his mouth.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie took his time pulling away. Sara couldn't help but look up at her retreating night sky rising up into the gaudy blue. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You wanted this,” Jackie told her. He sounded sad.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then he closed his fist around her body and tightened his grasp until he was touching all of her. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It didn't take long for the puddle Sara had been kneeling in to squelch over her like ice water over her burning skin. Sara closed her eyes for protection, but there wasn't anything for her to see anyway. This darkness was a prison not a her night sky. A trap she'd asked, even begged Jackie to put her in. Sara struggled to lift her pinned arms, but it was no use. She tried to kick her legs against the wall of flesh that had closed around her, but it got her nowhere. She fought against him with every muscle, every fluid ounce of adrenaline.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It didn't matter.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thank you,” Sara said.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're welcome.” The exchange felt surreal to Jackie. Surreal, but somehow natural.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not hurting you am I?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” Jackie asked. Sara couldn't see his face, but she could hear the bemused look in his voice.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're perfect. It's just I'm putting up such a fight …”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You are?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The two words set off chain lightning from Sara's fantasy to her already aroused flesh. The implications swelled in her nipples, her clit. Engorged her labia. Quickened her pulse and breathing.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You don't … you can't feel me?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara exploded, just a little, inside Jackie's closed fist.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-----</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It wasn't the only explosion Sara endured in Jackie's hand. Hands. The gentle giant played with her body over an hour before she finally begged off too exhausted to go on. If he noticed her reaction, Jackie didn't comment on it. Sara preferred to think the frequently mind blowing orgasms didn't even register on his scale. That he was so much stronger and bigger than she was it was impossible for him to tell she was climaxing on him.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That thought only made the experience more intense.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie was already laying down when he opened his fist and let Sara out onto his chest. After all that, Sara was unsteady on her feet, blinded by the still intense sun. She crawled her way blindly up Jackie's chiseled abs, letting the tremors of his heartbeat lead her to her rest.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Once she reached Jackie's heart Sara collapsed on it and turned her face to the sun.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“For our second date I was thinking bowling,” Jackie said.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You could ask me to go snipe hunting right now and I'd say yes.” Sara stretched her arms and legs as far as she could. “You make an awesome bed.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've never had anyone tell me that before.” Jackie's words rumbled under Sara. “Thank you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You didn't get bored did you?” Sara rolled over onto her belly and looked up at Jackie's hill-like chin. “I know what that means to me, but this isn't your thing.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Maybe it could be.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Care to expand on that?” </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's complicated.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've got time for complicated.” Sara's breathing already matched Jackie's heartbeat.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It felt … good. Better than I expected. When your friend told me about what you're into I was skeptical. I don't want to sound insulting, but I was kinda worried it'd feel like I was … doing things with a doll.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Trust me, if you called me a doll while we were …” Sara made a gesture with her hands. “I'd be proposing right now. That's not insulting that's in my small gal fantasy top three.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I gotta admit, it … was sexy for me too.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Reaaallly?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah. It clicked for me when I kissed you. There was this … I want to say energy, but that's probably not right, going on between us. I had this gorgeous, sexy, brave, smart woman in the palm of my hands it was intense.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I get that.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you ok?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I am SO much better than ok. Even without that little dip into fantasy this was the best first date evah.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Seconded.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's just one thing I feel bad about.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What's that?” Jackie's voice was filled with more concern than Sara thought could be packed into two words.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You kissed me, but I haven't kissed you. That's not fair.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, it isn't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want to kiss you.” Sara pulled herself up to all fours. “Would you like that?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I would.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm going to count to five. When I'm done I'm going to kiss you. Unless you change your mind.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I won't.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara took her time walking from Jackie's chest to chin. She counted up slowly teasing him the way he'd teased her. Dragging out the distance. Walking the wrong way. Circling his nipples. She waited till she reached four before she pulled herself up his chin and leaned her face over his huge thirsty lips. She was already on tip toe her weight balanced on her belly on his chin. She whispered “five” before leaning all the way forward. Her face pressed into his lips, her feet left his chest.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sara lay her cheek on his lips when she was finished.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That was nice,” Jackie said. “But I'd like to try something.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Anything.” Sara meant it.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want to kiss you normal.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Normal-sized?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok,” Sara said. “Do you want me to move?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you want. I can just shrink under you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm fine where I am.”<br />Sara waited for Jackie to start shrinking, but it didn't happen. His hill-chin continued to press into her belly. His soft breathing fanned her face.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Shit.” Jackie didn't sound happy.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What's wrong?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nothing. I just didn't know this was going to happen. I've never done this with someone on me.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What happened?”<br />“You must've been inside my aura when I shrank. So you shrank.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How small am I?” Sara asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Most people would be asking how to get big again.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Most people are boring,” Sara said. “Besides, I was listening when you explained everything. If I want to be big all I have to do is leave your aura. Right?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's the way it works.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ok, how small am I?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Five … six inches. I don't have a ruler.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I've got doll clothes this small. Remind me to bring them the next time we try this. Or we could stop by my place and pick them up now. My roommate should be at work at least another three hours.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Why don't we save that for the next date. I'll feel a lot more comfortable with you normal-sized. And there's that kiss you promised.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Spoil sport.” Sara stuck out her tongue at him. “How do you want to do this? Should I just climb down or would you rather airlift me out?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Climb down my left side. That looks clearest. Keep walking away from me until you start to grow. If you feel dizzy that's ok. It happened to me the first couple times.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie felt Sara slide down his neck and land on the sand beside him. Once he was sure she was safely down he tilted his head to see her walk away. She was still tiny when she left his line of sight.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Jackie?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How far does your aura go?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A few inches. Maybe a foot. Why?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“We may have a problem.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jackie pulled himself up to his knees and scanned the beach. When he didn't see a five foot seven woman in a bikini standing there he turned his attention to the ground around him.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sara?” Jackie called down.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Over here.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The voice came from several feet away. A spot Jackie knew Sara hadn't been a few seconds before. Then he looked down and saw a doll-sized woman wearing too much sunscreen and a haunted bikini frantically waving her hands up at him.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Isn't this awesome!” Sara started running towards the beach blanket. “Hurry up, I want to see what it's like inside my own pocket. Then it's doll clothes time.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p></div>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4439190160820962365.post-73294407715258088732020-07-08T11:49:00.000-07:002020-07-08T11:49:09.837-07:00Story: Equal Love <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLoGKJYhJNw/XwYT51VszdI/AAAAAAAABlA/0uINc311PLEx5JkZNYZ9TAMRW8Q5a-rwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/78830694_xl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aLoGKJYhJNw/XwYT51VszdI/AAAAAAAABlA/0uINc311PLEx5JkZNYZ9TAMRW8Q5a-rwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/78830694_xl.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><font size="5">Equal Love</font></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><font size="3">copyright 2020 Taedis</font></p><p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><font size="3">(NSFW, gentle, sexual content, female growth)</font></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail was waiting tables when I met her. It was snowing the afternoon I walked into the diner. I was playing hooky from a job I hated. Gail fed me chili and topped off my coffee enough I knew she was either bored of the kitchen or interested in me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I flirted at her hard as we watched the snow pig-pile on the sedans and SUVs across the street. She was cute. I was lonely. Neither one of our lives had turned out like we'd planned. Gail wanted to work in a finance; I wanted to be Tony Stark 20 years younger.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I didn't ask Gail for her cell, but she wrote the number on the side of my to go cup anyway.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Our first date was bowling and walking her home. We talked. A lot. Gail laughed. She has a pretty laugh. I kissed Gail on the mouth on her doorstep and told her I didn't want to be a jerk. I walked home in the cold tasting her smile on my lips.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'd noticed her growth the second date. Not a lot, but it was obvious when I kissed her goodnight. I had to bend down a little to reach her lips the first time; I had to look up to see her eyes when we pulled apart the second. I thought she was wearing heels, but they were the same sneakers she always wore.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail got the job at the bank. She told me all about it our third date. Her head bobbed above mine as she alternated getting the words out and the food in. She paid for the meal and kissed me in the restaurant where everyone could see. It was wonderful.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You could come inside,” Gail offered outside her door after we'd kissed again.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail was leaning down; I was on tip toe.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I want to,” I answered. “But I'm not ready yet. Ask me again later. Please.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I said “yes” the fourth date.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We were celebrating her promotion, but that wasn't why I spent the night. After six weeks I'd finally stopped trying to convince myself I wasn't in love. That this wasn't going to end bad like the other times before. That Gail was perfect. Perfect for me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That's why I stayed.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">By then Gail was big enough she could've carried me inside, but I walked. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The apartment was nothing; there wasn't much of a tour. Bedroom through that door. Bathroom over there. A kitchen Gail could no longer fit inside. I could see it all from where I awkwardly stood in the postage stamp living room.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Kiss me quick.” Gail's voice was above me. She didn't bend down.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail was wearing a blue dress. The skirt came to her knees. My eyes were level with the belt. I rested my palms on the place her lap hid when she wasn't sitting. I leaned down and pressed my lips against her heat. Kissed her through the cotton.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I love you,” Gail told me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I rested my forehead below her belly button and stared at the wet stain I'd left on the blue fabric. “I love you too.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Enormous hands cupped the sides of my head. Caressed my cheeks and worked long fingers through my hair. I let my mouth fall back into that kiss. There was nothing I could see, or smell, or taste that wasn't Gail. I knew I was small, but I didn't feel insignificant. Gail's body may have dwarfed mine, but what we felt was the same. Our love was equal.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'd never dated a woman that large. Didn't know what to expect. Had no idea what she was doing as she shifted above me. Couldn't tell she was bending down to kiss my ear until the thighs pressing into my cheeks retreated, her hands slid down my chest, and a wet mouth brushed the side of my head. Gail took a step back. I tried to follow, but her hand on my chest stopped me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail's mouth went away. The pressure on my chest disappeared. I looked up in time to see a flash of ascending cleavage. I don't know why I felt guilty. Or looked down. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail worked both hands under the hem of her dress and up to her hips careful not to raise the skirt too much. I could tell she'd hooked her thumbs around the waistband of her underwear. She balled them up as she slid them down her legs. The white mass got tossed aside. I wasn't looking where it landed.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail stretched to her full height, closed her eyes, rested her palms against the ceiling. I'd seen the inches she'd grown since I first walked into her diner, but this was the first time I'd seen her add them. She didn't so much expand as unfurl. Like she was always that much bigger. Like she was plain paper origamied into new dimensions. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When it was over Gail's bare knees were on the cheap carpet, her forearms pressed against the ceiling from knuckles to elbow. I couldn't tell if her legs were spread for comfort or access. I didn't care. I only saw her smile. And the triangle of floor and legs covered by her loose skirt.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“This time make it real.” Gail's voice was hot. Labored. Hungry. I was proud to be responsible.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I pulled the skirt up over my head like a kid sneaking into a circus. It was dark under Gail's dress. Dark and warm and comfortable. I let the skirt fall behind me and reached for the tree trunk of her leg. When my hand brushed her thigh Gail let out a small giggle. Was she sensitive? Nervous? Ticklish? Her face was on the other side of the dress; I couldn't read her expression.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light that made it through the cotton. Gail was beautiful. All of her.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This time when I kissed her there was nothing between me and Gail. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A palm bigger than my face rested on the back of my head through the cotton. Gail was strong enough she didn't need to be gentle when she pushed me closer; she was strong enough she couldn't help but be kind.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail moaned when I kissed her deeper. My cheeks burned against her dark, full lips as I worked my way closer to her center. Gail tasted like her smile. Sweet. Salty. As strong as her body. As subtle as her voice.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Legs the size of pillars shuddered beside me like I was Sampson about to die. Only my strength was in my kiss, not my hair and when this temple came crashing down Gail and I would both be safe. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I kissed her with as much of me as I could press against her lips. My face and shoulders, chest and arms. All of me from my belly up. I discovered where Gail liked to be touched. The places that made her moan and gasp. I made a map of her pleasure until the territory I was exploring exploded under me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail shielded me with her hands. Made sure thighs didn't tighten around me in a death grip.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When it was over Gail pulled me out from under her dress and kissed away the juices she'd marked me with. I let her carry me to her bed.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can I?” Gail asked.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I nodded. Of course she could.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail had to take her time unbuttoning my shirt her hands were so big. The belt buckle and the zip on my jeans were even trickier. It must've taken her ten minutes to carefully strip me. Unwrapping me on the floor in front of her bed like a little girl opening her favorite present Christmas morning.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When she was done Gail lay me naked and ready on her pillow. She leaned down over me so I could return the favor and undue her buttons. They were as big as my palm and hard as pearls, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I finished the top button I started to crawl down to the next, but Gail patted my side and pulled herself up until the second was in reach. By the time I'd gotten to the third button Gail's breasts were pressing into my lower legs, my feet touching each nipple. She'd been wearing a bra when we started the date; I could feel she wasn't wearing one now.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're beautiful,” Gail told me when we were out of buttons.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She lifted herself up as high as the ceiling would allow letting her dress slide down her shoulders and puddle at her hips. She was magnificent. A statue come to life. A deity come to Earth. My magnificent statue god leaned down to kiss me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I could feel the bed shift under us as Gail wiggled out of the dress, but her face was above me and her hair cut off all light. I couldn't see her grow, only feel it as her kiss got bigger. I heard the ceiling break when she outgrew her apartment.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When Gail pulled back she was naked, her knees on the floor on either side of the bed, her thighs straddling my body, but not yet touching me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you ok with me on top?” Gail asked. “I promise I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes. Please.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail lines me up with her crotch. The same lips I'd worshipped under her skirt now tower above me waiting to come down. I yearn to be inside her with a primal need that has nothing to do with height or size or dominance. Gail could be three inches tall and I'd still want her to engulf me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The light's blotted out when Gail lowers herself on me. Her flesh is warm and wet. I know her scent by now. I know where to touch her to make her moan. The map of her pleasure got bigger, but everything's still where it was.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I writhe against Gail's lips. Gail grinds her vulva over me. There's too much going on for me to tell who started first. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail does her best to protect me, but she's less concerned about the bed between her thighs. The frame cracks and splinters as we make love, but I'm only distantly aware. All I feel is the steady pressure of my lover on top of me taking her pleasure from my body and giving it back to me fivefold. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Gail rolls onto her back after the first time. I nap on her belly.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The frame and boxspring are beyond repair. Gail tossed them into the living room before our second round. The mattress and pillows are enough to shield me from her climax. And her love. Gail's love will always protect me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We made love three times that night, resting between the first two rounds. After the third we lay back and look at the stars through Gail's broken ceiling. Gail on the floor; I on Gail's hip.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Lucky I don't have any upstairs neighbors,” Gail says.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're gonna need a new place. A bigger one.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Big enough for two?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't take up much space,” I say.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm confused.” Gail rests her hand by my body. It's bigger than me. “Are you proposing or am I?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's gotta be you; the ring I bought won't fit you anymore.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's just a symbol.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Symbols are important,” I say. “You deserve something that shows how much I love you.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know if I want to wait until you find a symbol I can't outgrow. I want to be married yesterday.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I crawl under Gail's hand. I pop my head and arms between her ring and middle finger and hug the former until I grab my knees.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How about this?” I ask.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you my ring?” Gail lifts her hand to her face and rotates us around. “It's not very practical.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm not planning on moving in, it's symbolic. Are you ever going to outgrow me?”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you're asking me to marry you, my answer is yes,” I say.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you're asking me to marry you, my answer is yes too.”</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I'm still wrapped around her finger when Gail kisses me.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Then I guess we're engaged,” Gail says placing her hand and me on her chest.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The heartbeat under me is echoed in the pulse of the finger I'm hugging.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It'll be an outdoor wedding,” we say at the same time.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>Taedishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054292087404483236noreply@blogger.com0