Rosann swept away the avocado hide and onion skins into compost. “Just be as kind as you can, all right? He’s kind of sensitive right now.” She pumped a couple spurts of liquid soap onto a green scrubbie-sponge and quickly washed off some cutlery and flatware. “No, I won’t be there to protect you, but on the other hand he really won’t be able to directly… you know.” She rinsed these off and rested them on a drying towel, then spun to lean against the sink.

“Ulysses, please, don’t be nervous. I promise you he won’t do anything.” She tilted her head, long waves of glossy black hair falling over her knit turtleneck. “No, I’m not just fantasizing, I’m just telling you how it’ll go. It’ll be all right, honestly. Just do this f−” Abruptly she glanced up at the curtains surrounding the living room, across the condo from her polished black granite kitchen. The rust-orange curtains swayed gently and in came the musk of men’s herbal cologne.

“He’s here.” Rosann lifted her palm to her ear, under her hair, then closed her fingers in a loose fist. Her long, strong legs scissored gracefully beneath her tight leather skirt, heels clopping sharply upon the glass tile floor. There was a low black coffee table in the center of the room, and upon this sat a video camera and a tiny red velvet model of a recliner. She rested the back of her fist upon the table and unfurled her fingers.

From her palm stepped a tiny little man, only a few inches in height, dressed in an austere, tailored black shirt and jeans. His bare feet padded on the shiny tabletop and he perched himself obediently into the little chair. Dancing lightly around the table, Rosann turned the camera on, picked up a remote and turned a widescreen TV on, and then studied this as she adjusted the camera to focus on the tiny man in the chair. He filled the screen: his head turned as he looked at himself on the TV. Rosann frowned, then turned the chair to face the TV, fixing the camera before it.

“Do I look okay?” he called up to the woman who owned him. “I don’t want to be too… pretentious? I guess? Should I have gone with the cinnamon shirt and blue jeans?” He had to crane his head back to look up at her.

She straightened up and towered over him, in her fuzzy pink sweater and short black skirt. He could look up it, and he did, watching her full thighs disappearing into the shadows. “We’d look a little too much alike if you did that, maybe,” she murmured to him. “He might take that the wrong way, like we’re trying to send him a message. You look good like this, just let it go.” She smirked at him, deep red lips canting cutely to one side. “Be natural, Ulysses. You’re charming and likable. Okay? I’ll be back in two hours.” Without waiting for his response, she strode to the TV and carefully turned it around to face the large bay windows behind it. The entire condo was sided in tall, broad windows, covered in orange drapes, two of which she tugged aside, displaying the TV and the tiny, seated man on it, to the world outside.

Rather than the world, the windows exposed the middle third of an enormous man’s face: finely turned nostrils gusted a light mist over the windows, and coarse speckles of closely trimmed whiskers nonetheless stood out against the pale upper lip. Rosann inhaled slowly, pushing her chest out beneath her fuzzy sweater; Ulysses only squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, then immediately wondered how that looked on the widescreen TV.

The giant’s voice was a growling thunder that rattled the windows, even at what he must’ve thought was a low volume. “Step to the balcony, Rosann,” he said curtly. His inflection was flat: this was not a request or a discussion. The Latina simpered once at the tiny man in the chair, blowing him a kiss and waggling her fingertips at him, before cliip-clopping sharply to the curtains by the kitchen. These she parted, exposing double doors, that she pushed open and left through. She disappeared behind the orange curtains, reappearing in the exposed window beside the TV, left open so Ulysses could see the giant, while the giant peered at him on the screen.

The vast lips outside the condo spread, curled up, exposed massive gleaming teeth. “Don’t you look foxy,” the giant whispered. “Warin—you remember Warin?—is looking forward to having you visit his little discotheque, I believe you call it. He does like his collection of little people.” A gross, glistening mass of warty reddish-pink flesh swiped past the bay window, sliding over the huge teeth. “Whereas you are the only one I desire, Rosann.”

She said something Ulysses couldn’t make out, then she wiggled her large round butt at the gigantic face and laughed. The tiny man saw an ungodly huge fingernail nearly dominate the window: the giant very gently pinched the woman on her belly and her spine, and those sculpted Latina legs lifted off the ground swiftly and decisively, heels clopping upon this floor no more this night.

The giant’s face turned away from the windows. Ulysses saw a tremendous waterfall of wavy, sandy hair (not unlike his own, but for the exponentially greater mass) rotate ponderously into view, then recede into the darkness of the world beyond. The tiny man could not leap down from the coffee table and sprint across the living room in time to witness the activity, but his giantess Rosann had shown him the world outside before: it was nothing more than this giant’s own study. Far off at impossible distances, vast golden bookshelves rose up from the imperceptible ground far into the heavens. Ulysses knew that Rosann’s condominium sat on one of these shelves, all her modern conveniences powered by a personal power plant. All of this, the giant had lifted carefully from Rosann’s home world and transported to his own incomprehensible mansion. Ulysses had never seen any other rooms in this building, and he had never heard an indication of what the world itself might look like. It could have been like Earth, for all he knew, the world he and Rosann shared in common.

Though if he’d known at the time that he’d be kidnapped to this alternate reality, he might never have come out of hiding and presented himself to the beautiful giantess in the large house he scavenged from. He might have stayed in the small grove outside her home, which to him had already been a gargantuan jungle of epic proportions. This just showed that he hadn’t seen anything yet.

Conversation in the study rumbled and pounded like gods tearing up mountains and letting them tumble from their hands for mild amusement. When the giant returned slowly to the condo windows, he was alone. And he wasn’t smiling.

“So this is Ulysses,” he said. The profound bass of his voice rattled the structure of Rosann’s home. The giant had the wherewithal to lower his volume. “You are my pet’s pet.”

“I suppose so,” said the tiny man.

“Louder,” said the giant, impatiently.

Ulysses sprang from the chair and knelt upon the volume button of his giantess’s remote control. He took his seat and repeated himself, and the massive head nodded. “You’re like a flea upon a cat I would own,” he added.

The tiny man wanted to protest this but wasn’t feeling confident about getting into it with the god of his giantess. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully.

The giant’s lips were well-formed and thick, and they parted. “Has Rosann told you my name?” The floor lamps in the condo glinted off incisors the size of Rosann’s refrigerator.

“She said your name is Bl−”

“My name is Blacwin. Tonight, the wretched flea such as yourself is granted permission to address me as such.” The huge lips turned down. “I will not hear of you referring to me after this night.”

The tiny man in the center of the coffee table shifted uncomfortably. “All right, she told me you might be like this. I’m not a disgusting flea or whatever, Blacwin. My name’s Ulysses, and man to man, tonight, please call me that.”

The huge face faded into darkness, and an enormous fingertip came into view. It was crowned with a thick but well-trimmed fingernail, and it pressed against the glass beside the TV for just a moment before the window buckled and shattered. The fingertip tore down some curtains as it pushed into the room with absolutely no resistance.

“She said you might pull this, too. Blacwin, if anything happens to me, Rosann will be furious with you.” The tiny man leaned forward slightly and frowned at the huge video camera before him. “You know she’ll be pissed at you, and you know she’ll be very hurt. It’s clear how you feel about me, but I know you don’t want to see her sad face.”

The fingertip drifted to a halt, wavered, then retreated from the condo. Ulysses placed a thoughtful palm over his nose and mouth, to permit his terrified, full-bodied sigh to escape without any visual cues. Slowly, like a monster from the depths of the ocean, Blacwin’s face returned to view.

Ulysses made a show of raising a palm toward the camera. “Just a little further back than you were before, please. I can’t read the full range of your expressions in your upper lip.”

The nostrils outside snorted, the lips curled, and Blacwin stood far enough away that Ulysses could see most of his face. The giant raised his eyebrows questioningly; the tiny man nodded regally.

“I dislike you tremendously,” said Blacwin.

Ulysses shrugged. “You can’t. You don’t know anything about me. Rosann only mentioned me to you by accident when you were being a little rough with her.”

“Did she tell you about that?”

“I was there, trust me.”

Blacwin frowned. “I dislike the fact of you… Ulysses. I would have been much happier to never learn of your existence. The thought that there could be dozens of you on her world−”

“Several hundred thousand,” Ulysses muttered, “in her state alone.”

“The thought is repellent. It makes me itchy.” The giant’s face swayed in the space outside. “That such a beautiful little specimen as her could be crawling, festering with you filthy, degenerate parasites is worse than a violation, worse than defiling.”

“Whatever, kidnapper. She was plenty happy before she met you.”

“What did you say to me?”

“You’re a fucking thief,” Ulysses shouted at the camera. He heard his voice echo from the TV into the void. “You’re a large, selfish child that rapes other worlds for your passing amusement.”

“It seems you’re feeling your oats now, fragmentary flea.” A gigantic smirk tugged itself unpleasantly across his face. “Take your liberties while you may. I’ll think nothing of destroying this building, which was my gift to Rosann, and I’ll present an even nicer one to her by way of apology.”

Cold water ran down Ulysses’s spine, but he laughed at the camera. “That’s astounding, that a little woman like her could pussy-whip a great, gross beast like you. Do you ever think about that? You can’t even put any part of you inside her−”

“Watch your language, gnat,” growled the giant.

Ulysses mugged a conciliatory expression for the TV’s benefit. “Quite right. No reason to be crude. So, what do you want to happen tonight?”

There was a slight pause. “Rosann insisted that I talk with you.”

UIysses did not bother to hide the twinkle in his eye at that. “And? We’re talking. Where is this supposed to go?”

“I have no idea. I’d love nothing better than to destroy this house, this bookshelf, and anything else I suspect you could have contaminated with your breath.”

“But you can’t. We have to have a conversation, like functional adults.”

Blacwin’s vast face grimaced. “That’s some hubris.”

Ulysses was slightly surprised. “Comparing myself a god?”

“Comparing yourself to an adult.”

The tiny man inhaled deeply, and the giant grinned to see this on the screen. “You’re not really selling yourself right now, Blacwin. You’re good-looking, but you’re incredibly rude and pretentious. The only thing you have going for you is your sheer physical force. If Rosann knew how to leave your mansion and get back to her world, she would.” Ulysses leaned back in the velvet recliner. “And she’d bring me with her. Not you, oaf.”

Blacwin sniffed. “She would not. She adores me, and she has stated repeatedly how marvelous this world is, compared with her own. That she wastes a single thought in her day upon one such as you is the only blemish to her otherwise impeccable taste.”

Ulysses rolled his eyes. “We can do this all day, Blacwin, but if she comes back and we’re not reconciled, she’s not going to think very much of you. You’re, uh, supposed to be the bigger person here.”

The giant attempted to swallow a short laugh. “I don’t like you and I don’t have to like you.”

“No, you don’t have to like me, but you’re being a little ignorant. You know nothing about me, and if you respect Rosann’s opinion at all, I’d think you’d have a little more curiosity than you’re showing.”

“Curiosity for a diseased fleck of worm feces?”

Ulysses only glared tiredly at the camera, and he let the silence play itself out.

“Very well.” The giant’s eyes looked to the side, then back at the condo. “I want you gone.”

“Rosann would miss me.”

“What do you think she sees in you?”

“I tell her jokes. I keep her company when you’re not around.”

“And you pollute her sexuality.”

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“She’s my lover.”

Ulysses counted off on his fingers. “First of all, she’s your pet. I hear everything, that’s what you call her. Not your girlfriend, not your lover, just a possession you picked up somewhere. Secondly, I’m not looking to brag about my sexual conquests with my giantess, and I damn sure don’t want to hear about yours. Thirdly, it’s not even physically possible for you to have sex with her. You can’t fit inside her anywhere.” The tiny man grimaced. “If anything, it’d be massive blunt force trauma over her entire body. Like getting hit with a bus.”

Blacwin smoothed his hair roughly with one hand. “Actually, my darling Rosann has been quite imaginative in this respect. Resourceful. Not that you need to know, but she can wrap her arms and legs around my member handily, and exert enough pressure to−”

“That’s more than enough.” Ulysses waved his hands as though warding off someone else’s fart.

Blacwin laughed, a churning, groaning chuckle.

“What’s so funny there, big guy?”

“I just realized: if you were anywhere on her person while she was pleasuring me,” the giant grinned toothily, “you were in all likelihood pressed against my own… staff of power.”

The tiny man knew for a fact that this had transpired: his giantess found a certain thrill in depositing her tiny man into her own vagina before going out to meet her gigantic lover. Ulysses was grateful she had never shared this information with the giant, at least, and tried to take some comfort that he shared a level of intimacy with Rosann that she did not afford her captor.

“As a matter of fact, if she took you into hand while she straddled my…” The giant paused, then grinned with much malevolence as he slowly pronounced “cock, and if I were to simply pinch the head of my cock…”

Ulysses closed his eyes and frowned deeply. “Not interested in this.”

“And open my urethra, then all she would have to do…”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up.”

“…Is drop you inside,” Blacwin was laughing harder, “and you’d never be heard from again. Can you imagine that?” He stepped forward and leaned his leering visage toward the condominium on his shelf. “The opening of my urethra would look like a yawning chasm to you, wouldn’t it? All in pleasant hues of rose and salmon, even. If I bothered to do the math, I could figure out how far you would fall, from your contemptible perspective, into the mere slit of my urethra before you became plastered against the lining of my tissues.”

Ulysses looked around: his comfortable Japanese miniature recliner, the enormous TV remote, and the video camera glaring at him like a large, confused robot were the only objects on the black, glassy plateau of the coffee table. There was nowhere to go, nothing to throw at the perverted giant outside the condo.

“And then no one would ever hear from you again!” Blacwin’s eyes were merry. His fingertips rubbed his jaw. “You would languish in the tip of my cock, Ulysses, maybe starving to death, maybe asphyxiating, and you’d be lost to the world… until I had to urinate.” The giant raised an eyebrow. “Or until I came all over my darling pet, in the manner she has come to relish.”

The tiny man drew a long breath, staring steadily at the shiny camera lens. “That’s all you have, you know. You have size and the strength that comes with it, and you can use that to physically abuse anyone or anything you don’t like.”

Blacwin looked pleased with himself.

“But you’re not smart, you’re not charming, you’re entirely amoral and thoughtless, and you don’t have a me-sized fragment of kindness or decency in your entire steaming, stinking, putrid being.”

The giant’s brow furrowed slightly.

“And that’s that. Do you see the imbalance? You can destroy anything you don’t like, you can punish and smite, but there is nothing in you that makes people want to like you or be around you.” Ulysses’s palms sweated into the velvet armrests. “You’re just a huge, stupid bully, and if Rosann could leave you, she would. She’s terrified of you−”

“You have no right to presume upon our relationship, you fucking germ.” Blacwin only folded his arms across his chest. Ulysses noted that he was wearing a gold-trimmed velvet number, not unlike some late-Renaissance European lord or something. Was that the kind of world they were in? Or was that just his affectation?

“Okay, you’re right. I’m out of turn, talking about things I don’t know about.” Ulysses made a show of relaxing in his chair. “That’s something you’d do. I’m above this, and I’m sorry I lowered myself just to lash out at you.” He turned his palms up. “But that’s all I have: words. I can’t force Rosann to do anything. I can’t bully her, scream at her until her ears bleed, or shatter her limbs with my finger until she follows my orders.”

Blacwin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t. I would never.”

Ulysses shrugged. “But you could. I’m sure you’ve thought about it. Don’t insult me with pretending you haven’t. You know nothing about me, but I know all about you.”

“Then you know I have only showered Rosann in adoration and gifts.”

“And spooge, like you just said.”

“Don’t be foul.”

“Your words, not mine, asshole.”

“Are you suggesting you don’t achieve orgasm on your goddess’s body? Something smaller than a droplet of dew upon her foot? Soiling the jam between her toes? Lost immediately within the folds of her labia?”

The tiny man squared his shoulders. “Is that what you think about when you’re palming her against your cock? Do you think about where on her I might have been?”

“You are, I assure you, the furthest thing from my mind in our moments of intimacy.” Blacwin puffed out his chest and stretched up to an even more impressive height. “The sum and whole of my imagination is consumed entirely with my little lady.”

“Then don’t waste too much energy guessing at things you know nothing about.”

Blacwin opened his mouth but said nothing for a moment. He tilted his elegant head back. “Very well. I apologize for my momentary intellectual dishonesty.”

Ulysses tilted his head likewise. “And hypocrisy.”

The corner of Blacwin’s mouth twitched, but he only nodded.

“All right. That’s something.” Ulysses looked around the gigantic condo. “Christ, has it been an hour yet…”

Blacwin also looked around his colossal room. “This does seem to be going on forever.”

“Why did she want you to talk with me so badly, anyway?”

“Like I said. I despise the fact of you.”

“And she thought that talking to me would, I dunno, reveal something to you to make you like me?”

“Improbably, yes.”

“Well, I’m not very taken with you, and I’m sure I haven’t swayed your opinion of me.”

“Not true. Before this conversation, you were an abstract offense.” Blacwin tugged at the labels of his crimson jacket. “Now I have some very specific points of data with which to despise you on an intensely personal level.”

“Hurr-hurr-hurr.” Ulysses pulled a face at the huge lens. “That’s absolutely not true. But I’ll grant you that it’s fucking annoying we’re both sharing the same woman. I loved her first, and she chose me, and then you kidnapped her and she has to play your disgusting, perverted game just to stay alive. To keep us both alive.”

“If you were at least honest with yourself, you would see that she does in fact adore me.” Blacwin’s face was serious, but his eyes were not angry or cruel for once. “I’m honored by her attention. She is delighted to see me because I treat her so well, with such adoration and affection. We truly do enjoy each other’s company. I’m not like Warin,” the giant said, waving his hand dismissively over his shoulder, “collecting tiny little people indiscriminately, just to pit them against each other in a small household and film it for entertainment.”

“Is that what goes on?” Ulysses leaned forward in his chair, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. “Do a lot of you giants just go around collecting tiny people?”

“A few others, at most. It’s not a very interesting pastime, to be perfectly honest.” Blacwin absently licked his bottom lip. “I fell in love with Rosann the moment I saw her, but I have no desire to summon any more of her kind to my household.”

“And you didn’t even know my kind existed.”

“There’s quite a lot I don’t care to know about Rosann’s world. Let us say: nearly everything.”

“So why do you like her?”

“It should be obvious, even to one as wee and wretched as yourself. She’s beautiful, quite lovely. The thought that I could simply reach out and pluck her up from her world, own her, keep her… It was too irresistible!” Blacwin smiled gently. “A beautiful little woman, impossibly small like that, all to myself. Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s real. She’s just a remarkable little woman.”

Ulysses studied the giant’s expressions through the window, then turned to the camera. “Well, I do feel the same way. I was living in the grass outside of her house, in my little colony, and I kept noticing her walking around. Doing yard work, coming back from groceries, whatever. I’d just look up and there was this… glorious goddess, striding around, imperious and proud. But casually so, you know?” He smiled. “She didn’t know I even existed, and she was just being this glorious naturally, casually. Without even trying. I… I fell in love with her the instant I saw her.”

“How did you make yourself known to her?”

Ulysses chuckled. “It wasn’t easy. I’d set a fire, but it’d go out before she noticed. I tried to arrange pebbles and sticks to spell out a message, but she assumed the neighbor kids were messing with her. Eventually I had to throw caution to the wind and present myself to the giantess. I had to put myself out there, vulnerable and exposed, and trust in her.”

The giant’s eyes were penetrating. “And it worked, obviously, she didn’t stomp you into oblivion. What was her reaction?”

“Well, she, uh…” Ulysses looked away from the camera, reliving the day. “She was scared. I mean, first she was curious, she thought I was just a little toy on a piece of paper, something left behind by one of the kids. Then when she knelt down and really looked at me, and I moved, that scared her.”

Blacwin laughed very quietly, behind a loose fist. “No. You?”

“She wasn’t expecting it. Her people don’t know about my people, mostly. This was her first encounter.”

“Why did she not destroy you right there and then?”

“You know, I don’t even know. She could have easily. Most of her kind do that without even thinking about it.” A warmth spread throughout the tiny man’s chest. “But she looked at me like… there was affection in her eyes. Her eyes lit up like a child looking at a surprise.” He faltered. “I’m not describing this well. She just seemed delighted, looking at tiny little me and smiling like she’d never stop. She carefully scooped me up into her hands, and at that moment I knew I’d never go back to my tribe again.”

Slowly Blacwin nodded. “I experienced the same thing when I saw her. I know exactly what she was feeling.”

This startled Ulysses, visibly. “Yeah, uh… I guess you would.” He turned from the lens to look at the huge, gray eye staring at the TV, then twitching and looking back at him. The tiny man was fascinated to watch the large iris flexing, dilating, constricting slightly. It was rather mesmerizing, and Ulysses was uncomfortable with his unbidden urge to walk over to the balcony and stand before the tremendous eye.

“She wanted you the same way I wanted her.”

“Yeah, I get it.” The giant’s dimness diminished the spell for Ulysses and he began to relax.

“So if you’re mad at me for kidnapping her, you have to be just as mad at her for kidnapping you.”

Ulysses wanted to cock off with a retort, but now it didn’t feel right. “And I don’t hate her at all for that. I love her for it, I love being hers.”

Blacwin’s voice was surprisingly soft. “Then can you suppose at all she may love being mine?”

The words made Ulysses’s heart twinge. As much as he hated this arrogant giant, on principle, his reasoning stood solidly. Was it possible that Rosann looked up into his handsome, classical face, felt the heady rush of a tremendous, otherworldly being looming so close to her, and wanted to be with him? Still his head struggled: “Yeah, but I saw her and presented myself to her. She wasn’t aware of you. You came out of nowhere and took her away.”

The giant’s face pulled back and Ulysses could an absolute solemnity in his features. “I promise you, Ulysses, I would never have taken her from her world had she not seemed pleased with me. I would never have caused her panic or fear or sorrow by stealing her against her will.”

This was harder for the little man to fight against. Rosann had never told him about any large remorse with existing in Blacwin’s mansion. Small regrets, being torn away from her habits like running out to a movie or going to a restaurant with friends. She should have missed her friends more, but instead she sometimes confided in Ulysses about the tenderer moments she spent with the enormous giant. A nice walk in the park, perched on his shoulder, or sailing in a model boat in his fountain. He was happy for his giantess, that she was happy, but…

“You can give her a lot of things I can’t,” he blurted at the camera. “There are many times I wish I were large enough to give her a nice, tight hug. Or that I were just big enough for her to hug, when she’s feeling lonely or … whatever. She can hug your little finger, though, as tight as she wants and she won’t hurt you.”

Blacwin nodded. “And, you know, you will never hurt her. You might lash out at her with your prized arsenal of words, but no matter how you punch at her, kick at her toes I suppose, you’ll never do an ounce of harm. If you should roll over in your sleep, for example, you wouldn’t accidentally…” The giant declined to complete the thought. “And you may find yourself surrounded by her love. I can show her a tender finger, or more intimate gestures, like a kiss… but I must be so cautious. I’ve never had to practice such consummate delicacy before, and it’s so hard when my urges…” Perhaps some color came to the giant’s huge cheeks.

Ulysses was surprised at what he was hearing. “Well, you can’t be jealous of me, you know. I’m not lessening what you have with Rosann. I’m not. I have my world with her, or rather, she is my world. And…” He looked out the window, swallowing the pain in his heart. “And you’re her world. You are.”

The giant drew a long breath through his nostrils, then sighed. “You’re her world too, you insignificant little speck. She speaks with me quite dreamily about  some of the tenderer moments you share. Nothing crass, nothing personal, but I have to sit there very patiently and listen to her tell me about you. I’d love nothing better than to sweep her away like so much bread crumbs when she gets like this.” Blacwin grinned. “But I do have to admit, she looks quite lovely when she speaks of you.”

Ulysses let that sink in, then slumped in his recliner. “Well, fuck. Is this where we admit how wonderful each other are?”

Blacwin didn’t look any happier about the prospect. “Let us suppose we, instead, allow each others’ existence to be,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “somewhat less offensive than previously considered.”

The tiny man laughed slightly. “That’s quite generous of you, my lord.”

Blacwin’s eyes opened wide. “What? Did she tell you she calls me that?”

Ulysses sat bolt upright. “No, I just… She calls you that? Seriously?”

Blacwin nodded. “What does she call you?”

“Uh-uh. I’ll lord that little secret over your head a bit longer. You can ask her if you like, but I’ll ask her not to share it. Doesn’t mean she won’t, of course.”

The giant straightened up and chuckled. “No, milady does whatever she damned well pleases.”

The tiny man felt this was a good time to press his luck. “I don’t suppose you have anything decent to drink out there, do you?”

Blacwin’s huge gray eye swiftly loomed right outside the balcony once more. “My cellar is stocked with excellent vintage, but…” His giant throat cleared like a subtle explosion. “If you’re at all adventurous, I’m pardonably proud of the beer I brew.”

And so they killed the rest of the evening until their owner interrupted them.

9 thoughts on “The Giant, His Prize, and Her Lover

  1. Oh, this is brilliant. I like how the characterization slowly unfolds in unpredictable ways. I’m glad you didn’t let Ulysses’s distaste impede the cock talk. I’m afraid I’m going to make a request for further adventures in this setting.

    You categorized it as an “exercise.” What sort? I wonder if any of our female authors would be up for describing a similar tete-a-tete with the genders inverted. I’d love to see how it differed (and how it was similar).

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You, making a request! I have reached a new stratum!

      This story was a challenge for me to write about something I’m not at all into. Beloved Undersquid wrote a similar piece after a conversation in which I deliberately appealed to her creative writer’s instinct, despite her lack of interest (bordering repugnance) regarding tiny women. She was compelled to write out a short story (I’m stunned it’s going to be a series) about having a tiny woman in her possession.

      And to be fair, I had to do the same. No way was I going to strand her on that distasteful island without company. So… well, actually, I had thought of this story being considerably more lurid than it turned out. She tossed me a softball in granting me a woman intermediary between the tiny, helpless man and the gigantic cad, and I leaned on it. The story went in its own direction, I veered slightly into a disgusting (for me) area, and then the story turned out to be something interesting after all.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. All these challenges and contests—you all sound like a pack of bravoes strutting about the piazza in Milan. I don’t think I could ever ask anyone to create anything outside of their comfort zone, primarily because I want to rely on their innate enthusiasm. If thinking about Blacwin and his kind turns your stomach, please feel free to consider my request withdrawn.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Of course there’s an advantage to playing upon one’s strengths, but I don’t feel I would grow as a writer by overly developing one arm at the expense of my body. The death of the writer is to stick to what they’re good at and pave a nice, complacent, featureless path to the grave. I’ve enjoyed earlier novels by authors who later continued to move no further than their strengths, and their later work was fucking boring. Other writers are free to select that path, but that’s not what I want to happen to me.

      Sure, it’s uncomfortable to write about some of these topics, but I still have very clear boundaries that I don’t violate, and within that is plenty of room to explore. I don’t think I’ll suffer as a writer because I will never conjecture upon pedophilia, and maybe I’m losing some revenue by not attempting Furry erotica, but I’m fine with that. I couldn’t do it believably, my heart would definitely not be in it, and nobody at all would enjoy it except the most craven and desperate, inasmuch as they ever know “joy.”

      I’m not sexually attracted to men and I don’t wish to witness their proclivities, but I stepped outside of myself to create a giant who momentarily taunted a minuscule speck of a man with sexual violation. I felt I could do that within the span of a short story. It did not provide me an erection, and I’m not attempting to break into the gay literature market, but I think it worked. I projected myself on both sides of that conversation, trying to see it with their perspectives and emotions. It would be simplistic and inconsiderate to say, “Then maybe you’re actually secretly gay and this is something you should explore.” No, I’m just trying to be a good writer.

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    2. We strut. We strut all day long, and we’re fabulous at it. The thing about it is that we don’t ask to create stories. It isn’t like that at all. It’s never a “Can you PLEEEEEEASE write 500 words about fish and chips?”. We cast the line, we throw the lure, and when you hear a friend say something like, “Hm, because of this other thing we’re talking about, I wonder what it would be like if you were in this situation”, you can’t help but see the situation, and what you’d do with it.

      The most important thing about all this for me, is discovering I can tell a story about something I previously believed had absolutely no stories at all. As Aborigen said: exploring.

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  3. And so we return to the question of who you’re writing for (if indeed we ever left it). You’re not aiming at the (male) gay literature market, but it does seem like you’re aiming for some market, whether erotica or some other genre. Yes, stretching your imagination and adopting different perspectives are good for any writer, amateur or professional. Aside from doing right by Undersquid, however, who would you prefer read and enjoy (with whatever part of their anatomy) this piece?

    I haven’t investigated any guidelines you might have established regarding what you will and will not write for commission, but I don’t doubt you’ve thought them through. Would you be more likely to stretch your comfort zone for pay or (as I interpret this particular case) for honor?

    I hope these questions don’t seem flippant. I’m trying to answer them for myself, as well.

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    1. Huh. Well, that’s a good point. I can say that I did not write this piece for potential sale (I will take some of my other, more popular series, revise/rewrite them substantially, and attempt to market them). It was a writing challenge between me and Undersquid, but I did compose it and post it publicly on my blog, even though it steps out of my sphere of interest for reading material.

      As for the audience, well, it seems to be pretty diverse (from what I overhear by accident or on the few occasions someone comments upon my work on GW). I wrote “Fleurette,” a Vore piece in which a man consumes a tiny woman, based on an idea from another friend. People who said they weren’t into giants or weren’t into Vore stated they still enjoyed this story because of how it was told. “Written on the Heart” is one of my more gruesome G/t stories, but some people who are averse to violence said they pushed through because they appreciated the writing. It seems to come up that people will comment “I’m not into the topic but I like how you handled it,” so I suppose my desired audience is people who are into gigantic women or shrunken men, who are into playful, aggressive sexual posturing between these, but who are also patient enough to accompany me when I want to try something new. Like, “I’m not gay, but today I’m going to write about a giant inserting a tiny little man into his urethra.” It’s just like I’ve thought of something, a scene that has to be played out, and at this point… I’m probably putting some followers off. There’s probably a contingent that just wants to hear about tiny men constricted in tremendous female orifices, and they’re probably growing impatient with me if they haven’t left already, but there’s also a group of readers who likes following my wandering ideas and the way I express them. Obviously that’s a difficult target audience to start out with: you have to just crank out a ton of writing and trust that people will find you.

      I wonder if any of my followers feel actively deceived.

      I think my work, currently, sits in a few Venn circles: erotica, sci-fi, speculative fiction, size-fetish, romance. A few people from each group may find something palatable in my oeuvre.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I don’t know if I’ll ever exercise myself to write anything much outside what arouses me, and it’s silly for me to expect readers to read anything much beyond what arouses them. I’m not getting paid for this, and although I truly appreciate those who follow my work, I’m probably not going to start taking requests.

        Since I started writing and reviewing size fantasy fiction, however, the definition of “what arouses me” has evolved. Not tremendously, but noticeably. This is mostly due to the influence of work by talented writers in the scene, some of whom I would never have discovered or appreciated had I not “pushed through.” It’s the same as with any cultural enterprise, but people tend not to regard their tastes in porn as something to be cultivated. And so we remain in the puddles where we started out.

        I can’t judge anyone else, but I think if there is ever to be a size fantasy aesthetic, if we are ever to create and promote an appreciation of writerly craft in the service of smut, more of us will have to feel freer to take on different perspectives, sub-genres, and scenarios without issuing disclaimers or worrying about disappointing followers.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You know what I always say: Fuck your readers. Fuck your fans. Fuck your followers. Always do what you want. If even one of them writes to you to tell you they are unsubscribing from your blog because of the way you are writing now, would you consider changing your approach to how you’re evolving? Of course not! But it’s inevitable to wonder. I do it too, but just like you, I’m going to follow my path and write about what I love, no matter who tells me they will no longer read my blog.

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