Writing Exercise: A Terrible Thing To Do

Take one of the longer narratives you wrote (Again and Again and Again), and cut it by half (600 words).

Aaron lounged on the couch cushion, spreading so far in every direction, and stared slack-jawed at the television, mounted so high on the wall.

A grandfather was trolling with his grandson, sun shining on their shoulders, insects drifting about like motes in sunlight. Abruptly the reel buzzed, and the boy splashed in excitement as his grandfather hauled in a large, glistening trout. The boy’s dismay was a bit overdone, Aaron thought, when the old man dumped it back into the lazy river.

That’s what we call a catch-and-release, grinned the old man, someday you’ll understand.

Tiny Aaron made gagging noises and crawled over to the huge remote, putting both shoulders into punching the power button. “Oh, you’ll see, one day,” he called out mockingly. “At some unknown point in the future, trust me, you’ll be smart enough to get it!”

He found himself very amusing. Tracy didn’t, always, but she wasn’t home so−

The giantess’s keys jangled against the deadbolt, and daylight streamed into the living room as she hustled inside, laden with grocery bags. “You’ll never believe what I found today,” she called to him.

Before Aaron could ask, however, she roared up to the coffee table like a huge, sexy tornado and plonked down a clear glass bowl. Normally the tiny guy would be occupied with trying to peer up his owner/girlfriend’s characteristically short skirt, but what was in the bowl seized his attention.

“Tinies!” Tracy sang. “They were on sale.”

“What do you need Tinies for? You have me.” Aaron slowly rose to his feet and walked to the edge of the couch cushion, right next to Tracy’s knee. “And you’re way over the legal limit with these. I know they’re cute, but…” Actually, they weren’t. A few were sobbing in terror, a couple looked drugged, and one had been patched together with spare parts.

“Hey, feral Tinies need love too, you know.” His giantess’s butt plummeted, spreading to stretch her tight skirt and plowing deep into the couch beside him. “Right, little guy?” So saying, she plucked up the broken one and gently slipped him between her thighs. “There you go, find your way around. You’ll figure it out.” She slowly ground her hips into the couch, biting her lower lip, and then her massive thighs bulged with terrific power and closed.

Aaron’s skin went prickly with heat. “Kind of you to usher that one out in your loving embrace,” he growled, “but you’re still one over the limit. Who goes next?”

His second-to-last look at his giantess’s face was of her flat neutrality as she checked to see exactly where he was, in the instant before her palm descended upon him. More than the wind knocked out of him, his shock silenced him as she dropped him into a small box, taped it shut, and drove him out to the countryside.

“Don’t do this, you can’t do this,” he pleaded with her, screaming through the corrugated cardboard.

“Tracy, talk to me, what’s going on? What happened?” he cried, tumbling until the motor cut and he heard the doors open.

He only shouted, falling through space, landing on dried pine needles between her huge sandaled feet. “Please, Tracy! I’ve worked on myself so much to please you!” Aaron stumbled over the needles, hugging his girlfriend’s big toe. “You said I was getting better, you said I was a catch!”

He couldn’t even see her face, staring up the vast logs of her thighs where they disappeared into her skirt. “Yeah, catch-and-release,” he heard her snort before she kicked him free and thundered back to the car.

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

One thought on “Writing Exercise: A Terrible Thing To Do

  1. OK. Look. I know I’m not supposed to feel any sympathy for Aaron. It all starts with his “slack-jawed” staring at the TV, and continues with what appear to be flashes of annoying behavior. I know I’m to understand Tracy has tried to make a go of it, and has finally found Aaron’s presence unbearable. Still… he’s a tiny man. The only logical conclusion is that any woman would be only too delighted to find one of them in her possession. But what do I know? Maybe he’s a serial killer.

    The only flash of dislike I felt for Aaron was when he felt his skin go “prickly with heat” at the moment Tracy used her thighs on the broken little man, thus killing him. Did Aaron feel that “heat” because that death excited him? Or because he was jealous of the now-dead little man? Either way, Tracy’s attitude compels a greater dislike. I don’t care if that’s how “things are” in that world. If you buy a broken guy, try to fix him, try everything under the sun until that bitty person regains his health.

    I know. I know what you’re thinking. It’s just a writing exercise, and dear goddess, they’re not real people, and what am I getting so worked up about? Well, that’s the emotional response your stories elicit, and well warranted, at that. Despite the fact that Aaron seems “untrainable”, and the fact that releasing him into the wild is a far better? future than crushing him instantly and doing away with him that way, I’m inclined to think something else might have been done.

    But I suppose that storyline is best left to the future imaginings of fanfic writers.

    Liked by 1 person

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