Tom

Giantess-Themed Origami

Yup, you read correctly. Today I present to you some origami I came across a while back with a giantess (well, shrunken man) theme. I discovered this book online back in 2005 and bought it right away. It then sat on my shelf for four years before I came across it the other day while packing for a house move. I thought it only proper to share my discovery with the giantess community.

There are two models detailed below, both taken from the book Origami to Astonish and Amuse by Jeremy Shafer. Be sure to let me know if you successfully put either of them together. They look far beyond my capabilities!

Be sure to read the author’s comments about the models. If there’s not a touch of the giantess fetish in there, then my name’s Coco the Clown.

The Manswatter – a flyswatter for small men

The Unfortunate Suitor – a tiny man squashed on the sole of a high-heeled shoe

Seattle PI Comic

This was yesterday’s comic on the Seattle PI news site:

The Reality Paradox

The giantess / shrunken man fetish is rooted deeply in fantasy. To the disgruntlement of thousands of men, who feel in their heart of hearts that they either belong in the presence of a woman many many times larger than them, and to the disappointment of the women who would love nothing less than a tiny man-creature to hold in the palm of their hand, it is unlikely to the point of hopelessness that these fantasies will ever come to fruition in any real, tangible sense.

Putting the freezing cold bucket of aside for moment, however, a thing I find interesting when reflecting on the workings of my mind, a I often do, is the fact that, while I enjoy exploring the vast cornucopia of possibilities that the world of these fantastic offers, if I ever think about it as becoming real – actually really real, my mind gets pulled in all manner of directions:

Pros: OMG WTF LOL! It would be real! I would finally be the teeny pet of a strict but loving, malevolently playful but really utterly adoring Goddess of a woman.

Cons: Oh no, I’m now tiny in a very dangerous world. I now have to find a way of managing the elements of reality that I never allow into my fantasy world – microwaves, insects and other bugs, animals and normal-sized men. Also then there’s the whole issue with no longer being in control of my own life. And the part of me that rallies against any kind of authority. And the male ego… etc.

I like to think that, could I find some way of making those ‘cons’ go away, I’d have the most wonderful life as some delightful woman’s toy. To do this I’d need to get her agreement that she never takes me anywhere near a microwave, as I can’t think of anything scarier for a little guy than being boiled alive from the inside! Next, we’d need some agreement that, by whatever means are necessary, she would keep all the nasty, ugly ugly bugs away from me. Be it by mosquito net, electic fly-exploder, or just her protective, bug-crushing foot, she musn’t let the things near me. Or animals, ideally, but they’re drastically less gross.

Next, normal-sized men. Well that’s simple, there must be no normal-sized men in that world. If this fantasy is to become an actual reality, why not make it the reality within which all men have been shrunk? Now I’ve spoken to a few women about the subject of this reality, and several of them have expressed dismay at the idea of no longer having any big, strapping men around for cuddles, rambunctiousness and general heavy-lifting. But these are the same women who’ve also agreed that shrinking all the men in the world would probably be a very good idea, when you take into account such factors as the world’s over-population and men’s propensity to war and violence. So I’m going with the latter of their opinions, because there’s no way that any tiny man should have to cope with a woman-sized man around!

Next it gets tricky – the psychological element. As much as I enjoy the idea of being tiny in this woman’s world, I know that, once the novelty was to wear off, I’d start to struggle with no longer having total control over my life. I wouldn’t be able to:

• Go out when I wanted.
• See friends without permission.
• Eat what I want.
• Storm out mid-argument.
• Win an argument.
• Bring up the courage to actually HAVE an argument!
• Sit at my PC for HOURS just watching stuff, browsing the web and playing poker.

…because I know that my life would become about what she felt was best for me, rather than what I felt was best for me. OK, so granted, chances are her opinion would be right, but where would be my freedom to be pigheadedly, stupidly male when I felt like it? I can just imagine refusing to go to bed, because I just want to finish watching something on my PC in one window while playing World of Warcraft in another, only for the familiar shadow of her foot to come looming threatening over my precious machine, making me to shutdown and follow her obediently to bed.

But then maybe that would be good for me. Maybe that kind of truly calm, wise and authorative powerful female presence would be the making of me. OK so I’d need broken in in many respects, and I’m sure that wouldn’t be a pleasant process for either of us, but maybe once I’d learned my place in her world my life would find new meaning and purpose. I’d no longer be wandering aimlessly in the world, but would have everything a little guy needs – love, security, food, nurture, sex, companionship, purpose, a means of fulfilling his potential, and a higher power to serve and be guided by.

So where do I sign up?

There’s a scenario I’ve spoken to a few women I’m close to about. I’ve asked them, imagine if there were a secret government role whereby you were given a shrinkray with the purpose of tracking down male criminals and disposing of them. This secret organisation would periodically provide you with a list of men who are known to be serial rapists, child-abusers or commiters of violent acts against women, and it would be your job to find them, shrink them and ‘take them out of circulation’ by whatever means you wished. Of the women I’ve asked, most of them said they would love to take on that role. They’d enjoy feeling that they were doing good in the world, removing these errant members of society, and getting paid for it. They would also take great satisfaction from the act of meting out the reprisals for the torture and pain these men have caused unto others too small and weak to defend themselves.

And I then make it clear that I’m not talking about a fantasy world here, but rather that they should imagine that this was actually on offer, in actual really real reality. Their answer is still the same.

I don’t really know what to do with that fact, but can’t deny that it makes the idea that much breathtaking.

The Importance of Womanness

I know this might sound like the utter epitomy of obvious, but the most important element in my fantasy world is women. I could be a couple of inches tall anywhere in the whole of the magnificence of creation, but if there isn’t a woman there (or let’s face it, the right woman) then I may as well just be at home watching TV, at work or on the bus. It’s not going to get my spine tingling.

Now I’m sure this is nature at work, ensuring that our species keeps on reproducing. Although in my case, the method by which my mind desires the reproductive act to take place bears no relation to the size of the physical forms I find myself in. More’s the pity. But still, nature is a marvellous and magical thing, and seems to have much more control over what I do and feel that I do!

What’s most exciting of all to me, and not just in a sexual way, is a woman’s mind. My fantasies are all well and good, but for me there is no greater joy to be experienced than to explain these ideas to a woman and watch her think them over, process them, evaluate them, and then find her own way of enjoying them, be it through humour, malevolence, or just a devilishly coquettish playful charm.

Of course, not every woman’s mind will comfortably hold these ideas. Many will be repulsed or confused by them, but I think an equal number will take at least some indulgent amusement or gratification from imagining being that creature of overwhelming power and all-seeing, all-knowing love. And when they do, I’m left speechless and breathless in their wake.

Woke Up This Morning…

…to an article on the BBC News site entitled “Crushed” with this as the article image:

It turned out that the article was nothing to do with giantesses or shrunken men, obviously, but it certainly got my heart pumping early on a Sunday morning!

Big Business

Oh how I wish I had the money to get some of these images in high resolution.

And my personal favourite…

With that last one, I guess it’s supposed to represent female empowerment in the business world. I find it interesting, however, that’s it’s represented by a woman crushing a man underfoot! I’m not sure if I should be excited by it’s connection to my personal fetish, or scared for my life!

Do I Want to Be Crushed?

That’s a really good question. Yes and no. Usually no, sometimes yes. Or vice versa, I’m not sure.

In the world as I like to think of it, I am a few inches in height and am in a relationship with / owned by a beautiful normal-sized woman. Now she’s not cruel. In fact she’s kind, loving, caring, maternal and warm. Yet in the world that we live in all men are my size, the killing of them by women is common practice, and in fact my woman will happily step on a man who gets in her way when she’s walking down the street, just as long as he’s not me. Should a group of men sneak into our home with nefarious purposes, maybe to threaten me, or maybe just on the hunt for food, they are going to meet their end beneath her feet. It is the natural order of things, and all men know the risks.

So does that mean that I don’t ever get crushed? Well no. Firstly her friends, and other women we come across in our day to day lives, are a constant threat to me. Secondly, one of the key things that underpins our relationship is the fact that she could flatten me if she chose to. I know she could, she knows she could, I know that she knows she could, and she knows that I know that she knows that she could. And that knowledge is there in the sparkle in her eyes, in the tone of voice she takes me with sometimes, and in the fact that I usually do as I’m told when she gives me instructions.

And her squashing me doesn’t just remain an empty threat. Sometimes she might bit a little hormonal, come home after a bad day and I might say the wrong thing to her. She turns to me with a glare on her face, narrows her eyes, pouts a little, then stamps her foot down on me with the force of all the irritation and frustration she’s feeling. If I wasn’t at that point a very thin paste beneath her shoe, I’d be able to see the smirk of satisfaction cross her face before she wanders away to eat some icecream, watch Sex In The City and do whatever other things girls usually do to give themselves a bit of comfort at that tricky time of the month.

Now I know what you’re thinking: surely I’m dead at this point. Does that not end my role in this fantasy world? Does that interaction not erase all the kindness and caring that was previously the backbone of our relationship? Well it would, were this not the world of fantasy. One of the glorious things about womankind in this world is that they are all empowered with dark, feminine magic. A crushed man doesn’t have to remain a crushed man if a woman wills it not to be so. With little more than a thought from her he can be reconstructed and reformed back into what he was immediately before she stomped him out of existence. And the magic is such that she decides whether he can remember being crushed. After all she might feel a little bad for punishing him quite so harshly, and at least if he has no recollection of what transpired, and in fact just feels as though he’s woken up a little fuzzy-headed and bleary-eyed, she can tell him off for falling asleep right where she’s likely to be walking. After all, does he WANT to be stepped on? Well he must do or he wouldn’t have fallen asleep in the middle of the carpet! No, if he wants to be squished like a bug, that can be arranged.

If for some reason the crushing is intended to be very punitive, she might weave the magic so that the little guy remains conscious after being crushed. As I say, it is a dark a mysterious magic than can keep a man’s mind conscious when he’s nothing more than a stain darkening his lady’s carpet. Also she might decide that he feel no pain as part of the crushing process, but merely that spending a little time flattened on the floor is just what’s needed to give him time to think about what he’s done. Or maybe she’ll drop the little guy into her shoe in the morning, then wear it, and him, while she goes about her business throughout the day. He’ll remain conscious beneath her foot all day long, feeling every footstep as she walks, experiencing the rise in temperature in her shoe, and even the moistness of her sweat as it becomes a part of him. If she so wishes, he might also experience the constant pain that such an ordeal would bring. Whatever her choice however, pity not the little man that is forced to endure these tortures, for her judgement is sound.

And other women might crush me too. Sure she’s protective over me, but if I start to get a little too cocky and act a little less than polite with her friends, sometimes I need to learn that that shield of protection only extends so far. Again she’ll bring me back again after.

And then sometimes I’ll just feel like provoking her. I might be in a belligerent mood and refuse to give her a straight answer to a simple question. After all, why shouldn’t I reassert my authority over my surroundings? She of course insists that I stop acting like such a little simpleton but I’m in no mood to back down. And even when she tells me I either stop playing up or things will turn unpleasant, and even when she’s raised her foot above my head and I can see the graveness of the situation in the expression on her face and the wrinkles on her sole, even when I’m pinned to the floor beneath her foot being given a last chance to redeem myself, and even when her foot has started to sink into me and my genitals are trying to contract back into my body for protection, I won’t back down.

Because I’m a man, damnit! And I’ll do as I please!

Sure my male ego and I finish up as an urecognisable smudge on her sole, but we both know I’ve made my point.

Choices, Choices

One of the glorious things about having a fetish that revolves around an imagined world is that the rules and physical laws of that world don’t have to be fixed. One day I might feel like giving all women the power to shrink men at will. Another day I might make it that all men are permanently shrunk.

Then there’s the size of the permanently shrunken men. Are they waist-high to a woman, or can they barely see over her big toe? More choices.

Then what happens if she inadvertantly, or not so inadvertantly, steps on one of the little guys? Does she lift her foot up to find a smear of man-pâté pasted partly on the floor and partly on the sole of her foot, or has the man flattened more like Jerry from Tom and Jerry? A rolled out piece of plasticine that can either automatically pop back to its original shape, or maybe only do so at her will? Another choice.

Do the women of this world feel a kind, maternal caring towards the little male creatures they share it with, or are their actions towards them nothing more than ongoing, feminism-inspired revenge?

If the men aren’t bestowed with an ability to be brought back from the dead, surely the world would soon start running out of little men. After all, if every woman in the world sought out and flattened just one man, the male species would be no more. Is there something in this world to ensure that this doesn’t happen? Some kind of cloning device, multiple births, or super-speedy gestation periods for males? Or is the ultimate destruction of all men the main aim of this world? Do the men hide and cower from the women, because being spotted means being killed, unless they’re lucky enough to be adopted by one of the very rare kind-hearted ladies?

So many choices. Such a delectable feast of possibilities.

Oh Hello!

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO START THIS BLOG.

I can imagine being partway through the blog, with several posts under my belt, having established it’s theme, purpose and timbre, but before I can get there I have to get going from what feels like a standing start. OK, well let’s start with the…

Raison D’etre
To all those who don’t know what that phrase means, despite having heard it all their life, it translates into “reason for being”. The purpose of this blog is for me to talk openly about my sexuality. I have what is generally known as a Giantess Fetish, which is a sub-strand of the larger group of associated fetishes known as macrophilia – that meaning “to be sexually aroused by large things”.

Over the years I have thought about how I would explain my fetish to someone who doesn’t know anything about it. It’s a complex thing, and I’d say that I only mainly understand it myself; not completely, but this is basically how it works….

1) Foot fetish – I have a fetish, a love, a passion and an emotional connection with female feet.

Aesthetically I find them beautiful beyond measure. The motion and texture are just divine. I love to touch them, to kiss them, to lick them and suckle on them. I also take extreme pleasure from being at or beneath a woman’s feet, but that’s probably as much to do with…

2) Female supemacy – I find the idea of a world in which women rule extremely arousing.

I find that ‘power’ is inextricably woven throughout my sexuality. Without it I find a sexual relationship to be (on the whole) a little dry and unmagical. If I’m with a woman I find attractive, and then imbue her in my mind with some kind of superiority over me, it causes some part of me to quietly tremble in her presence, and lifts every interaction between her from the mundane and banal, to the mystical and divine. Take for example this generic picture of an attractive woman:

Now, at first glance she’s a nice enough looking woman sitting at her desk. She’s probably a writer or a designer, or maybe she runs her own clothing firm. Who knows? There is, however, nothing that remarkable about her. Now, however, imagine the photo was taken in a world where women rule over men. A world where they have all the rights and men have none. In this picture she’d be looking at the observer (in my mind, me, a man) knowing that she holds all the cards, that what she says goes, and that she could rain down all manner of hurt and destruction on this creature before her if she so wished. Now just that shift in perspective changes that picture from something very generic, to something ever so …. much more.

I’m now quitting this post half-way through…