Because I do more of these than any kind of finished work I should be proud of.

I don’t have hair nearly this luxurious, or sunglasses nearly this cool.

@Olo

I’m no stranger to the macro community, but I thought I’d introduce myself here. I’m Kisupure (yes, a nod to the infamy of Kiss Players!), I’m a FTM and sizeswitch, though I lean more towards the giant end of things.

The good lord above put me on this earth to bring a little more Heavy Metal Magazine to macro/micro world, so here I am, with guns and engine grease in tow. Oh, the gravel truck’s here? Tell 'em to dump it just out back.

I like realistic size difference, and wildly unrealistic size difference. I like gun play that involves stuffing tinies down the barrel of a nice, loaded M4. I like giants with their boots on, muscles bulging behind their body armor. I like daddies in dusty kevlar. I like giants who are cyborgs, robots, and machines that are designed to have people sit inside of them. Giants who are large and in charge, but also giants who are soft and kind and scared of losing their little lovers or allies or fuckbuddies, giants who have flaws as well as sexy things they’re really really good at. Giants that are unapologetically dominant, and giants that are good at faking it. Vore and endosoma are A+ too.

I’m also an objectum sexual (as in orientation), so to me, “male” can mean flesh and blood as well as axles and ailerons. An A-10 warthog is just as much a lovable giant to me as the guy on your bag of frozen peas. OS representation all the way.

I write, I draw, and I’ve got some long-form stuff in the works including a “graphic novel” that I hope tickles somebody’s fancy (other than my own, of course). So howdy!

CHAPTER 2: DISCOVERED

Later that evening the man ordered pizza and Dawn could smell it when it arrived. He had neglected to check under the couch earlier, and out of sheer terror she hadn’t dared leave her sanctuary all day, but the fatigue, thirst, and hunger were finally getting to her.

She had woken up that morning to find herself in a most impossible and horrifying situation: shrunk down to the size of a Barbie doll, and taken into some stranger’s apartment. She’d spent all day trying to figure out how it all happened, and where she’d wound up. By the street noise outside, she knew she was at least still in New York City. Good. That was a good start.

The owner of the apartment–she only knew it was a man by his voice–thanked the delivery driver and drew nearer to where she hid in the under-structure of the sofa. Dawn bit back a yelp when he sat down right above her, but she resolved to stay hidden. When he went to bed, she’d come out to find the phone. That’s it. She’d call the firm, let them know something terrible happened…

The man clicked the TV on. It was one of those older ones that didn’t have a remote. She’d think he was some bohemian if the rest of his apartment wasn’t so clean and white and spartan, and judging by what she could see from under the couch, she guessed that he was an artist of some sort. There were a few paintings on the walls and there were interesting wooden or plaster carvings in various corners of the loft. She recognized an elephant-headed god from India, as well as some other hyper-intellectual pieces, that resembled… well, they didn’t resemble anything that she could think of. Those were probably from just across town. Hmph. Art was such a waste of time and money.

The woman made a face as her stomach growled, hoping he wouldn’t hear–he didn’t–and tried to take her mind off her misery when he put on the news. God the pizza smelled good. She imagined the phone ringing and the man getting stuck talking long enough for her to slip out and make off with a gob of cheese…

But that didn’t happen, and the anchorman continued droning on and Dawn felt more and more scared and sorry for herself. The segment ended, though, and she froze when she heard her name.

“A Manhattan lawyer has been missing since Thursday night, a police spokesman said. Thirty-two year old Dawn Cooper, a defense attorney with the firm Raymond Thurlow, was last seen leaving the Bistro Les Amis in SoHo at about 9:30 that night, when eyewitnesses say they they saw the victim get into a taxi cab. If you have any information regarding Dawn’s whereabouts, police have opened their tipline…”

A sob wracked her body, she couldn’t help it.

The exhaustion, the fear, the hunger, it was all too much. She’d been hoping that this was all somehow just a bad dream, but any lingering doubts were now gone. It was real.

The crying wasn’t stopping, and she didn’t have the energy to try and fight it anymore. Dawn shakily released herself from her uncomfortable and precarious perch under the couch and sunk to the floor, where she let the tears flow. Who did this and why? Was there any hope in going back to normal? What would the police say when they found her like this? She’d make headlines all right, and not the good kind.

She was so tired that she didn’t notice that the man had gotten up from the couch and was in the process of getting down on hands and knees to see what that sound was. It was when he gave a startled yell that she screamed and darted out into the open.

Looking wildly around, she finally grasped just how small she was. The back of the couch loomed above her, and behind it, standing even taller, was the man. His face was slackened in pure shock and he kept a finger pointed at her.

“Y-y-you’re… real…”

"What did you do to me! Change me back!"she hollered at him through the tears.

“I-I didn’t do anything!”

“Bullshit!”

“I found you in the trash! I-I thought you were a-an art piece or something!”

Dawn’s frustration just made her cry more; it didn’t happen often, and she hated when it did. She started at him as he took his eyes off her to pace.

“I’m calling the police.”

“No!”

“No? You’re a lawyer, give me one good reason not to!”

“Please! I have a reputation!”

“And you know what? That’s not my problem.”

He sped over to a side table and grabbed the receiver. Dawn found herself sprinting over to him.

“Please, please. Just give me time to process things. I don’t even know what day it is! I’m starving and thirsty and I have to pee!”

He looked down at her with thoughtfully panicked brown eyes for a moment, fingers hovering over the keypad. Eventually, he set the phone down.

“Alright. Let me get you some water. And, uhm, something to cover up with,” he muttered.

As he dashed up the stairs to the kitchen area, Dawn looked down at herself and remembered that she was completely naked. A blush reddened her from head to toe and she sat down on the floor to hug her knees to her chest while she waited. She was surprised that he hadn’t seemed distracted by her body.

He returned with a shot glass and a tea towel, which she snatched from him with a sniffle. He turned around while she wrapped it around herself.

“I’m Keith Morgan, by the way,” he said, peeking over his shoulder after a few moments. “It’s Saturday night and you’re in Flatbush.”

Dawn lifted the glass and gulped half of it down.

“Nice to meet you, Keith.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

"And why should I be?"she snapped.

He frowned. “I’m trying to help, remember? Now come on, you said you were hungry. I’m not going to eat this whole pizza myself.”

Keeping their distance, they both went back to the couch. It quickly became apparent that she would need help to get to the food.

“Do you… want a lift?” he asked awkwardly, holding out his hand.

“No! I can get up there myself.”

Both the coffee table and couch were several inches taller than she was, which was something she hadn’t thought through. The tiny woman tried to see if she could hoist herself up–maybe she had some kind of bug strength now–but to no avail. She growled in exasperation.

Keith sighed. “Here.” He reached under the glass table and pulled out a few large books. Each of them had an artists’ name on the front in big letters, with a photo of their work. They looked expensive. Out of them, though, he managed to create something of a staircase for her, and when Dawn stepped up to the top, she was much closer to the table, and she was able to climb up the last few inches without too much trouble.

“Thank you.”

Keith circled around to turn the volume on the TV set down, presumably so they could talk.

He watched her warily as she went for the smallest slice of the pie and began to wolf it down.

“So… what was the last thing you remember?”

Chewing mozzarella cheese with a mouth this small was strange and difficult, while at the same time the flavors seemed just that much more pronounced. It was… fascinating.

“I remember leaving the restaurant and hailing a cab home.”

“Do you remember getting out of the cab?”

She nodded and took another bite. “I remember pulling my keys out of my purse to go inside…”

“…And?”

Dawn thought about it. Things were hazy. “There was a… man behind me. He pulled something out of his pocket, I thought it was a gun.”

“What did he look like?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. His face was covered.”

Keith nodded, reaching for another slice for himself. Dawn watched as his enormous hand drew near, grabbing it by the crust, and she couldn’t help but compare it to a piece of construction equipment grabbing a tree or chunk of concrete and dragging it away. It was… incredible.

They sat in silence like that for a little while, and it occurred to her that she was technically an uninvited guest in this man’s home. He deserved to have her hold up her end of the social contract, at least.

"So… are you an artist or something?"she asked.

“I’m a sculptor and furniture designer,” he said. Well that explained it. “The coffee table’s one of mine.”

The tiny woman looked around at the expanse of table under her. It was a big piece of glass held up by some kind of contrived shape in wood. She didn’t like it.

“Very nice. Could you show me the restroom, please?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah.”

Keith stood up, towering over her again as he brushed passed, and it was almost enough to give her vertigo. His long strides devoured the floor and on his way to the bathroom he grabbed another armful of books from a stack on the floor. By the time Dawn caught up to him, he had already had them arranged into stairs next to the commode.

“Try not to fall in,” he joked with a little chuckle, and eased the door shut. “I’m just outside, give me a knock when you’re ready to come out.”

She did almost fall in. Almost. Reaching for a scrap of toilet paper had thrown off her careful balance, but in the end she succeeded at doing her business.

“I’ll leave the books there for you I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

Dawn looked at the wood grain in the floor and worried her now very small lip. She was not calling the police, that was for sure. This story didn’t need to get any bigger than it already was–she just need to call her firm, the people who probably reported her missing when she didn’t show up to work Friday, let them know she was still alive. There was just a medical emergency that came up, and she’d be taking some time off work. They could shift her caseload to Tim and Joyce in the meantime.

The worrying turned into full-on chewing. Keith seemed to sense her anxiety because he crouched down to get a little closer as he waited for her reply.

“Can I… can I stay through Monday?”

Stupid, stupid! What a stupid thing to ask! He was going to say no, she knew he was. But there was nowhere else to go. Not home, not even to her friend’s. Not yet.

He studied her with expressive eyes and thought for a moment.

“Why the hell not,” he sighed, and stood up again.

“Great! I-I’ll call the firm first thing in the morning. Crystal’s usually there at 8:30 sharp, she’ll answer. She may not recognize my voice, but one of the partners will, they have to… Thank you Keith. I owe you, I really do.”

“It’s, ah, no big deal, really. It’s not like you can eat me out of house and home,” he laughed nervously.

“As soon as I get back to normal, I’ll cut you a check to cover expenses.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Surely your time is worth something?”

“Yeah, if you were wasting it,” he retorted. “Frankly, Miss Cooper, this whole thing has been quite a trip. What’s a couple more days?”

Keith let her watch TV as he put the pizza away upstairs, and mentioned that he would cut one of the slices up for her into more manageable pieces. He asked if there was anything else she wanted, and Dawn knew that her usual routine of slimming shakes and freshly pressed carrot juice was probably out of the question. Maybe he could run down to a video store and rent her an aerobics tape tomorrow. Staying fit helped her stay focused. She liked getting the blood pumping.

Before Dawn knew it, it was ten o’clock and Keith said he was ready to head to bed. He brought out a clean pillowcase for her to sleep in if she wanted, but it was still so warm that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to sleep under anything. Still, she took it with thanks and he went to shower off before disappearing behind the closed door of his bedroom.

Clambering onto the coffee table and from there jumping onto the couch, the little lady realized that the pillowcase would be cooler than the tea towel, and quickly she slipped out of the one and into the other.

Feeling much less panicked than earlier, Dawn gave into her exhaustion and fell asleep.

Late to the topic, but it’s been something I’ve been thinking on as well as I get further along in my transition and as my tastes… metamorphosize lol. I think I have a unique perspective to bring in that regard, especially as the more I become myself, the “straighter” my orientation gets. (I put that in scare quotes because I still am absolutely queer as all fuck, including being primarily asexual and aromantic. That is, I don’t experience primary sexual attraction or desire to romance people. But I still experience “physical attraction”, which for me is most aligned with the desire to do kink and other physical activity, even if it’s not explicitly sexual/orgasmic in nature.)

Some of yall who’ve been following me for years have seen my struggles, and seen the lengths I went to explain away my dysphoria. For those unfamiliar with me, I went from SW to giant. In my personal life, the dominants I met were never dominant enough, or dominant in exactly the way I was looking for; I kept wanting to tell them what to do to me. Turns out I’m a shit sub and wanted to call the shots the whole time!

But even now, even as a straight-passing, cis-passing male in my day to day life, I am extremely comfortable with writing from the female sub POV, and I enjoy it. In my years trying to be a woman, I learned to enjoy parts of it, I learned the play the part I wanted to see in someone else, so when I write from a woman’s perspective, I don’t half-ass it, I throw my whole being into it all over again. I get into her mind, I don’t think “OK I’m a chick”, I think “OK, I’m a human”. The vast, vast majority of men don’t understand that because they’re fucking narcisstistic idiots. Except it’s worse, because they don’t even enjoy themselves! They don’t even insert their whole selves into the works they make, and enjoy all of who they are as men - they reduce the whole of their own humanity down to dick-n-ball, just enough to have the fully-rendered recipient to interact with.

As I start looking at straight porn more from the male perspective too, I’m super underwhelmed for this reason. I remember something an internet rando said once regarding futa porn and why it’s so popular, and it haunts me a little. They said that you could do stuff with futa you couldn’t do with straight porn. You could have intimacy, you could show the penis-haver’s pleasure. It wasn’t always about dick-in-hole and violence. The futa could have a face. It frustrates me to no end to see faceless dude-shaped thing after faceless dude-shaped thing in porn. Men, stop doing this to yourselves. Fucking enjoy yourself for once!

I try to avoid this at all costs, which is easy because I don’t get off on it. Everyone’s real person in everything in write, that’s always my #1 goal. If that means that what I write is chick-lit, that’s OK by me. It’s much more gratifying to write everyone as complicated people and women who are sometimes at odds with their male counterparts. As a character in one of my non-size short stories said about why he bothers to spend time pleasuring the sex workers he hired: “If I wanted to just stick my dick into something, I could make a fist. What I’m here for is sex.”

For real though, imagining myself as a giant makes me feel confident and attractive like I never was as a SW. Being small allowed me to hide. Being a GT feels transgressive, to be honest, because I’m on display, the subject of the gaze. Feeling sexy as opposed to just sexual as a man is a big source of shame and internalized homophobia. Even being clean and well-dressed is enough to make a man feel effeminate - or why did society need to come up with “metrosexual”? Like seriously, men, interrogate yourselves about why you’re uncomfortable with the things you are. Because I guarantee you, it’s not natural and it’s not how it’s always been.

@olo

holy shit I’m tired now, goodnight

I prefer this one: http://www.mrinitialman.com/OddsEnds/Sizes/sizes.html

It’s simple and doesn’t involve silhouettes of children

I think the problem with topics like this is that there is always going to be the implication, however small, of entitlement. It’s never “I wish more people were into the thing I’m into”, but always some kind of “I wish creators would make things for me for free”. Creators make all kinds of free things already, the internet is full of them. That none of it, or enough of it, is your favorite thing isn’t anyone’s problem but yours. Creators don’t owe you their time, skill, money, resources. It’s kind of a slap in the face to creators who make things for free already, like myself (and I even take requests!), because it’s not the thing you want to see.

But that’s what commissions, trades, and financially supporting creators who make things you like are for. The more you actually pay people to make things, the more your interest is going to be noticed and acknowledged.

Griping like this is not a good look, especially when there are creators reading and posting here.

@TakoAlice8 It’s an interesting thing, but I think @Nyx is right in that men are just overrepresented in cultural discussions and research about sex. One of the godfathers of research into fetishes even framed his whole theory about it in a way that completely erased women by stating that that “odd-hitting” experience in childhood makes men paraphilic, while it supposedly makes women “frigid”! I don’t think he’s taken seriously at all anymore, but if that’s where we started, we haven’t strayed far.

“But I wanna sleep HERE tonight!”

I would hope to god I could still use my phone so I could start calling up everyone in my rolodex that I’ve been interested in to see if they want to “meet me for beers”.

Then, while I waited for the first of my dates to show up, I would take the opportunity to severely punish all of the fuckers who make illegal turns onto my street at rush hour. Because what’s a growth spurt without some car stomping?

@Olo said in Giants, how do you protect yourselves from tinies bitting your hand?:

@TakoAlice8 “The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.”

The Trick

Fr, though.

Just had my partner gag and grimace as my cat’s claw got stuck in the skin of my hand just yesterday. After 30 years living with the little gremlins, I just don’t feel pain in my hands anymore. Problem solved!

I don’t know if I’ve commented on AO3 already but I just wanted to pop in and say I’m LOVING this story so far Nyx! You’re knocking it out of the park.

Discovered Hankey’s Toys recently! They have some pretty wild size stuff:

https://www.mrhankeystoys.com/realistic?search=true&option=4XL&category=realistic

I’ve seen the pedo comparison made before too and it really sucks.

And it’s as asinine as saying furries or people who like girls in cat ears are all secretly animal fuckers. Smh.

Awooga

But also - OUCH! That ain’t a peashooter she’s got!

@TakoAlice8 It’s an interesting thing, but I think @Nyx is right in that men are just overrepresented in cultural discussions and research about sex. One of the godfathers of research into fetishes even framed his whole theory about it in a way that completely erased women by stating that that “odd-hitting” experience in childhood makes men paraphilic, while it supposedly makes women “frigid”! I don’t think he’s taken seriously at all anymore, but if that’s where we started, we haven’t strayed far.

Whew, my experience with height was a bit of a rollercoaster!

When I was a little kid I vividly remember telling everyone I was going to grow up to be over 6 feet tall like it was some kind of competition? Like most kids I was excited to see how much I was growing and I still have the closet doorway that we marked my height on for my entire adolescence. (Some of those growth spurts were excrutiating.)

Of course female socialization kicked in and around puberty I started hating my height. I had horrific posture (so many dysphorias), and would regularly try scrunching myself down to 5’8" no matter what it took. At 20 I reached 5’9", and ugh it was awful.

Fast forward 10 years and one transition later and now I get height dysphoria going the other way LOL. Thankfully men come in all shapes and sizes, and working with the public I’m reminded every day that I’m average for my country, and above average for most everywhere else. I’m diligently working on my posture, and combined with some relaxing/thickening joint and soft tissue from testosterone, I’m actually closer to 5’10" now. Even my shoe size has gone up and I’ve outgrown all my old clothes. If I had a process kink I’d be in heaven lol.

In hindsight, I think the interest in size disparities was the prior to everything else. When I was trying to be a woman, I wanted to fit the size kinked ideal of small. Now that I know I’m not, it would be nice to be taller (but it doesn’t bother me nearly as much because I’m just happier in so many other ways).

As for correlation, I don’t think there is any. Kinks have much, much more to do with formative experiences that hit in just the right way at just the right time,; I’ll bet what was on the TV when we were 6 or 7 is far more relevant than how tall we are at high school graduation.

I always come back to a few things in my size kink. The first is that I’ve never been all that much into shrinking - in the few SW stories I’ve written, the man is either trying to help or (in the case of an unposted story) trying to figure out how to use his powers for good, and does so while navigating social expectations of healthy masculinity.

As many of you know, I’m interested in military themes too, because questions of bodily autonomy there interest me a lot. Governments and institutions experimenting on bodies isn’t just a ripe metaphor, it’s a reality. And to me it’s a way more powerful metaphor than just “shrink ray go zap”. Military institutions are also very interesting ways to explore the symbols and ethics of power, danger, and hierarchy. To me, it all goes quite hand-in-hand with size difference.

As I get older, too, the more I realize that my kinks are best enjoyed in narrative form, building toward something, whether that “something” is a well-crafted scene or a friendship or something else, rather than just it being a mindless escape. With IRL kink - whenever I get back into it - I want to explore this a lot more too.

To me, “being big” is about effortless and unwavering confidence - big dick energy, or literally being “the bigger person” - not about power. Because if you have confidence in yourself, no matter where you are and what you’re doing, you have complete power over yourself, which is something that can’t be taken from you by anyone or anything. It is the ultimate “alpha” move. Any dumb idiot can get mad, anyone can hurt and lash out and abuse, especially a stranger or someone smaller. But it takes a metaphorical giant to not lose themselves to a petty situation. A metaphorical giant isn’t bothered by the little people and the little problems around them: they have the power to remain detached, to walk away. I’ve always been more interested in the stories of giants and the people brave enough to accept and love them rather than the stories of shrinkers for that reason.

It’s exciting to me because that’s a real thing, that’s not something that I can only indulge in secret on the weekends, it’s something to bring with me into my actual lived life. It’s something to bring into real sex with real people. It’s a real way to be a dominant and build relationships. The fetishy stuff is great fun, don’t get me wrong, but the particulars of this or that exact way of stomping on a city or doing cockvore come second, they’re the window dressing to the core of the kink for me, which will always be that question of “how does one wield power in this fucked up world?”

I prefer this one: http://www.mrinitialman.com/OddsEnds/Sizes/sizes.html

It’s simple and doesn’t involve silhouettes of children

It’s funny, I love vore, but I don’t like any of the most popular tropes lol.

Soft vore all the way, I rarely enjoy one-shot dynamics. The characters have to be able to indulge potentially indefinitely, using it to deepen their relationship, so that eliminates all fatal and most non-con (I see rape as a kind of one-shot character dynamic; it loses its spice after the first scene).

Other stuff that’s pretty niche is M/f cockvore, endosoma, machine/cockpit vore, and tentacle sex while vored. As usual, it all just hits a different note for me than what most look for in their kink haha.