This just came up on coiled fist. This site needs to see it, too. It’s more cute than sexy since it’s a family scene. In my ideal version of this ad, the “wife” visits Texaco alone. Or heaven forbid for the 1950’s, a single gal visits Texaco alone!

https://youtu.be/dmTmKfJOyMA?si=TqGqUl1pPfXM8vo9

Blurb:
Robert Durmoch bought the controlling shares of a news company, but he is enraged to learn that its leadership doesn’t believe he has any authority over their broadcasts. He decides to end the power struggle in his own way.

M/fff
CW: non-con, messy, vague gore, fatal crushing

===========================================================================

"I can't believe the filth your show aired on national network television. You created a disgusting celebration of perversion."

A 50-something, well-fed white man in a Gucci lounge suit was loudly whining on a video conference call on Sarah's computer monitor. She shifted in her office chair uncomfortably. Who was this random rich asshole to tell her, both the Editor in Chief and Executive Producer, how to run her newsroom?

"We aired a nuanced discussion of the current controversy of queer people wearing kink attire at LGBTQ Pride celebrations. The long history of the kink subcultures in the gay liberation movement is worth exploring, to give the recent controversy larger context. There was nothing more salacious in the footage or the descriptions that our show aired than what one can see on a visit to a typical beach."

"Pfaw, yeah, maybe at Gunnison," Mr. Durmoch retorted reflexively.

Gunnison was a clothing-optional beach on the Jersey Shore, about an hour south of Manhattan, in good traffic. It was the only nude beach within driving distance of the region, making it a frequent stop for nudists like Sarah.

Nothing particularly sexual really happened at that beach, it was mostly just people trying to get a better tan. But conservative outsiders always assumed the worst about nudists.

There's no way a Connecticut man like Mr. Durmoch knew about this beach so far from his own mansion unless he was a nudist, too, or a pervert who liked to watch naked people, but this was a conference call, with a dozen other people on it, and Sarah could do nothing about that reference right now but flush beneath her makeup and pretend that she didn't recognize it. She was a totally normal person at work. She left her bohemian hobbies, her femme-domme pegging kink, her cuck husband, and their happy, consensual polyamory entirely at home. Nobody at work even knew that she was bisexual.

"Gunnison?" Sarah asked, as innocently as she could make her voice sound.

"Oh, it's a…" Mr. Durmoch sputtered, caught in a type of knowledge a conservative, Christian billionaire like himself shouldn't have. "Some nude beach this New Jersey representative whom I summer with complains about. Lots of pervs and weirdos go there," he said, and cleared his throat. "It's truly foul," he finished, and then got back to ranting about how evil the latest episode of "Deep Dives Into America" was.

Sarah hid her smirk from the computer's video camera, but snapped a wooden pencil in half beneath her desk, wanting so badly to laugh at this blowhard's hypocrisy. She waited for him to finish.

"Thank you for sharing your perspective, Mr. Durmoch. I have heard complaints like this from conservative viewers, as well, but that isn't our target demographic at 'Deep Dives'. I don't think we'll see eye-to-eye on the content of this episode. But I feel I must remind you that all editorial decisions lie within this newsroom, not with any of the shareholders."

Mr. Durmoch smirked when Sarah brought up her newsroom.

"Your newsroom only exists at my behest, missy," he said, with rising intensity and volume in his voice.

Anger flashed through Sarah in a hot wave. Nobody spoke down to her like this in any area of her life and got away with it. She started drafting the harassment lawsuit in her head.

"As of last month, I'm the controlling shareholder of PureWater Media Group."

Steven Grier, the chairman of that company's board, spoke up for a syllable, his video icon flashing active.

"Uh-"

"Let me finish!" Mr. Durmoch cut him off. Steven stopped talking out of surprise more than anything.

"This means that I own every single last one of you on the 30th floor of that ugly glass tower. Your entire newsroom, your whole vile journalistic domain that makes you feel like a mighty queen of television, is nothing more than one of my many playthings, little Ms. Can-Have-It-All. I will not tolerate such public displays of perversion from one of my personal belongings."

Sarah had the gallery view on, and she saw the women on the board, and the executive leadership of PureWater, with their mouths now open in disbelief. The men mostly looked uncomfortable.

Mary Collins, the CEO of PureWater, who was Sarah's boss, spoke up first.

"I know that tensions run high about controversial topics like the definition of public decency, Mr. Durmoch. And we are all well aware of your outspoken political views, as well as your history of requiring conservative-themed programming in Durmoch Broadcasting's many consolidated media outlets. But your rant right now was an uncalled-for collection of insults against Sarah, whom I have met several times since she started as a segment editor, and whom I know is both a morally sound TV producer, and a cracking good journalist.

Sarah is also the leader of the worker's union at her newsroom, which, as I explained to you personally at our last face-to-face meeting, has a legally binding agreement with this company's board. That agreement clearly states that 100% of the staffing and editorial control for 'Deep Dives' comes from within their own organization. I was in the room with you when you signed the documents that claimed that you understand that you have no authority over any of the unionized divisions of PureWater."

Mr. Durmoch let out a dismissive "pssh" sound, like a teenager who wasn't paying attention to a lecture from a teacher, and turned away from the camera. He started staring at something off camera, to the side of the desk in his mahogany-accented office.

He returned his gaze to the camera, and narrowed his blue eyes.

"We'll see," was his last statement, before he disconnected from the call.

The rest of the callers took a moment of silence to process this emotionally volatile display. Some wondered how a media mogul this powerful, who still controlled hundreds of other newsrooms around the world, was so easily angered by being disobeyed at just one TV program.

This was not the first time in Sarah's life that a powerful man who saw themselves as an authority figure despite their irrelevant job title disapproved of her editorial decisions. Sarah assumed that it wouldn't be the last.

===============================================================

"Deep Dives Into America" was a weekly documentary show put together by Deep Dives LLC, which took up the entire 30th floor of the tower named simply 35 Broad Street, after its street address, located in downtown Manhattan. Putting an hour of timely, insightful journalism together each week took a lot of talent - there were 48 employees who worked on that floor.

35 Broad Street was a gleaming glass skyscraper, 40 stories high, built in the 1960's. It sat as close to the water as you could get in the neighborhood, with only the wide highway in between. When the employees had to stay past dark, they didn't mind so much, because when they went to the western windows, they could see the sunset over the Hudson. On some evenings, the setting sun would light up downtown with orange-pink glowing edges. It was breathtaking.

Another perk of the tower was the peaceful little plaza right next to the building, at its eastern entrance. This tulip-filled pocket park was where one of the building's security guards, Gloria, was taking a cigarette break right before 10 am on the day after the conference call.

Gloria walked to the fountain at the center of the plaza, and watched as several birds splashed in the water. The whole flock took off at once, and flew east. In the sky far above, she saw several more flocks of birds flying in the same direction. She wondered if a storm was coming in.

That didn't make sense - the sky was clear of clouds, with no wind.

Gloria heard a new sound, then, one that she took a moment to make sense of. It was like a crowd at a concert, but more muffled, and somehow, less joyful. She finally placed it: people on the street on the western side of the building were screaming in terror.

Gloria stamped her cigarette out, abruptly ending her break. She ran back into the building and sprinted past the security desk.

"What is it?" her boss asked.

"A crowd is screaming," she said over her shoulder, and he followed her to the western side of the building.

Tourists and downtown workers were streaming into 35 Broad and crowding the entrance. None of them had building ID cards, so they were jamming up the limited space in the western lobby between the waist-level security gates and the rotating entrance doors.

Gloria elbowed her way through the crowd and came to a now-empty sidewalk. Across the street was a short, three-story-high historic building, and looming above that, in the distance, she witnessed an absolutely unbelievable thing.

Climbing out of the Hudson River, onto the fortified banks of the tree-filled Battery Park, just three blocks to the west of Gloria's building, was a horrifically enlarged man. He was at least sixty stories tall, around 50 or 60 years old, overweight even for his scale, and wearing a black Armani suit, complete with a tailor-fit jacket, and a matching bright red tie and pocket square.

Even from this far away, his face looked familiar. Gloria had given this man a security pass for this building the month before. His name was Robert Durmoch. She had no idea how he was now a behemoth.

The amazingly enlarged man stood up, and shook the water off of him. He wrung out his coat, and patted his pants as dry as he could. He shook his legs, one at a time, crashing his huge feet into trees in the park, and barrel-sized drops of river water went everywhere. The soft, fine fabric of his expensive suit dried out fast.

While this was happening, pedestrians were streaming towards shelter, into buildings and subway stations. Drivers were stopped in traffic, staring up at the spectacle. Bus operators didn't know whether to follow their route and go towards the bus depot at Battery Park, or to try and save the lives of their passengers, and try to turn around.

It was pure chaos.

The giant looked directly at Gloria's building. His icy blue gaze was pointed towards the middle section, and he was smiling in a salacious way, like a coked-up single man who had just spotted a beautiful woman across the room at a party. He started walking towards 35 Broad.

Gloria ran back inside, through the panicked crowd, and returned to the main security desk on the eastern side of the building. The official rule during disasters was to prevent any outsiders from coming into or out of the building until more information was known, in case of a terrorist in the crowd.

"Giant Media Mogul" wasn't in the emergency procedures manual. The security team decided that they should let the current lobby crowd into the gates, and direct them towards the food court in the basement floor, simply because it had enough space, and a panicked crowd with nowhere to go can be as dangerous as a terrorist.

As security was directing the crowd downstairs, Gloria tried to recognize another sound. This one was rhythmic, and low-pitched, shaking the whole block. As the sound got closer, she noticed the accents of metal being crushed, along with blood-curdling screams. This sound was the giant's footsteps, and the screams were from the occupants of cars that his bus-long loafers were turning into a mixed-texture paste underneath thousands of tons of weight.

The footsteps came closer and closer. Their horrible cacophony was coming from the highway to the south now, where no windows in the lobby faced, and then, as Gloria stared through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the eastern side of the lobby, a giant black loafer slammed down onto her beloved plaza fountain. It cracked the solid cement on one side, and gallons of water flowed out.

Gloria was too terrified of this disaster to be sad about the park that she enjoyed being destroyed.

The second leather shoe came into view with a loud, floor-shaking thud. The giant man then backed up, before he knelt, looking at one of the many floors above the lobby closely. Gloria had stopped doing her job, caught up in staring at the feet of the monstrous being, hoping that this kneeling inspection, and this show of force with these huge footsteps, was all he was after.

"Yes, very impressive, Mr. Durmoch, now please, leave, we're all very amazed and horrified," she said to herself, a panicked, muttered prayer to a being who wouldn't take her directions even if he could hear.

Instead of leaving, the giant made some clanging sounds with metal objects high in the air. Then, thousands of pounds of fine black silk fell to the ground in a heap at his feet, sounding like an enormous parachute billowing down. Heaped like this, his crumpled slacks were two stories high around his merino-sock-clad ankles.

The lobby erupted in a new round of screams.

This was not going to get any easier for any of the people in this city.

===============================================================

Sarah couldn't believe her eyes when she first took sight of the giant shareholder. She was writing an email to a producer when she first heard the sounds of commotion coming from Broad street on the western side of the building.

Even though this wasn't her own office, ClearWater CEO Mary Collins had come into "Deep Dive" headquarters today to help Sarah strategize on how to process Mr. Durmoch's inappropriate behavior. They expected him to launch a smear campaign against her, using his other media outlets that he controlled. Nobody expected this ill-tempered shareholder would somehow turn himself into a monstrosity that could win in a sumo wrestling match against Godzilla.

"Is that-" Mary asked.

"Mr. Durmoch," Sarah replied.

"Holy shit."

The oversized billionaire looked directly at their floor on their tower, and the anticipation on his face froze the two women in fear.

As he walked down the wide lanes of Water Street, crushing car after car on his way, Sarah winced with horror at the sound of the screaming people, and the sight of the crumpled messes he left in each footprint. Her journalism school instincts kicked in, and she started recording a video on her phone. This footage would be priceless to their show later. It could get them a Pulitzer Prize, or an Emmy.

As the monstrosity walked down the highway on the southern side of the building, the people on the upper floors could see him through their full-height glass windows. He was savoring each footstep, and the look on his face was disturbingly pleasured.

"Attention tenants," the Fire Marshall's voice came over the building's emergency PA system. "We are aware of the… unusual incident currently approaching the building. Please shelter in place. The authorities have been alerted. Do not, I repeat, do not evacuate."

Half of the employees on their floor ignored this, and ran towards the fire exits. They knew from the quarterly fire safety drills not to use the elevators, but they also knew about the fireproof cement staircase in the center of the building that lead to the street.

Sarah, along with about twenty of the more courageous workers, stayed behind. Many of them were also recording video.

"And there's my boss, and queen of the union, Sarah," the head video editor for the show said to his phone, panning to her, narrating the unreal destruction with a sing-songy YouTube narrator voice.

Sarah heard him, but she didn't react. She wanted to record her footage without commentary.

As the giant headed towards the plaza, the employees noticed that his soft silk pants were thinly concealing an erection. This sadistic, huge man was getting off on crushing living human beings.

In his final approach, it became clear that this monster was so insanely tall, that at the 30th floor, their office was eye-level with the giant's crotch. He stood next to the building, and the entire office held their breath, staring at what looked like a seven-story-tall erection tenting at the front of the enormous black slacks.

Mr. Durmoch backed up a little, to get a better angle to kneel, and brought his huge face to the windows.

The private accounting firm on the 32nd floor, and the insurance company on the 31st, both screamed in horror, as an enormous pair of eyes looked through them, before moving down.

The giant's eyes reached the 30th floor, and he stopped moving his head, finally finding the office he was familiar with, from back when he was small enough to walk through it normally. He grinned like he had won a prize and poked a huge hole through the glass with his wrecking-ball-like fingertip. The feeling of being hungrily stared at by this unfathomably powerful being was too much to bear against the intact survival instincts of a few of the remaining employees. They ran toward the exit.

There were now 17 people left in the newsroom, watching their enlarged foe's every move, holding their breath with anticipation, and taking video. The giant man stood back up to full height, which was taller than the skyscraper he was playing with. With a loud clang, Robert Durmoch undid his belt, letting his pants fall. This revealed a stretchy black pair of boxer briefs that barely covered his raging erection. He slid his fabric-covered cock against the glass.

"Oh, no…" the editor said, his voice losing all hope. The pathetically outmatched worker looked at the exits, deciding whether to stay or leave.

The giant stepped back a few steps, destroying the rest of the paved plaza under his feet. He pulled his briefs down to his knees, before stooping down, to bring the underwear to his ankles.

He took off his shoes and kicked them lazily to the right, where they landed upside-down, trapping dozens of people in traffic-stalled vehicles beneath their bulk. Mr. Durmoch then unpeeled his long trouser socks from his hairy legs and bare feet, before tossing their balled-up shapes to the left. They bounced off the half-crushed cars stuck on the highway, and then into the bay, bumping into the side of a ferry. He raised his chubby, still-clothed torso up again, and while standing on one leg, shoved his empty pants behind him with the other foot, crashing the great mass of black fabric into the skyscraper behind the plaza. His crumpled pants crushed half the security team in the neighboring tower who had been watching with horror in the lobby.

His last impediment to movement was his underwear. He grabbed his briefs off the ground and tossed them away over his back without giving a thought to where they'd land.

The enormous undergarments soared in a slow arc towards a residential highrise nearby. A crowd of residents had gathered on the luxury building's rooftop patio to watch the attack. Sweaty, musty black fabric suddenly covered the entire roof, trapping more than thirty residents. A few of these spectators were killed just from being under a folded part of the briefs, as hundreds of pounds of cloth fell onto their heads.

Back at 35 Broad, the giant man was now fully nude from the waist down. All of the workers in the building who hadn't already fled were instead staring with horror at the attacker, whose intentions were now fully clear. He grabbed his thick penis shaft with his meaty fist and stroked it slowly. Gallons of precum oozed of his piss slit. He rubbed the natural fluid up and down his length. He licked his lips with anticipation.

Some of the trapped office workers had hoped that the giant just wanted to show off his monstrous cock, like an amplified dick pic. But this stroking sealed their fate.

"Are you ready, bitches?" Robert said, and placed his precum-wetted index finger right against the hole he had made on the newsroom's window earlier.

The remaining "Going Deep" employees scattered to the left and right of the now-moistened hole, hoping that they were escaping the penetration target.

Sarah and Mary both went to the right of the opening, open-mouthed, staring in abject terror at the eight-story-tall erection that the huge man was pointing directly at their window. The head of the penis was like a clear-slime-covered alien monster, thicker than any tree anyone there had seen other than redwoods, with a two-foot-wide vertical hole in the middle standing in as a featureless mouth.

The giant flexed his hips back, and gripped the building on the sides, his six-foot-wide fingertips finding purchase on the steel beams on the corners of the building.

"You know what's deeply ironic?" Sarah screamed to the rest of the employees over the sound of the workers whimpering, and the loud thuds and glass breaking from the giant's hands gripping the building.

"Robert Durmoch's whole disagreement with us was about our show encouraging public indecency. What's more publicly indecent than this?" Sarah yelled passionately, gesturing for her life, hoping one of the camera phones recording her would broadcast this out before the whole building and all its people collapsed into dead rubble.

"You'd think that a Yale Business School graduate like him would be able to recognize the HYPOCRISY-"

In the middle of Sarah's speech, Robert's huge, moistened dick crashed through the floor directly behind her. The enormous phallus shoved through a brand new hole several stories below, aiming for the tip to be on this floor. The phallus crashed past the floor, computers, and office furniture, and the dick tip came to rest behind Sarah. The floor beneath her buckled, and she fell backwards, landing on and sticking to the tip of the eight-foot-diameter cockhead, directly on top of the urethra. The fall backwards knocked the wind out of her, ending her speech.

Mr. Durmoch paused at the top of his deep stroke, and let out a short moan, savoring his complete superiority to the office he was fucking like a fleshlight.

Sarah was struggling like a fly in a glue trap, not strong enough to peel herself off the precum-wet glans. Her high-heel-covered feet were dangling helplessly four feet off of the slanted, groaning floor. This brief stop in the giant's movements gave Mary the CEO a chance to save her favorite subordinate. In the split second pause, Mary ran forward, and lept, grabbing Sarah's ankles, trying to yank her off of the horrible body part.

Mr. Durmoch quickly pulled out his dick. It moved down the improvised debris-covered shaft he had just made like a freakish, fleshy elevator. The speed of the movement knocked Mary off of the floor as well, and she fell onto the bottom half of the slimy glans.

Sarah and Mary, two high-powered, professionally acclaimed women, were now just as significant to this enormous man as stray pubic hairs that interrupt sex by having to be removed from someone's sensitive genitals. Mr. Durmoch took notice of the pair of squirming, insect-sized people immediately, and grabbed them both from his cockhead with his thick fingers. He brought his hand up to his icy blue eyes to see who these tiny people were, and smiled maliciously.

"Exactly the two I was looking for," he said. His breath went past them in a blast of humid wind. Based on the smell, he had enjoyed an onion-filled breakfast and a hazelnut coffee before he had enlarged.

"I'm so honored that Sarah, Union Queen, and Mary, CEO Extraordinaire, could join me in this executive negotiation," Mr. Durmoch said. The two women screamed for mercy.

"Please, Mr. Durmoch! Let's start over! You can have full editorial control!" Sarah yelled, begging for her life. She looked down toward the plaza below, and the height from here to the ground was a deadly drop. She was completely at her huge foe's mercy.

"It's too late for that," he said. "You both had the chance to respect my authority as an expert on the moral majority that you urban elites don't understand. That was before you two forced me to whip out my growth ray with your insubordination."

"How can you call yourself moral?" Sarah screamed, feeling hopeless, but still enraged by his faux piety.

As if in answer, Mr. Durmoch turned his huge hand upwards, and let the two women tumble from his fingertips to the center of his palm. He then gripped the base of his dick again, squeezing the two executive women against the length of his cock as he jerked off, using his hands on his shaft to move the rest of his dick's sensitive skin up and down.

Sarah and Mary's senses were completely enveloped by the giant's every move: his hand behind them, his warm, pulsing dick in front of them, the precum and sweat surrounding them, soaking their fashionable wardrobes down to their underwear. His various fluids got into their eyes, stinging them with saltiness, and into their mouths. It tasted like the beginnings of giving a blowjob, but magnified to an impossible degree by its sheer quantity. They were drowning in foreplay.

The precum-covered pair struggled to breathe, as he only let fresh air into the cavity in his palm when he adjusted his grip every now and then. They choked, and coughed, and sputtered, and squirmed, instinctively trying to get away, but there was no place to go. They were terrified of being crushed onto his dick, but the pressure he put onto that part of his palm was carefully moderated, to keep them alive.
Mr. Durmoch had imagined this scenario hundreds of times since he bought the growth ray a few years ago. He had practiced being careful with tiny victims by playing with bug-sized, hand-made clay human figurines, that he bought in Chinatown from an artist who made traditional bonsai-themed sculptures for tourists. "They're for a Chinese-themed part of my model railroad, I need at least a hundred," he had lied then.

As much as he had enjoyed the imaginary power trip with those clay practice sculptures, these real, live, tiny women were worlds apart. Their desperate squirms against the bottom of his dick shaft shot pleasure through his body, and made this past-middle-aged man approach climax as fast as he used to when he was in college.

The 15 remaining "Deep Dive" employees stayed on their office floor, not able to look away from the horror that was taking place in front of them. The giant was not thrusting his dick all the way to the top of the makeshift tunnel into their office floor, instead, he was jerking its tip in and out of the bottom of the long hole. People around the world tuned into the video livestream to watch the cockhead going in and out of the bottom of the tall hole from the perspective of the newsroom's horrified occupants.

"Oh, yes," Mr. Durmoch groaned as quietly as his huge vocal chords could manage. His huge, well-padded hips started bucking involuntarily, and the muscles holding up his enormous balls filled with tanker-trucks worth of cum tensed up. In one last, smooth motion, he pulled his dick out all the way from the building, placed the two squirming businesswomen onto the slimy top, and then thrust his member all the way up to the end of the building's debris-filled fuck hole.

The newsroom employees stepped back as the titanic cock head came into their space for the second time, with the two horrified executives stuck to its wet tip again. A plumbing-like gurgle came from the huge organ for a fraction of a second before a stream of white cum blasted from the dick's slit like a bursting water main. A gooey wad of cum stuck to the outside glass wall of the large conference room, with Sarah and Mary in the front of it, their limbs squirming frantically.

More ropes of cum followed, coating the rest of the employees, the ceiling, the floor, and the office furniture in white, sticky, musty gunk. The giant groaned loudly. The sound rattled the windows in the skyscraper that his belly and dick was currently pushed up against, and he flexed his hips back, pulling his cock out.

A trail of cum mixed with furniture and newsroom employees followed the dick out into the open air. Mr. Durmoch stepped back, and wiped the residue off of his dick with his right hand. He looked at what he had picked up, and noticed that there were computers and desks, and, apparently, three women and a man now on his messy right hand. He didn't recognize any of them. They must have been nobodies - non-executives.

If Sarah and Mary weren't there, they must be somewhere inside the tubular cavity he had just removed his member from. The hole's exterior edges were dripping with his cum, and its jagged sides were crumbling.

Robert Durmoch hired other people to clean up his messes. He would never stoop so low as to look through his own tucked-away cum pile for specific victims. Sarah and Mary, if they were still alive, had received his message loudly enough for now.

It was time for a relaxing walk back up the crumbly highways to his comfortable Connecticut estate. Without any passengers.

With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Mr. Durmoch created g-forces that would knock out a fighter pilot. This ejected the debris-filled cum from his fingers. The wad of semen, furniture, and four people hit the neighboring skyscraper faster than a car crash.

Mr. Durmoch put his pants back on, and then his shoes, minus his now-harbor-sunk socks. He looked backwards at where his underwear had landed, and smiled, amused at the police helicopter hovering over the fabric-and-people tangle on the apartment building's roof.

"Ooh, how unfortunate for you on that roof. It's just the luck of the drawers," he joked, mostly to himself, as he turned around, and started his terrible stroll back home. This was the best he had felt in decades. The growth ray effect would be wearing off in less than eight hours, but he considered just using it again once the time came.

Why?

Because he can.

@TakoAlice8 oh yep. I’ve felt this. I definitely envy male gts fans. It drives me nuts that they’ve dominated the discourse about this fetish too.

One way it’s been particularly annoying is that for video content, I can’t really stand most videos, because I am absolutely taken out of the fantasy by bad acting on the giant’s part. I already have enough trouble believing in the scene while watching the video, bad acting ruins it for me. Because of this I only like a handful of creators who make moody giant man videos with no dialogue, and CG artists.

And the CG artists are overwhelmingly giantess artists. There is no 3d artist making high quality, clip-length videos about vore or large size differences with giant men. I am just barely bisexual enough to enjoy Wiiking’s videos. (The Locker Room , etc.) He’s an absolute master of 3d vore movies, but it’s ALWAYS women around shrunken women and men. I’ve fantasized about being rich and commissioning him for many months of his time to make just one M/f vore masterpiece. But I may as well just fantasize about a giant dude being real at that rate!

It’s frustrating being in a niche part of a niche subculture! I’m there with you!

(Thanks to @miss-lillipants for the inspiration! This is in a world inspired by her posts. I will be updating this every now and then, when I can. It will be in the vein of the gentle tags I gave it.)

Posted in r/MINUS-19
by u/CheckPlease

Well, it finally happened. I got MINUS-19.

I had been lucky enough to have not gotten MINUS-19 for the first year of the pandemic. I’m a manager at a restaurant, and after the government shut us all down for 3 months, my restaurant took the money, paid our staff, and shut down.

After that 3-month lull, when I couldn’t help but read news on social media all day, we came back, and that whole time, I’ve been nervous as hell. I’ve always been a germophobe - which makes for a great kitchen manager, the health department is always impressed by how clean our kitchen is - but this disease, the one that can shrink you - seemingly permanently? This sent my anxiety into overdrive.

Based on the advice of my nurse friend, I bought real N-95’s as soon as I could get them, and I wore them at work. I implemented a strict policy for all employees to wear masks, too, but you know they didn’t cover their noses half the time, and then, there are the bars and restaurants that are operating like nothing changed that are all around us, that they all spend their off hours at.

How could we all avoid it, even with us all masked? We were surrounded by a crowded room of customers who couldn’t mask while visiting. You can’t eat, or drink, or pretend like it’s 2 years ago before the pandemic, while wearing a mask.

So everyone has gotten sick since we re-opened.

Employees got it. Customers got it. Suppliers got it. Most just shrunk for a day, but some were out shrunk for weeks. One of the customers still has it - she’s still just four inches tall after 8 months. I only know because her husband told the bartender last week. He was crying over his beer about it, and he’s not normally an emotional guy.

The vaccine coming out last month should have put my mind at ease. But there was such a small supply, and it was only for old people. I should have lied about having immune deficiency just to get the jab on the first day. I finally got it last week.
It takes 2 weeks for the vaccine to kick in. And guess what, I just got sick this week. 5 days after I was inoculated.

I felt groggy, first. Then I felt sweaty. I had stomach cramps, and I got home, and when I noticed my sense of smell was gone, I panicked. My husband, god bless him, assumed the worst, and immediately drove our two cats to his sister’s house.

When he got back, he had Nyquil for me, and was wearing an N-95 mask. He asked what sort of Shrunk Shelter I wanted. I said, “None”. He laughed, and hugged me. He said that we should put it together as a couple, before I couldn’t help him with the project anymore. I didn’t get what he meant at first, but he just looked at me. I already had the brain fog.

“I mean, before you’re too small to snap together the shelter kit, honey.”

Well, fuck.

He drove to the store and got the Log Cabin. We set up the plumbing with my tap water, just because I’m used to it. He put in a part of a cinnamon stick as an air freshener, and he cut up a small piece of one of his shirts as a blanket, because I always tell him I like his natural scent. I wanted to kiss him as a sort of goodbye, but he kept his mask on the whole time.

That was last night.

He set me and the Shrunken Shelter up in the guest bedroom, and I took some nyquil. I slept on the bed, on our bright white sheets, wearing my black chamois - so I could be easier to see, if I shrank.

And shrink, I did.

This morning was hell. I don’t know how to put it all into words other than to say this has been my nightmare for the past year. And I’m finally living in it.

I know I am so, so, so, SO lucky to have the husband that I do, who luckily works from home so he can look after me a bit. I know we are lucky to have money for a Shrunken Shelter, and for a guest bedroom to isolate in, which just makes all of the logistics so much simpler. But I’m looking around at this tiny log cabin’s walls, which I clearly remember used to fit in my hands last night, and I’m typing this on that dumb Android Microtablet they come with, with its crappy touch screen keyboard, and I want to scream until my throat is sore, that this virus is absolute shit.

Why did I have to be born into a new plague? I know we all are, but god damn it, I’m still mad about it.

I need this to be a short infection. I don’t know how I could handle it if I was the height of a chicken’s egg for the rest of my life.

I know this was a long rant. But, folks, what are your coping mechanisms? Is it wrong for me to just drink vodka all day? That’s all I want to do. Just numb myself out, whenever I’m not coughing.

Do you actually like any of the games on this stupid Microtablet? I used to play The Sims as a kid, and now I feel like I AM one. The little diamond over my head is bright red. I am NOT happy.

@Giant-Gripper you put this so beautifully. Bravo.

You’ve nailed why I basically don’t want to interact with straight F/m fans. You and the previous commenter speaking from years of experience.

Is it really feminist to worship giant women as oversized and dommy sex objects? Some male F/m fans still fail to see women as human beings first, sexual objects second. The only consolation I get from thinking about misogynist shitbirds like this is that they usually scare dates away IRL.

But that’s just my bitterness at experiences of being turned into a GTS object without my specific permission showing. (Giant men are welcome to turn my kink characters into a snack or a bug, the key difference there is I asked for it.)

@i-am-insane the giant body parts thing seems to be part of the inflation kink. It’s an overlap with or a sub-genre of size kink. It’s never done anything for me, I find the weird proportions distracting and absurd.

This story is still being written, but maybe if I post it, that will sorta encourage me into finishing it? Less polished than my normal output, since I am prioritizing speed over perfection with this one.

CW: Not much. This is honestly a pretty gentle one. Accidental fearplay maybe? Crushed objects? Thalassaphobia? Just too many emotions to fit into one lonely brooding man?

Yeah you heard that right, romance fans, this guy broods, like Darcy!

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CHAPTER 1:

2006

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This week was supposed to be all about relaxation, but Adam just couldn’t sleep. He turned over in bed, thinking maybe the vacation home’s unfamiliar mattress was the problem. It was plenty soft, it just wasn’t, his mattress. He found the perfect position, his heavy-textbook-back-injury from when he took AP Calc and AP Physics in the same semester in high school, four years ago now, was soothed by his spine’s perfect alignment against the downy cushion of the mattress. He had to not think about the laptop.
The reality-warping experiment was in May. He had to not think about the laptop, so instead, he thought about that day, and scratched the scar where an ARB (Alternate Reality Beam) hit him on his left hand. It stung at the time. Now, it just constantly itched. The doctor called it stress-caused eczema, and told him to simply stop scratching it.
Adam had received his academic advisor’s A+ grade from that experiment in June. It was now July 7, it was now time to rest. Adam should close his eyes again, now, and he should stop thinking about things that caused his chest to tighten.
It was the time to rest for Adam, maybe, but the department that processed admissions into the Collins Lab at Princeton, where he wanted to get his physics PhD, didn’t rest over the summer. They worked diligently through July and August to process the applications of graduating Princeton seniors like Adam.
He had told himself he’d take his laptop to the Ocean City library tomorrow to check his email. He told himself he would sleep now, and that he wouldn’t do exactly this: rip the phone cord out from the vacation home’s wall phone, shove it into a modem he had brought from home, and connect to his university email at midnight, maybe even waking up his mom, his dad, or his little sister with the modem’s unholy screeching. He wished the vacation home at least had DSL, a quieter connection, like his dorm room, but, beggars can’t be choosers.
He remembered that his mom, dad, and sister were out at a concert for his sister’s favorite band tonight, a forty minute drive away. The home was his. The Internet machine squealed, automatically dialing up a connection at 56k speed. Firefox loaded the university mail page.
“Regarding your application,”
A curt title read in his inbox, from Sasha Rye, the assistant to the head of the Collins Lab.
He swallowed hard. He felt blood rushing to his ears. He moved the trackpad over to the title and clicked the bright blue text.
The email opened.
“Dear Mr. Macy,”
Adam’s throat went dry.
“…decided to deny your admission into this program at this time…”
“What?” he said aloud, standing up.
“Why?” he added, reading the email again and again for anything like a critique of his work or his application. Nothing was explained. The lab apparently didn’t think that they owed him the courtesy of a reason, “why.” They just rejected him like it was nothing.
Like he wasn’t a legacy admission. Like his grandfather wasn’t a famous professor there in the 1960’s.
Like he was doomed to work in some stupid aerospace company making missiles, if he couldn’t get a real foothold in the cut throat world of Ivy-league physics research.

Adam was fucked. He had everything going for him in this application, and he still didn’t get in. The walls started closing in. The rushing sound in his ears got louder. He put his laptop down and noticed the ceiling was suddenly close to his head. The fan thwacked him in his skull, and he staggered backwards.
Was the room collapsing? Maybe an earthquake?
He ran toward the back door, which lead directly to the small backyard and the beach beyond. The living room ceiling fell onto his head, and he closed his eyes, bracing for worse. It stopped falling, as though stopped by the – wall? Coughing out plaster dust from a hole in the ceiling his head made, he held his breath, and noticed that the ceiling hadn’t fallen. He had inexplicably shot his head through it, and was now bent forward instinctually. He was growing like in “Alice in Wonderland”. He looked at the coffee table next to him and noticed that the 12-inch-long Wired magazine was the same length as his six-inch-long hand. His boxers were painfully tight. He tore them off, and started crashing against the confines of the ceiling again.
Worried about damaging the house further, he ran out of the back door, and into the yard, at the same time that the rushing sound in his ears turned into a roar. He staggered forward, crashing through the back deck like it was made of wet cardboard, the front of his left foot becoming too wide for the 6-foot-wide sliding door right as he removed it.
He looked around him. The majestic maple tree in the backyard was covering his naked crotch. He was about as tall as the hotel several blocks away to his left. His huge feet filled his family’s backyard.
The backyard, which had a great view of the ocean. Adam didn’t know why this was happening, but he knew that he was now a danger to everyone around him, so he gingerly stepped toward the ocean. He stopped in his tracks, noticing a bonfire between him and the ocean, hearing the tinny sound of a boombox playing rock music beneath him. Adam could see the fire-lit faces of the two dozen or so doll-like people as they stared up at him in horror, and scattered to the left and right, screaming. Someone turned off the radio, and one tiny person stayed behind next to the fire, too shocked to move, before the person with the radio grabbed them by the shoulders, and lead them away.
“I’m – sorry –“ Adam stammered, before he started thinking about what his voice must sound like to the partygoers below. They seemed more interested in fleeing like a flock of birds than in conversing.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he stared, with as much focus as he could, at the sand between him and the waves below, making sure that his walk into the people-and-house-free nothingness of the sea wouldn’t cause any unexpected casualties.
The coast seemed clear. He stepped forward. He heard a sickening crunch, and yelped as what felt like a toothpick pierced his foot. Horrified, he looked at his right foot, and saw the remnants of an empty, crumpled beach chair fall to the ground, and the bottom of an umbrella, whose top was now stuck in his foot like a sharp cocktail umbrella poking through his skin. He removed it, double checked that his footprint in the sand didn’t have a dead body in it, and continued forward to the water, step by stressful step.
The dispersed party crowd had now added some onlookers from the buildings near the shore, and gasps and screams floated up from behind Adam. Adam was burning with curiosity to see how many people had gathered, and if he knew any of them, but he was wise enough to not turn around. He figured a giant naked ass and back was less identifiable than a giant face, so to not be a freak for life, he should hide his face from the increasing crowd, which might have cameras or camcorders in it. Finally, his left foot reached the water, and he began to relax. Nobody would be swimming or fishing out here at night, he could now step more confidently towards the deeps. If he crushed some nocturnal fish in the water, he could live with that.
The sound of the waves crashing to the shore, comparatively soft as they were, still began to drown out the increasing sounds of commotion behind him. The sand was impossibly soft, and he sank in it to the middle of his ankles. For a moment he wondered if he’d sink all the way in, like quick sand, but he stayed upright. It just took lots of effort to move his foot again and again, but eventually, after a few minutes of careful effort, he was up to his waist in the water.
The waves felt interesting, they crashed against his torso like ripples in a swimming pool, but they were constant, driven by the moon’s tides, instead of by somebody doing a cannonball nearby. The constant, but tiny, motion was like a cold hot tub.
This far out, he couldn’t hear anything but the waves, and a faint sound of what may have been distant emergency sirens. The only lights he could see in front of him were those of buoys in the far distance, and a cargo ship near the horizon. He snagged his foot against something, and realized it was a buoy, whose anchor he had begun to drag. The long chain that connected it to the anchor stuck to his leg, feeling like a silver necklace chain. He wondered how much this floating light cost, and tried to put the anchor back where he thought it should go. He wondered who would arrest him for destroying this, if they could.
With how distant the sound of the town was behind him, he wanted to take a peek. He covered his face with his hands, leaving a little crack between the fingers to look through, and he turned around. The town glowed like a dainty model train set, just a little below him now that his head was half as far high to the ground as before. The boardwalk, Ferris wheel, and hotels to his right glowed like Christmas decorations, twinkling in the marine mist.
A bright light launched from the marina to his left. It was a speed boat, its little motor whining like a loud mosquito from this distance. Terrified of any interaction with a person that could lead to a shipwreck, Adam turned around, took a deep breath, and carefully placed his head under the water, managing to submerge his whole body in a sitting position.
The quiet of the water relaxed Adam instantly. Keeping one hand over his nose, he used the other to drag his body along the bottom of the ocean as fast as he could. Given the danger that his kicking legs could pose to a speedboat, he kept them submerged, knees in the ocean floor, crawling along the bottom of the ocean. Eventually he noticed he was deep enough, and out of breath enough, to float neutrally, halfway beneath the waves and the ocean floor.
Floating in the middle of the water column, Adam was surrounded by the dark, cool, endless ocean. It enveloped his naked, overgrown body so naturally, like it was where he belonged.
The ocean was the only thing more powerful than Adam’s unasked-for, destructive, strength. Knowing that it was bigger than him slowed his heart rate. He swam forward a little bit more, and to the left, further from the speedboat’s pier, and realized that he needed air. He flipped around, and faced upward, but he heard a sound in his ears again, and the water pressure above him suddenly started increasing.
He righted himself, touching the bottom of the ocean with his feet, but then noticed that the pressure was even stronger, hurting his ears, and he started kicking madly, swimming towards what he thought was the surface. A buoy light above him got closer and closer, and then further away, paradoxically, even though he knew he was faced towards the surface the whole time. His lungs began to burn, but the water pressure let up, and he started to wonder if he was going to drown in shallow near-shore water that could not have been deeper than his 10-story body. After what felt like eternity, he broached the surface, next to the glowing buoy. The one he ran into a few minutes ago was the size of a golf ball, but this one was almost too wide to wrap his arms around.
From his left, he saw a coast guard boat patrolling the area, much larger than himself. Thinking fast, he covered and uncovered the buoy’s light in a pattern, hoping to get noticed by the boat. They got the gist, and picked him up quickly. Adam was ecstatic to be the right size to sit in the chair in the cabin, and he lied about being drunk, and floating on a now-popped pool toy, to explain his naked night swim, which somehow got him a full mile from the shore.

@Nyx yeah whenever I use a celebrity in a fantasy or story, it’s a character BASED ON that celeb.

It would feel confusing to actually put the celeb in there. Leave them alone, they just want to be an actor / musician / TV star , whatever.

But this new character? Who looks and talks just like the TV persona of a celeb - but with a different name and a different background that somehow resulted in them turning into a giant? And a specific personality that I made up (because their IRL personality is unknown to me, a stranger?) That’s the stuff.

@maladaptivetiny
For falling asleep, I often fantasize about a giant man comforting me, or carrying me in his chest pocket. The feeling of protection and affection puts me right to sleep.

For when I’m walking around the city, or working in my company’s skyscraper, my go-to fantasy is actually also gentle. This same giant is just hanging out and looking at the city with fascination. He phases through reality at will, luckily, as if he was solid he’d wreck everything, because he’s like 500-1700 feet tall.

It’s the same character for both of these situations. I basically have a giant imaginary friend. He is witty and kind.

I started picturing him as an adult, during my long commutes, and he’s stuck with me for a little more than a decade now, since I find him mentally so useful.

I refuse to give him a name, tell you his fixed physical traits, or put him in a story, because that would sort of take him away from this perfect platonic space in my mind, and convert him into a flawed fictional character for others’ enjoyment. I’ll never chain him down like that. But I invite others to conjure their own freely. Tulpas like him are very helpful!

@foreverlurk
I’m sorry to hear about your depression, and this longing feeling. I occasionally have that sort of longing, especially when I’m just waking up from a good dream.

I’m very glad to hear that you’re getting therapy. So many people don’t even try that, and it can really help with depression a lot. I hope it helps you.

Speaking from experience, when I’ve mentioned this kink to therapists, They were totally nonplussed. The counselors I were seeing were not Freudian. They didn’t really want to dig into it more than I wanted to bring it up. They didn’t attribute meaning to it that I didn’t bring with me.

I forget where you live. I’ve heard that therapy in Europe can still be pretty Freudian, but that’s not so common in the USA, where counselors and therapists are more likely to use cognitive behavioral therapy than Freudian analysis to treat depression.

I’m bringing up Freud because I think that framework would have a field day with this kink. I disagree with him on pretty much everything. The fact that therapy has been moving away from him for the past 50 years is a good thing, for those of us with powerful imaginations, and unusual sexual tastes. He attributed meaning to every little detail, especially sex. He had no science to back up his frameworks, and they don’t really hold up to modern research.

Also.

If you’re finding that this kink is too troubling, you can put it down and walk away for as long as you want. It will still be here for you if you ever want to pick it up again, after a period of time of you focusing on your mental health.

Good luck on your journey!

OC by me. Adam and Jessi, characters from my current in-progress story, known here as “The Whale and the Ocean”. Originally conceived during “Hug a Tiny” day, but I have been busy, and I am a very slow illustrator!

@foreverlurk

I got some Big vibes from playing “Black and White” back in the day. You’re a God to bronze-age villagers, and you sorta-control a semi-autonomous giant animal pet/ avatar, so that’s automatically giant-ish. But the most manifesting way is that your way of interacting with the world is as a hand, and the world is complete with physics, you can toss rocks and villagers - or, what I tried to do most of the time, you can gift them with food and wood by harvesting resources for them.

To conquer enemy villages, though, to become their God, tossing a boulder into their town square was an extremely fast way of gaining their belief.

@blehb
Yeah, cops don’t respond well to brats.

@blehb that is the opposite of something to apologize for! Thank you for telling us. Getting this soon!

@Southern-Giant

The first one really worked for me, by the way, if you wanted to turn it into a story, I think you have the chops to.

@Southern-Giant

My favorite by far is the first one. With size scenarios, I’m sorta tantric: I like the dread of what will happen next being dragged out, until it finally happens. (That’s why my stories can be really long sometimes!)

The second one is also really hot, but if I were to write that as a story or a fantasy, I’d try to figure out a way to make the bukkake party the climax of a longer scenario.

You mentioned a glory hole in another one, and that’s a great way to do it. The tiny is in there, waiting, wondering if anyone is coming anytime soon, if there’s a line of them, if the sick party is finally over now. If the promise of being grown again was true or not.

The fantasies with fellow tiny women are harder for me to get into. Since I’m way more into giant men than same-size women in this kink way (I prefer women in more vanilla ways IRL), the other women being such a focus takes me out of the scene a little. They might work better as witnesses or next-victims or fellow-giant-worshippers than as people directly making out with me.

@Afreakingbby

Hey there, not to repeat what others have said, but as a fellow fan of scenarios where I imagine cruel things happening to me as a woman-ish person, and also a writer of stories that often end in terrible ways for the tiny woman, I’m sorry if you’re feeling pressured into feeling bad about this type of fantasy!

The attitude towards this seems to differ a lot from communities in one platform to another, and tied to different tags. I’ve noticed that people tagging their work “G/t” on sites like Deviantart and Tumblr are only interested in the gentle side, for example.

Your desires and tastes are valid. In time, you will find RP partners and community members who don’t shame you for it. Good luck out there.

@TastyAce

Hey, I appreciate a confused comment like that, it lets me know how to improve the next draft! I will make his underwater shrinking more clear in the next version.

He’s smart enough to realize what’s happening, the narrator just forgot to mention that thought of his.

@TakoAlice8

I think the “Amazons are tall muscular women” thing originally came from Wonder Woman comics? She’s human-sized, but some comics portrayed them as unusually tall women, 6ft+ or so all around. I thought.

@tiny-ivy

Chapter 7

Monday, June 23, 2025

Afternoon

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.
.

After Adam tended to his wounds from the pine trees smacking into his shins while he was growing, and washed the two hours of panic sweat off in the shower, he wanted to continue the kissing – but as soon as he crawled into the bed with his equally horny guest, he weakly apologized, and started loudly snoring. Jessi understood, since even normal panic attacks could sap a person for the rest of the day. She had other ways to occupy herself.

She put one of his oversized t-shirts on herself as a makeshift nightgown, and went to the book shelf in the living room. After looking through his titles idly, she noticed a coffee table book she hadn’t given a second thought to before: “Weird NJ”. Remembering him mentioning New Jersey as where he grew up, she browsed through it, seeing if there was any reason that this skeptical science expert would keep a book of paranormal stories on his shelf.

The book was published in 2008. There were entries on the Jersey Devil, Jersey City ghosts, Trenton banshees, and Princeton UFO’s. Then, she got to an entry titled simply, “The Jersey Shore Giant.”

“OCEAN CITY, NJ – In July 2006, a group of college students holding a midnight bonfire on the beach had their party crashed by a creature that most people believed to only exist in fairy tales: a real-life giant, big enough to give Paul Bunyan a run for his money! The 12-story tall, totally nude monster narrowly avoided stepping on the group’s partygoers, before it retreated into the ocean, never to be seen again. The students claim that federal investigators swarmed the beach and talked to witnesses for the next week, seeking more evidence than the single blurry flip phone image that exists, reproduced on the left. An artist’s rendition from eyewitness accounts, to the right. The creature’s huge footprints in the sand, each one sixteen feet long and almost five feet wide, were cast in plaster for evidence, and one is now on display at the Ocean City Museum, which is free to visit. The question on everyone’s mind: hoax? Drunken mass hallucination? Or is there really a semi-aquatic giant in the world that’s only visited humans one time?”

The camera phone photo had been printed to take up the entire left page of the book’s two-page spread. It looked like it was taken by a potato, but when Jessi squinted, she could see a huge pair of pale legs mid-stride, a giant butt, and a torso, lit up by the dim ambient light up until the base of the spine, where it blended into the darkness of the night sky around it.

The artist’s illustration of the front of the creature was a little dramatic about the size of Adam’s flaccid cock and of his muscles, and cruel about his face, making him look like a shaved bigfoot, complete with a snarling expression that Jessi didn’t think Adam was physically capable of. Wondering if Adam was one of several part-time giants, she looked closer at the phone photo, and noticed a clover-shaped birthmark on the back of his right calf. She went to the bedroom and saw the same birthmark in the same place on Adam’s leg.

Her coming back into the bedroom woke him up. He turned over, and invited her back into bed, and started kissing again. Jessi started exploring his body in a more relaxed way than the first time.

Remembering how he had reacted to his ear being touched when she was the size of them, she nibbled the edges of his lobes, eliciting a thrilled gasp, and, once again, goosebumps covered his arms and neck. Even though he had just thoroughly showered, she noticed that she could still clearly smell him, and she put together, that this was because she had not showered since she had been failing at staying professional on top of his cliff-like body.

His huge body’s scent had apparently covered her exposed skin, but the surface of him seemed dry enough at the time for her to not notice it until now. She managed to hide the movement of sniffing her own arms for his scent while she kissed his neck, and the direct whiff of the high-intensity musk caused her to moan in sensual pleasure, before she copied one of his moves, and kissed him all the way down his twitching belly until she came to his rock-hard cock.

After seeing the reactions she could elicit even when she was smaller than his hand, now that his body was at a size she could handle, she needed to see it squirm. She didn’t even need to cum herself right now, she just wanted to see, hear, feel, and taste his reactions.

She took his cock into her mouth, and sucked the tip of it. She asked him to provide frank direction as she went, since everyone liked their oral differently, and he had her focus mostly on the mushroom tip, which she massaged, then licked, and then sucked on, with varying degrees of strength, until he was moaning in agony. His hips started bucking between the bed and her mouth, his eyes were closed, and then, as his fingers squeezed the bed sheets, all of his muscles from his abs to his thighs tensed, and he let out a moan that rose to a surprisingly high pitch, until his body was merciful enough to release the pressure directly into Jessi’s waiting mouth. She swallowed his cum like it was a delight, and then climbed up onto the bed and watched him as she touched herself lazily, vicariously enjoying his post-orgasm spasms, thrilled to see the aftermath of playing him like an instrument.

“Holy shit, Jessi,” he said. He laid there, legs like jelly, overwhelmed with the best oral sex he had received in his life.

Jessi just laid next to him, her arm on his chest, and nestled her nose in his still-shower-damp hair.

“I wasn’t expecting that, I was going to-“

“Payback can wait,” she responded. “I just wanted to see you have a good moment before the end of the day. You looked really stressed-out earlier,” she said.

Adam stood up from the bed, and put on his pants. He cupped Jessi’s face in his right hand, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Who are you. But you can’t be this good to me, I don’t deserve it. I’m really going to have to make it up to you.”

With that, they continued their day. After Adam saw the “Weird NJ” book open to the blurry portrait of his own rear end, while he cooked lunch for the two of them, he launched into a full explanation of everything he had been keeping back. The cat was already out of the bag, so he might as well buy it a scratching post and throw it a treat. Jessi was desperately curious about it all, so the conversation ended up lasting all day.

The only growth incidents that caused property damage or came close to hurting people were in 2006 and 2010. After the 2006 event, he had confessed to his family that he had grown. He trusted them with his life that they would never tell anyone about his secret, and they had successfully kept it in the family since then. They said nothing about the giant footprints when they repaired the damage he had done to their second home, and they trusted that if he ever grew again, he was smart enough to avoid hurting people the second time around.

After 2006, however, Adam had given up on the technology that he believed caused this whole problem, the Alternate Reality Beam, and had shifted his focus to finding proof of string theory, working with particle accelerators. He would work with more stable beams that someone else engineered. He enrolled in MIT’s physics PhD program, and he soon met Aparna.

After the 2010 event, however, he completed his PhD thesis as quickly as he could at MIT, preparing to move to Europe to work at CERN, across an ocean from Aparna, whose continued presence at MIT made him feel paranoid, and awful.

Her horrified question when she had been the size of his finger had truly been the last time Aparna and him directly spoke. They sometimes communicated through their mutual friends, who facilitated the return of his car after Adam made it back to Boston. The story she gave was that a “gas line explosion” had “spooked her” and ended their vacation early. She said it “wasn’t his fault at all”.

But Aparna still couldn’t hide her terror in his presence. Every time he saw her normally-lively face freeze from his incidental eye contact, his heart broke all over again, so he stopped associating with their friend group, and avoided her at the university as much as he could.

She told their friends that the “gas explosion” had given her PTSD, so she couldn’t associate with Adam anymore, even though, she did insist on repeating to their friends, that he had done nothing bad to her. Her friends were still suspicious of this explanation, assuming that Adam had done something more sinister. Between the inability to explain himself, and the scab of his heart that never had a chance to heal into a scar, his dating and social life for the rest of his time at MIT was a scattered mess.

A few months after the cabin incident, not wanting to directly intimidate Aparna by asking who she told what, Adam instead hired two private investigators whom didn’t know about each other: one to report on anyone else investigating the Jersey Shore Giant, and one to report on anyone else investigating Adam Macy.

By continually cross referencing everything that these two investigators found, he could track how much he had to worry about being turned into a scientific curiosity, or euthanized for public safety.

According to these sources, the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security had both thoroughly investigated the 2006 Jersey Shore Giant incident. They had done just what the Weird NJ book said, spoke to witnesses, but they had also gotten DNA off of the large smear of blood on the umbrella that had pierced his foot, and had searched for more evidence with SCUBA teams near The Giant’s last seen location. The case went dormant for a while, as no further giant man incidents were reported.

According to Adam’s sources, at some point in 2012, Aparna drunkenly mentioned that her boyfriend could transform into a giant, to a man who was harassing her at a bar. She had hoped that the sheer insanity of the story, and the insulting comparison she had made between the height of the annoying man to the dimensions of a part of her giant’s boyfriend’s anatomy, would scare him away, but unfortunately for Adam, the stranger was a high ranking FBI officer, and had heard of the theory on the Jersey Shore Giant case that the Giant hadn’t disappeared after the incident, but had instead shrunk down to normal human size, and blended in with ordinary people. The same giant starting as a normal-sized man, who might have dated this woman, lined up with this theory.

Aparna wouldn’t speak to the man any further that night, but the FBI agent had the bartender report the name on her credit card to him after flashing his badge. Even though she refused to speak to the same agent the next day when he showed up to her place in his intimidating black suit, knowing Aparna’s name was enough for the FBI to romantically connect her to Adam Macy, a man whose family also owned a vacation property that, when triangulated on a map, could have been the starting point of the Jersey Shore Giant’s foot steps.

When the FBI visited him, his parents, and his sister shortly after, they all refused to speak, insisting that their highly-paid family lawyers speak for them. The lawyers did keep the FBI at bay.

This was when Adam’s father came up with the idea of him moving to another country, to escape the scrutiny from federal agencies. Afraid of another growth incident if he lived near people again, Adam’s idea was to buy an island in a remote part of Canada, still close enough for his family to visit, especially if his father used his yacht. And so, they did exactly this, and Adam had been living in the island house full-time since its plumbing, electric, and heating were installed, in 2014. In order to give himself some sort of a goal, he decided to see if he could engineer a way to live entirely off of just his own labor and land this far north, something that sustainability experts claimed was impossible.

After his island retreat was built, though, his family hadn’t visited once. Their excuse was that they were “trying to reduce the heat on the FBI case.” But Adam suspected that they were just afraid of being on the same island with him. They had all seen the hole in the ceiling and the destroyed back deck on their private vacation home in New Jersey.

Only his dad had seen the devastation that Adam’s explosive growth caused to the rented cabin in Massachusetts firsthand.  There was no house left. It had been reduced to nothing but a foundation and a spray of splinters and glass. After Adam’s dad had helped the cabin’s owner clean up the results of the uncontrolled destructive power that lived in his son, he had never looked at Adam in quite the same way.

Realizing that he realistically might never see his family again was what caused the only other panic-growth that Adam had had on the island, in 2021, when everyone else he saw on social media had been reuniting with their family after the initial COVID lockdowns. That was when he had made the first few dents in the pine forest. He had otherwise been mostly under control, especially thanks to the self-help books he had been reading about anxiety attacks and emotional regulation.

But, clearly, mostly under control wasn’t good enough. This problem isolated him, and kept him from doing the science that he had wanted to do since he was a kid. It made him a permanent target of federal agencies. He had to fully get a hold of this problem. After a day of hearing the details of how this uncontrolled growth had essentially destroyed his life, Jessi came up with an idea. She brought it up after dinner.

“Radio Jacques. Get some more basic supplies for me to stay longer. I’ll be ordering some more specific supplies as well, and I’ll be staying for at least a few more weeks, to help you permanently get this all under control.”

“Jessi, you’re a very kind person to offer that, but I barely know you. You have to get back to your life.”

“My new job in Boston doesn’t start until late August. I was planning on hiking next month, but I’ll just cancel that.”

“What about your boyfriend?” he finally asked. She had mentioned him in a negative tone yesterday, only after they had fucked, and he admitted, he had felt strange about her infidelity since then.

“I was already mulling over the idea of ending that while I was racing. We had been drifting apart for a few months before my race, since he told me he wanted me to stop going out there. He said it was ‘too dangerous for the future mom of his future kids’. Yecch. I guess your island’s rocks made that final decision for me. I’ll end it with him as soon as I have signal.”

Adam opened a super-secure browser window on his computer for her. She emailed her crappy boyfriend a dear John letter, so that the rest of her visit could go on guilt-free for her and her host. Afterwards, after Jessi finally showered, the two of them got back into bed.

“I’m racking up so much debt to you, Jessi. I don’t know how I could repay you, if you could really make me stop growing when I have panic attacks,” he said, as they cuddled in bed together in the darkness.

“I already have some ideas,” she said, smiling mischievously.

“I know, that too - it felt like I came into a thousand pieces,” he said.

“I wasn’t just thinking about you eating me out right now. I. Was wondering. About later.”

The woman who had guzzled his semen like it was manna from heaven a few hours ago was now blushing at the thought of some other act.

“If you got the growth under control. If we could fool around, like that?”

“Like – like fucking in the middle of a panic attack?”

“No, what if you could grow without the panic? What if you’re in control of your size? What if we could fuck when you’re ten stories tall, and happy?” Jessi said, with rising excitement.

Adam sat up in the bed, and looked at her like she was crazy. She sat up too, and met his gaze with her confident smirk.

“Oh, don’t pretend, Mr. Shy Giant. I saw your face light up yesterday morning when I told you I was a thrillseeker. It looked exactly like when you stumble on someone’s kink in the middle of a conversation,” she said.

Adam swallowed, and averted his gaze. He couldn’t get out of this.

He didn’t want to get out of this, either.

“And then today, when you were lowering me back into the water, you stopped yourself from doing something.”

He returned her gaze, and the memory of that moment stirred his lust again.

“I had this urge to kiss you. But I didn’t dare when I was that big."

He kissed her deeply now, finally able to return to his stopped train of thought from their time at the cliff.

“And yes, when you said you were a thrillseeker… I’ve fantasized about a woman who might accept me, even at that size, ever since 2010. In my solitude, I’ve even come up with some weird ideas about how we’d have fun together, if only the woman was brave enough.” he admitted. It was a relief to get this off his chest.

“Tell me all these weird ideas about fucking while you’re a giant, it’s really working for me,” she said, and between makeout sessions, while rubbing and stroking each other, the two of them brought up what they’d do if they had the chance, if only he could grow without being in an unsexy panic attack first. He then returned the favor of her mind-blowing oral sex, not stopping his sucking and licking until she was covered in sweat, and screaming loud enough for him to be glad to have no neighbors.

They fucked furiously again, before they fell asleep once more in each other’s arms, both dreaming the same dreams full of each other just the way they had been for that brief minute after his panic had left, but before the size had worn off.