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It’s the weekend and you’re at a party. Also present is a woman who happens to be twelve feet tall. You decide to call it a night, but she blocks the door and tells you to stay. What could she want with you? And right now, what do you want?
Welcome to zHeightgeist, a short podcast with some big ideas about the growing fascination with gigantic and tiny people. I'm your host, Aborigen, exploring the history, the prejudices, and the passion surrounding Size Fantasy.
Introductions
By Aborigen
“I’m gonna do it,” said Jons.
Immediately his friends pinned him down. “You leave her alone,” said Linus. “You’re thinking with your dick. I’ll clear your head with a knee to your groin.”
“Think about the community. Think about your friends and family, the danger you’re exposing them to,” warned Vilho.
“We only get one chance to be wrong,” said Filip quietly.
Simply leaping out into the path of a Normie was inviting disaster. They weren’t looking for tiny little people like Jons and his friends, and most of the Normies didn’t even believe they existed. Most of the time, when a Normie spotted a tiny person, they assumed it was a small mouse or a large insect and reacted with horror or violence.
But Jons had been thinking about his introduction for weeks, almost as long as he’d been watching the Normie woman Shawna. The gigantic woman caught his eye while he was foraging further from his community’s warren than he’d ever ventured before. He’d just plucked a big, fat raspberry, so ripe it fell into his hands, when he saw the flash of sun on bare flesh, through the forest of lawn grass. The giantess was dressed in a T-shirt and cutoffs, ponytail dancing between her shoulder blades as she ran out to her car. He found excuses to forage in her area, watching her leave for work, go out with friends, and trudge home again in the early hours.
The tone of her voice was always kind and cheerful, which he took as a good sign. Though she had no pets, she was kind to dogs and cats in the neighborhood, also a good sign. She had a roommate, which might prove logistically challenging, but he believed Shawna’s kindness would protect him.
So early one morning, he snuck out of his community and hiked the three hours to her backyard. He wouldn’t put the warren at any risk: he felt confident that Shawna wouldn’t be the type to torture him to give up their location. He arrived at her house at dawn and located the materials he’d stashed for this event, a chunk of sidewalk chalk and a small LED light, salvaged from a forgotten toy. He took up the chalk and went to work.
Shawna woke up with her alarm clock, then cursed because it was Saturday and she’d forgotten to shut it. Grumbling, she got up to start some coffee. She supposed her sleeping roommate might like to wake up to the scent of breakfast, so she cooked some cheesy eggs with sausage, then stepped outside with her coffee to greet the dawn.
Her pajamas doubled as casual day wear, an oversized T-shirt and baggy flannel
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bottoms, from which her rosy toes peeked out. Her hair was pinned up in lopsided twin-buns, and distantly she wished there were someone in her life to appreciate how fucking cute she looked right now.
Shawna paused in her steps. A small flashing light attracted her attention to a doodle on the paved walk. It looked like a small heart inside a large heart, with an arrow pointing back and to the left… She gave in to curiosity and walked around the house to a nook formed by the back exit and her bedroom wall.
In this juncture she found a splay of colorful, tiny wildflowers, all varieties, growing in a quarter-circle framed by the walls and trimmed to end abruptly at the yard grass. How had she never noticed this before? Shawna supposed she’d had no call to walk around the house, not when the landlord provided lawn mowing, and all she cared about was walking out to her car.
Amid the bright little flowers she spotted a path of small, flat river stones leading into the heart of the splay. There was a miniature sundial, a miniature gazing sphere, and a miniature gazebo constructed from popsicle sticks and held in place by twines of Creeping Charlie. If this was Kari’s project, it was a creative side to her roommate that she’d never seen before. It would have been more like Kari to clear out the flowers and spell a swear word in pebbles.
Shawna gasped. Her huge green eyes picked out the little resin park bench and a tiny little man sitting upon it. He was smiling and waving at her.
“What the fuck,” she offered, by way of greeting.
He said something, and she couldn’t make it out, but despite her innate aversion to violations of known physics, she leaned in closely to hear his words.
“Good morning, Shawna,” the tiny man enunciated in an accent she couldn’t place. “Nice to meet you! Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
She agreed that it was. It had been, right up to the sharp left turn the dawn had taken.
She cleared her throat. “So, do you live around here?”
The tiny man looked about nervously and claimed to reside in her backyard. “Everything I need is in this area: nuts, seeds, mushrooms, berries… everything. I thought perhaps a new friend might round it out for me.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve never met a tiny person before. I thought that was all fairy tales or movies.” She couldn’t help but admire his perfectly sculpted little form. He seemed exactly like any other human, just exquisitely miniature. “Hey, do you want some breakfast?”
She held out her hand, warmed by her coffee mug, and he crept across her fingers and into her palm. He weighed nearly nothing, and to feel his fragile little body crawl over her skin was like being brushed with a feather. With supreme caution Shawna rose to her feet and carried him like a prince on a palanquin to her kitchen table.
“Don’t move,” she said, quickly reheating her roommate’s share of breakfast. She glanced over at him—he seemed to be fascinated with his surroundings, gawking at all the furnishings and occasionally covering his eyes and catching his breath. Making no sudden movements, she sat down near him and rested the small plate of breakfast before herself.
“How should I…”
He sat on the edge of the plate and grinned up at her. “I’ll have as much as you care to share.”
Shawna pinched off a bit of Kari’s fake sausage and offered it to the tiny man. He was handsome, with ruffled blond hair and bright blue eyes, dressed in what looked like scraps of fabric sewn together to make a tunic and trousers, and he nibbled the brownish food patty from her fingertips in a way that made her heart race.
“Not to be creepy, but I’ve been watching you for weeks,” he said. His voice sounded like a speaker playing in the next room. “I felt it was safe to introduce myself to you. I think you’re really pretty, and everything I’ve seen tells me you’re a nice person. So, hi, I’m Jons.”
“It’s awfully brave of you to come out to me, I guess,” she said.
He laughed. “Well, you know, some things are worth dying for.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“I didn’t mean to say that you would. Only, it’s just a prominent option for my kind when we present ourselves to your kind.”
“Does that happen a lot? Have you lost friends to people like me?”
He winced and glanced aside, signaling a change of conversation. “I would just like to express my gratitude at your resilience for accepting my greeting.”
Shawna laughed. “I thought it was my drunk roommate! What does the heart-within-a-heart mean, anyway?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you later, when we get to know each other better.” He looked up at her. “ Would you mind that, getting to know each other better?”
Mentally, Shawna cleared her whole weekend, now reserved solely to getting to know her tiny man better.
Welcome to zHeightgeist.
What you just heard was a short story, written for this podcast, as a welcome to those of us in the Size Fantasy community and a heads-up for outsiders. This is what Size Fantasy is about: differently sized people… very differently sized people. They can be dozens or hundreds of feet tall, they can be only inches tall or millimeters, and they can range to the extremes in either direction. Sometimes they’ve always been that way, a community of Borrowers or elemental giants laying dormant in the earth until their time comes. Sometimes you witness the growth or shrinking process: a man gets hit with an experimental shrink ray, a woman drinks a mystical potion of growth, or a virus breaks out and adds or subtracts mass to living beings.
And then there are the normal-sized people in the middle, witnessing their city being rampaged by a vengeful giantess or discovering a tiny person sneaking around their kitchen, looking for scraps. I’ll talk more about the mercurial terms “macrophilia” and “microphilia” in the next episode. For this one, I want to introduce myself.
My pen name is Aborigen. I wrote the story at the start of this show, as well as a few hundred others and several books, stored on my blog and on various
creative forums online. Some of them are sexy, some are cruel, many are comical, and many are simply a slice of life as tiny people find their way in the world with the normal-sized people they can trust. That’s my personal preference, being sympathetic to the very tiny person in a world not built for them. I think many of us feel this way in our lives, even outside of Size Fantasy.
I’ve been into this all my life. In my early childhood, in first or second grade, I stayed home sick from school one day. My mom set me up with snacks and a TV, and I watched the “Creature Double-Feature” on a UHF channel. As it happened, they were playing Attack of the 50’ Woman and Village of the Giants back to back. The imagery of gigantic beautiful women keyed directly into something inherent to me. I don’t know what or why, but I became fiercely enamored of giantesses on that afternoon. It wasn’t until middle school that things switched and I started to envision myself as a tiny person, interacting with some cute classmates in lurid, uninformed fantasies. Sometimes they were cruel, but most of the time I pictured them as affectionate, loving, and lascivious.
The question as to whether I was the only person who thought or felt like this never entered my young mind. It was a fascination for me, and I assumed I was the only one who had it, but I didn’t feel lonely or alienated because of it. It was just my thing, and I never talked about it with anyone because I assumed no one could understand.
Flash-forward to thirty years ago, I was working in a library at a community college, and just before I wrapped up my degree and was about to leave the school, we got our first internet-ready computers. I’d heard about the internet, spelled with a capital I back then, but I hadn’t experienced it. I stole one copy of the vague instructions on how to search for a topic, practiced it as much as I could without an internet connection, then returned to school. Late one evening in the library, when most of the student body had gone home, and with sweaty palms and heart palpitations, I typed in my first search term: “giantess.”
A new world opened up to me, but it was the world I belonged to all along. I found the online forums that had already coalesced, users from around the world sharing their fetishes for gigantic and minuscule people. Sites like Dream Country, Scooter’s Foot Fiasco, Giantess Shrine, and dozens of AOL and Geocities websites. Image galleries full of grainy bitmaps that took forever to download, the misty dawn of photo manipulation and forced-perspective photography to represent pretty, smiling women as dozens of yards tall, pinching tiny, fully clothed men and dangling them over their open jaws, or closeups of tiny men climbing all over the bodies of women, body parts so large they couldn’t fit into the image.
I grabbed and printed and hoarded everything I could. I requested reams of tractor-fed sheets bearing dot-matrix printouts of giantess and tiny man stories from the computer lab. I begged a favor from a friend, who already regarded me as unhinged, and printed out a collection of images I still have today. They don’t have the same effect now, but at the time it felt much more intense than breaking the law. It felt like I was tapping with a monkey wrench on a broad pane of glass separating my world from a dimension fully populated by gigantic, buxom, nude women, and it felt like everyone on my side was watching me, and I was completely naked.
A few writers wrote stories that keyed into my imagination and my style, like those two vintage sci-fi movies did. Writers like DX Machina, Grildrig, Chelgi, M. Sherman, and Fecke, names that increasingly only mean something to us Size fetishists of a certain age. I read, trembled at, exulted in, and studied their works, and they inspired me to begin writing. At this point it was a little less than three decades ago, and today many of my fans were born after I wrote my first story. A sobering thought.
I use the phrase Size Fantasy, and I may have coined that hashtag on Twitter (long before the Faulknerian idiot man-child tore it apart from the inside and invited the Nazis back). But I didn’t create the phrase: when I ran my first search term, one of the places I found was an archive by a user named Casti, on Usenet, another vintage artifact of the internet, way back when you used Netscape or Magellan to find it. The forum was alt.sex.fetish.size, and stories were grouped into categories like shrink, grow, and MF, or male-female. Hundreds of stories were there, loaded up and ready to read. Before the internet, these stories were shared and traded in the most inconvenient ways. I talked with one Size fan who literally drove his collection of hard drives state to state, meeting up in person with other Size fans to physically download and upload material between drives. Like a friend of mine says, this system had amazing bandwidth but terrible latency. All that labor was obviated by the internet, and I only stood to benefit from it. I taught myself HTML and built my own websites, showing off my own stories, starting a name for myself.
Now here we are today. I’ve been writing stories about horny giantesses and hornier tiny men for three decades. I ran a flash fiction writing contest for four years, encouraging new Size Fantasy writers and testing the veteran authors. I learned 3D rendering in Daz Studio and created mixed-size erotic images that way. I taught myself photocollage with the free program Pixlr and created much tamer but no less affectionate shrunken man images. I got the band back together and wrote a song, you heard it in the intro to this podcast. And now I’m making a podcast. How about that?
What does this fantasy mean to me? The answers are obvious and difficult. If you take a beautiful woman and make her larger, taller, to me she’s made more beautiful with the amplification of her features along with strength and confidence. If she chooses to be with me, that makes me special. And she has a way of loving me that is literally irresistible. I’m along for the ride and whatever she wants to do with me.
Does this fetish mean I’m incapable of intimacy without this fantasy? Absolutely not. I’ve been married 15 years to a beautiful, brilliant, and thankfully open-minded woman who believes everyone’s into something, whether they can admit it or not, and my kink makes me interesting. She has supported my creativity and even brainstormed with me for some of my best work, always encouraging me to fly my freak flag high. I know not everyone has had this experience, and I know I’m very lucky to have found an understanding partner.
So that’s me, Aborigen. Thanks for listening to my story. If you have any questions or would like to share your own experiences, you can contact me through the zHeightgeist website, at zHeightgeist.com.
Thank you for listening to zHeightgeist. This show was written, hosted, produced, and everything else by me, Aborigen. Find the show notes and links at zheightgeist.com. See you in two weeks, and please watch your step.