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Tag: shrinking

Kinky Scribbles: First Kiss

I have had the good luck to end up with a writing coach for the month of January, and she’s helping me figure out ways to lower the stakes of writing more often, both for erotica and for my mainstream projects.

Step one is to attempt what I’m calling “writing scribbles” that will be quick, short, relatively unplanned, and can have only one round of edits before sharing with the world.

This is basically what I achieved many times over with Tumblr’s format, and what I’ve been avoiding with my shiny personal website for the last year. As if I went from a commuter train full of conversations with friends and acquaintances I see regularly, to a personal vehicle where I make all the decisions of where to go, and I do it alone, and have to roll down the window or deliberately invite people inside to talk to them. It’s clunky, lonely, and it feels like the stakes are higher (silly ideas about identity, success, connection) if I decide to go in the wrong direction or say the wrong thing.

Fuck the wrong thing. Nothing is wrong–it’s either unethical, painful, uncomfortable, or various shades of awkward. I might regret a thing, but who cares? It’s on my website, and I’m in control of whether or not it continues to see the light of day. I’m going to take the steps to make sure it’s as ethical as I can make it, by offering tags and informed consent and giving credit to other writers and artists. As for pain, that can heal. Discomfort and awkwardness are also hallmarks of change and growth. Nobody ever made progress or created something wonderful by staying 100% comfortable.

Scribbles can be drawing, writing, any kind of creative art. The point is that it has to be quick, simple, and low-stakes.

At this point in my process, I’m not allowed to turn it into a big thing or make extra work for myself with extra ideas. I’m not adding it to my mainstream works. I’m sticking to kinky content only, because it’s the one kind of writing that brings me the most joy and escapism right now. And also because it’s a way to keep my scope small.

Ironically for someone with size dysmorphia, I have no idea how to keep my ideas and goals small.

I know how to “go big or go home” in other parts of my life, but over the years I’ve let it become too overwhelming with writing because I get cloudy with assumptions of what it means to be a writer and what it means to be “enough.” (Fuck you very much, Impostor Syndrome.) Even discussing the scribbles concept with the coach and how to fit 10 minutes into my schedule a week, I quickly morphed the discussion into how I could carve out 30 minutes a day, every day. When she pointed that out and reminded me that I am already enough regardless of how many minutes I can or can’t put into my schedule right now, I burst into tears.

Fuck going big all the time, fuck that overachiever mindset that’s burned me out so many times. Fuck the toxic productivity culture of never believing I’m enough.

I want to learn how to go small. I’m a sizeshifter, damnit. This is a skill I can develop, just like any other. I just need to find a way to show up and do the work without self-sabotaging all my efforts with last-minute deadline scrambles and other misguided attempts at staying comfortably far away from risk and failure.

Ornamental: An erotic holiday story

A red Christmas tree ornament on a wooden table.
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash, shared with a Creative Commons License: https://unsplash.com/photos/AF_4tBQjdtc

“And so, shrunk down, strapped to a tiny dildo, little more than decoration for a party she should have been hosting, Mora shuddered and spasmed and cried out with her first orgasm of the day.”

 

Hello, my lovelies! One of my goals for the new year is to share more imperfect writing, so today I’m sharing a Winter Solstice gift: an 11K word sizeplay story featuring lesbian sex at a holiday party, succubus magic, shrinking, objectification, mind control, humiliation, dubcon, unaware, scissoring, mouthplay, insertion, and so many orgasms I literally stopped counting.

 

Inspiration

I was inspired by this tweet from @CallMeIthaca:

I responded with this retweet, but the fantasy stayed with me and I decided to try it in a story.

[Author’s note from 2021:

Now that I have more experience on Twitter, I’ve realized in hindsight that writing her fantasy into a story without permission and then quote tweeting her original tweet was not an okay thing to do. Ithaca and I are not mutuals and don’t have any kind of friendship or relationship. I need to own that I didn’t comment on her tweet or DM her to ask permission to explore her idea OR put a size-kink spin on it, and that’s a problem.

We all take inspiration from a lot of places, and people participate in kinky twitter partly as a way to share our fantasies, but do that for a variety of reasons. Sometimes a person is tweeting a fantasy for the purpose of inviting strangers to interact with them in that fantasy; sometimes a person tweets a fantasy with the hope other creatives will take that idea and run with it; but in either case, you don’t know until you ask. Just like a sexy piece of clothing is not an open invitation to do something sexual to a person, sexy tweets are not open invitations to start roleplaying publicly.

This isn’t exactly roleplay, but I didn’t ask. I ran with the idea, and then I basically involved her in my version of the fantasy by quote tweeting her original with my new story inspired by it. That’s a problem, too. If I’d gotten permission and she was into that, quote tweeting in this way would have been a fun way to share the work, give her credit, and promote her account. I think I did it this way because I started in Tumblr, and that platform revolved around sharing and building on others’ work. But it’s not how Twitter works. Doing that without asking was crossing some boundaries, and I am sorry for that. I DM’d her an apology. She was gracious and understanding, and I have decided to leave this up because I would prefer that others be able to learn from my mistake.]

 

Writing it quickly, sharing it quickly

I wrote it in one marathon writing session, and I’m deliberately giving it to you after only two hours of editing today. Why? Because stories that collect digital dust in my files don’t bring pleasure to anyone. Editing is good, but editing as a way to postpone being vulnerable is not serving my goals as a writer. I have to learn that it’s better to let them go before I’m completely satisfied. (I’ll never be completely satisfied.) In an effort to re-calibrate my sense of “this is good enough to release into the wild,” I’m going to share more content with deliberately fewer rounds of editing. I’m tired of holding back, so I’m going to let myself be imperfect. It seems like the only way forward.

One other thing holding me back is that I know I will need content for Kindle once I begin publishing. I write a story and stare at it, deliberating. Should I post it to my website and share it for free? Should I hold onto it and polish it more and publish it on Kindle? Or is it possible that maybe, just maybe, these questions are keeping me frozen in place, not sharing content or moving closer to my goal of publication?

This story is a little messy. It’s a little dark, because I was in a dark place when I wrote it, and all I wanted was to be owned and objectified and to lose myself in pleasing someone else. There were parts I considered cutting, parts I think need more polish and clarity.

But you know what? Sex is messy, too. I have never had a single experience of perfect sex, and if I had waited for perfection I would have missed so many wonderful, beautiful, intense moments of intimacy and connection with real, genuine, messy, and sexy people. I would never have had any sex at all, and sex is one of my favorite pastimes! So. Fuck perfection. Have some free erotica.

[Update on 11/27/20: I wanted to share this again but couldn’t resist one more round of edits for clarity and consistency. I should probably ask someone to tie me up before I go in for more…]

“It’s magic,” Irena whispered. She, too, ran a finger down Mora’s tiny body and the tiny woman felt more beautiful under their shared gaze than she had in years. She felt strangely powerful, in spite of her size…

 

 

Read the full story behind the cut.