(Content tags: this article contains discussion of sex, masturbation, mental health diagnoses, C-PTSD, size dysmorphia and AiWS, dissociation, burnout, panic attacks, grief, and shame, balanced with a variety of positive emotions like gratitude, hope, and determination.)
Instructions for Living A Life:
Be astonished. Tell about it.
Achievements in context
This has been a difficult year for so many. As I see the 2022 retrospectives roll past on the timeline, I feel a mix of pride in myself and my own accomplishments, and a wish that I could put some of it in context for anyone else out there who also feels inadequate. If you feel like you haven’t done enough, or if you’re afraid to take a break because you won’t be productive, this is for you.
This year I wrote more fiction than I ever have in my life, more than 120,000 words. That’s clocking in at 2.4 NaNoWriMos! I published 80,000 words to this blog. I recorded and edited six author-read audio tracks. I also wrote a significant amount of nonfiction, including three free community resources, one of which I presented at SizeCon.
I’m very proud of this achievement. And a lot of it has only been possible because my life happened to fall apart in a very specific way. There’s some socioeconomic privilege at work here, and other factors I won’t share for privacy reasons.
My life was in upheaval this year. I experienced two traumatic losses, one of which was to due to COVID in spite of vaccines and boosters. When the living situation at our last place became untenable, my polycule moved again for the second year in a row. I burned out completely on my entire nonprofit career, had two full breakdowns, and took five hiatuses from Twitter/writing that amounted to at least six months of “unproductive” rest and healing.
Apparently when I spend a whole day editing size kink erotica with a hypnosis scene, it’s surprisingly easy for me to drop myself into subspace by writing a four-tweet tranced out shrinking poem. I would’ve kept going but I lost my words. Yay, sexy self discovery!
Tits & A Shrinking Kink
By Elle Largesse
Copyright 2022, all rights reserved.
Anyone else out there with tits and a shrinking kink like to unfasten their bra inside their clothes and just let it slide around in there for a bit?
It usually makes me feel like I’m shrinking.
Bra too big? Good.
Body too small for the bra? Good.
nipples brushing against the underwire
the cups floating up over my breasts, pushing the fabric of my dress awkwardly
like the dress is too big for me too
straps sliding off my shoulders
I’m just too small for any of these clothes
I should be naked
tinies should be naked
I’m reminded that, no matter how small I get,
even kneeling in my own bra cup,
I’m blessed w breasts just barely big enough suck on myself
so now I’m tiny & naked (bc tinies should be naked)
& I’m kneeling in my own bra cup
& I’m hefting a breast to suck my own nipple
my mouth on my own breast feels good
almost good as shrinking
but it makes big sounds
now I feel even smaller, sucking hard, making big wet sounds that fill the room
sounds like this shouldn’t be allowed for someone tiny as I am
“By turns sweet, sexy, and intense, this story was cathartic. Clearly it was written in the moment… from a very personal place and very real struggle. The intimacy on display was beautiful.”
I’m proud to share “Do for One,” my entry for the My Heaven October 20 SizeRiot contest, hosted by the hardworking and talented Aborigen-gts. As this was the final chapter for SizeRiot, a quarterly event that meant so much to me as a writer and size kink enthusiast, I worked especially hard to give it my best effort.
Given the hellacious year we’ve all endured, and the ways trauma can influence our sexuality, I was not able to bring myself to write about my ideal, quintessential size scenario like the contest asked us to. However, I am proud that I did rise to the occasion and craft a love story that “that twinges the heartstrings,” and a size story that makes me “feel less alone.” Thank you, Aborigen, for bringing us all full circle back to our roots, and for encouraging us to find safe havens for our minds, hearts, and bodies, even in a time of fear, grief, and isolation.
As many readers guessed, this story comes from a deeply personal place. Facets of me and both my partners shine through in both characters. Though I changed details, the work is similar to my own career.
And although I do not actually change size like Amy, my mind gives me the sensory input that makes it feel like I am smaller or larger than reality. As with many forms of neurodivergence, some days it’s fine, some days it’s fun, some days it’s awful, and if 2020 was any indication, quarantine definitely makes it harder. If any of this sounds familiar, or if Amy’s experiences speak to you on a personal level, then you can read more about size dysmorphia in my origin story.
If you’re not interested in the neuroscience of sexual brakes and accelerators or why we don’t have sex drives, you can skip to “How to stop stopping: taking your foot (and everything else) off the brake” to learn about why Amy’s catharsis works.
If you’re very low on energy and just want help, go to “Completing the cycle while (ahem) laying in bed” for my recipe on how to use size kink to achieve that catharsis. It’s not a quick fix, but I swear, this is one of the top things that has helped me manage my mental health through the pandemic.
I am thrilled with the artwork I commissioned from TinyBoyToy, a talented artist from the #SizeTwitter community who creates gorgeous queer giant/tiny artwork. (Heads-up, they do sometimes post body horror content on their Patreon.) They are wonderful to work with, please commission them and help them reach 20 patrons so they can keep making amazing art!
Thanks also to the anonymous donor who contributed to my commission fund. I’m so grateful!
Feedback & community response
I appreciate the feedback I received for this story. As always, I’m deeply grateful to my beta readers and everyone who read my work and reviewed it.
What did people enjoy most about this story? This section is longer than I usually make it, because at least half of the feedback felt like it might have meaning for others, too. And we could all use more hope and meaning right now. Here’s what the readers had to say.
“A lovely story of partners negotiating kink and size spaces.”
“Beautifully and unforgivingly human characterization… Thoughtful use of visual descriptors manages to be both vivid yet also subdued. One of my favorites of this contest. Very fine work.”
“Fantastic feeling of frustration and being trapped by her own size. The relationship felt entirety natural and I practically felt the frustration as she fought her fury out of her and the relief at the end. An impressive ride of emotion and size entwined.”
“Deeply personal read about a familiar and infuriatingly contemporary struggle.”
“Stories like this bring some hope and light, especially in a time like this. Struggling with what you can and cannot do during the pandemic, how and who we can help, or if we can do anything to take care of ourselves. This is a harsh tale, but also one with hope, telling us the need of letting go, releasing the burden. How it plays with size games, with pressure, with all the tension to fight the negativity and find the ray of hope that keeps us going. All that in this story, so well-written and so intense.”
“Heartbreaking and sexy all at once.”
“My favorite thing about this one is how it resonated with Talmudic concepts of doing good in the world, even though the world seems so big.”
“I enjoy the trope of size being connected to emotional state, and you utilize it here in a meaningful, relatable, visceral, and hopeful (“Do for one”) way. These are real characters with real fears and needs, and this is an amazing piece of fiction.”
“This is a remarkable story about personal release and catharsis through size. I think one of the most beautiful things about this fetish of ours, is that it gives us an avenue to experience being powerful, and powerless. Ways to take, and ways to give. It’s usually difficult to write something that is meant for yourself, and have it encode for anyone else. The message got through this time. The need to fight, when there’s nothing suitable to fight. This story was such a beautiful way to solve that problem, with this gift of size we’ve been given. Thank you.”
“An amazing story, and perhaps one of the first I’ve read involving a definitively non-gendered deuteragonist. Also a look into a world of safe-words. Overall, this piece is a fantastic tale crafted with care and love. I’m better for having read it, and I’ll be returning to it throughout my future; one of the best compliments I can give a work of art.”
“To whoever wrote this story, thank you for writing it. This helped instigate the best cry I had in a while, one I sorely needed, because I didn’t even know I was feeling some of these things. If these experiences are based on real lived ones, please know that you have helped me. Rare is the story that encapsulates that feeling of impotence one feels when one has power—any power—to help and still can’t. Rarer are those that validate the feelings that arise. The rage, the utter, debilitating need to *be* and *not be*, while also acknowledging the little goods, the big goods, the unambiguously valid truth that comes with being hamstrung by a world that seems insistent on ignoring pain. Life imitates art, yet art draws from life and I was still surprised to come upon a story that will likely remain in my consciousness for a while.”
Maybe I didn’t need to share all of that, but I wanted to. Both for myself, as a reminder that in spite of my insecurities, I am actually succeeding at doing what I set out to do—write sexy stories about connection and love and the human experience—and also to acknowledge that we’re all going through a lot right now.
Some folks wrote some really personal, heartfelt things to me after reading this piece. Thank you for reading, and for trusting me.
You’re not alone.
Read the story
AUDIO VERSION: Coming this spring, check back for a 20-minute author-read version
Tl;Dr: It’s okay if your brain and body want sex when you are stressed. It’s okay if they want it less. Both are normal—even during a pandemic and an uprising. There’s science to prove it. Research also shows that big feelings (like fear of getting sick, or anger at injustice) can be processed and released before they do lasting harm to you or your life. I share excerpts from Emily Nagoski’s book Come As You Are and two others to show how we might be able to use kink to do the same thing.
This article is around 9300 words. If you’re not interested in the neuroscience of sexual brakes and accelerators or why we don’t have sex drives, you can skip to “How to stop stopping: taking your foot (and everything else) off the brake” to learn about using emotions to release stress. If you’re very low on energy and just want help, jump to “Completing the cycle while (ahem) laying in bed” for my recipe on how to use size kink to achieve that catharsis.
(Content tags: This article contains mentions of the pandemic, police brutality, racism, violence, murder, assault, AIDS, PTSD, depression, anxiety, and trauma responses. It also covers topics ranging from BDSM and impact play, to polyamory, to microphilia/macrophilia, and covers size dysmorphia and kink-related fantasies.)
I didn’t expect that it would take a pandemic and a racial justice uprising for me to finally sit down and write a review about a phenomenal book on sex research for my kink blog. Here’s the reason I hope you’ll read this. People are having huge emotional responses that they don’t have the space or tools to fully process; they are also judging others/feeling ashamed for not wanting sex right now, while others are having the same response to those who do want sex right now. Research shows sex desire can decrease for some and increase for others during times of great stress, and that both are normal and healthy. Sex-positive spaces like #SizeTwitter should make space for both responses, and might already be able to provide tools to help process big emotions.
And far more sincere thanks to my friend Dick, the Micro Giant, who let me roleplay this little comfort scene off and on today to work through these feelings.
Ten minutes. Just a scribble. Let go of whatever you think this needs to be, Elle. Just write.
(Ten minutes turned into an hour and a half of writing, with another half hour of edits. I never know if I should feel pleased at my accomplishment when this happens, or annoyed with my inability to keep my projects small. I do feel really good about this one, though.)
Kinky Scribbles: Body Pillow
(M/f, male Giant, female tiny, shrinking, cuddles, comfort) 1020 words, est. 1.5 hours of writing, 0.5 hours of editing
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.
Last weekend I reached 700 followers as @mightytinygiant on Twitter, and have decided to celebrate by sharing two things that are important to me. After nearly half a year on hiatus to heal from depression, it’s good to be back. I’m grateful for all the support I’ve received and the messages urging me to take care of myself. The writer is worth more than what they write.
The first thing I’m thrilled to share is this gorgeous portrait of me by the talented and friendly DTV_art. I have admired her work for years, since I first laid eyes on her Tumblr treasure trove of lovely queer Giantess girlfriends and sizeshifter boyfriends and so many gorgeous Giant/tiny moments. Trust me, she is so incrediblyskilled and talented and awesome and her work is queer-friendly and romantic AF. I am humbled by the way she took my photograph and translated me into my most femme-tastic witchy woman sizeshifter self. As of this writing, she is still open for commissions!
The second celebratory tidbit I’m sharing with you lovely folks today is one of my favorite pieces of writing, first shared on Tumblr, January 12, 2016. I was struggling then with depression and size dysmorphia, just like I have been this year. I have made huge strides this summer with therapy—thank the Gods for sex-positive, kink-positive, polyam-friendly therapy—and for insurance to help me afford it. More people should have access to that kind of healing.
That support has given me the hope I needed to delve into my feelings about my body and my writing. I’ve been revisiting what I love most about what I’ve written. I’ve been working on befriending my body and accepting that the way she feels large or small may actually be healthy for me, even if it’s not a thing people commonly feel. Commissioning a portrait of myself as a new avatar is part of that work, and I’m grateful for DTV working with me to get it right.
It’s okay to feel small. It’s okay to feel large. It’s okay to take up whatever space you need to take up, in this world. I need this reminder now, as much as I ever have. Maybe you do, too.
Sometimes when you grow, you’re scared of ruining your clothes or destroying your favorite pair of shoes. Sometimes you’re just scared of how they constrict you, how a necklace could choke you or a beloved coat could trap you like a straight-jacket. But not always.
Sometimes when you grow, shredding through your layers of fabric and fashion feels better than breaking a chain with your bare hands. You’re no longer made for the world of thrift shop jeans or business casual blouses. You can stop worrying if it looks wrong. It belongs to the person you used to be when you still apologized for taking up space.
Small wonder, then, when you stretch your shoulders just to feel the seams tear. When you breathe deeply so the hooks on your bra unbend themselves, unable to hold the glory of your breasts as they grow in size, weight, and consequence. You roll your hips and savor the shredding sound of that pencil skirt you used to love, which has been too small for far too long. It slips to the ground like a memory, followed quickly by the remains of your panties. The lace surrendered by unknitting itself. It wasn’t up to the task of containing the beauty of your other massive assets.
Tearing through the leather on your high heels seems almost obscene, but deep down you offer it like a sacrifice. Your bare feet fill the ground with presence. The crown of your head lifts above the crowd where you walked alone in your smallness.
You feel your own beauty as you never have before. With awe and gratitude and no regrets. You see the world differently and know yourself fully as you grow in all directions, pushing outward, but especially upward.
You have every right to stand tall no matter your size. Breathe deeply in the body that bears your heart, and never apologize again.
Content warnings: some NSFW artwork and language, discussion of body dysmorphic disorder, gender dysphoria, grief, gun violence, depression, neurodivergence, kink, microphilia, macrophilia, and shame
See my Size Dysmorphia / Size Euphoria page for a shorter introduction to these concepts and updated information after my 2021 diagnosis of Alice in Wonderland Syndrome.
Introduction: arguments with my body
It won’t surprise you that I’m sitting at a table in a chair with my feet on the ground, while my hands type comfortably on a laptop. You—and most of the people who know and love me—might be intrigued to know that my senses also tell me I can lift my hand and touch the ceiling with no trouble, because it’s dangerously close to brushing my head.
Would you like me to open the front door, fifteen feet away? It’s within easy reach. Or, at least, that’s the argument my body makes.
My senses agree I’m sitting at the table in the usual way, but they also feed me contradictory information about the walls seeming to close in around me, about how there’s no space for my knees and legs between the table and the wall, no way this chair should be able to support my weight, and no way that my fingers could possibly type on a laptop that feels like a toy for a doll.
If I close my eyes, the sensation intensifies and logic takes a backseat to a kinesthetic awareness of overwhelming size. Some days I feel overwhelming smallness instead, as if everything is huge and heavy and beyond my isolated reach.
Luckily for me, if I open my eyes again, I’m able to use the visual information to combat the strange, contradictory physical information. I concentrate on the evidence of my eyes and wage a war against my kinesthetic senses—the same kind of battle I’ve been fighting quietly since childhood.
In some circles, this experience is known as size dysmorphia: a sense that your body’s size feels larger or smaller than you know it to be.
I know that I stand five feet, two inches tall. I know that my body does not change in size. And yet, it’s as if some ancient part of my brain and body refuse to completely accept this data.
Sometimes it happens without warning, like a radio shifting channels and offering music and static from two different stations. Sometimes I go for days without noticing anything unusual, my broadcast uninterrupted on a steady playlist of “five-foot-two” with no interruptions.
When I feel a sizeshift coming on, sometimes I groan inwardly and grit my teeth. Other times, I try to induce the feeling myself, just for the sheer joy and arousal and exhilaration of it. Few sensations are as empowering as a sense that you stand twice as tall as everyone around you.
Until about three years ago, I refused to tell anyone.
Call me Elle Largesse. I’m a sizshifting bisexual polyamorous kinky erotica writer who made my presence known to the “Giant/tiny” community on Tumblr in December of 2015. That community became the safe haven that helped me cope with size dysmorphia, embrace my sexuality, and find new multitudes within myself.
Three years and ten days after beginning this experiment in sensuality, I created this privately hosted website to continue the conversation and share my work on my own terms, with less threat of censorship.
This blog is mostly NSFW / 18 & up only. You’ll find original writing and collages, and occasional RP. Topics covered include shrinking and growth, microphilia and macrophilia.
My name is Elle and my pronouns are she/her. I’m fine with Ms. Elle, Mistress Elle, etc. but please DO NOT CALL ME GODDESS. Ask before you assume my size.
I have a thing for licking, lips, insertion, breast expansion, and obscenely large cocks. I like very softcore “pre-vore” like tongue and mouth play, and that’s about it. I’m not into hardcore violence but I have complex feelings about nonconsensual acts and a bit of a crush on butt crushes. Beware the puns.