This really ain't 100% GTS in content, in reality, it is more about the awakening of these fantasies , then about the fantasies themselves. There is enough GTS "type" content for me to risk posting this to the web..... In the immortal words of Strother Martin, the warden in Cool Hand Luke,"what we got here is . . ."
The Making of a GTS Fan When one looks back at their life, it is usually possible to see many, if not all of those noteworthy little events, that have guided us to our present locations along life’s little alleyway. There are many moments, both fondly remembered, and in some cases, bitterly cursed, that have made us what we are in the present day. I’m optimistic that this applies to nearly all of us, including those within this community that have chosen to read my inadequate words. This thing of ours, you know, the basic bent that supports all of our thoughts and desires dealing with this subject, has but one single tiny seed as its origin. The same way, in which the headwaters of a mile wide river start, with but a single drop of water, so does begin the “idea stream” of this varied community. Many of us here, when asked or polled about our feelings, and more specifically, when or how long have we had them, answer with a very similar line; “for as long as I can remember”, or something like that. It just proves the old adage, that there is nothing new under the sun; since this seems to be much more common than any of us ever dared dream was reality. I am no exception to this either, my own visions amble off through the clouded chasm of my own fading memories, to a time long before I could indeed read printed word, or even clearly express myself, for that matter. This “dream” lay undeveloped and hidden for countless years, until that fateful day, ! when providence reared her ugly head, and treated me to a vision so incredible, that mere words will not convey those thoughts and images adequately. This all occurred years after my divorce, when I was indeed a blissfully happy bachelor again, living alone and following my many hobbies. “There I was”, digging a ditch to reach a pipe that had needed repairing for quite sometime. I had put this off long enough, and the job could wait no longer. The pipe was buried about two feet down, because at one point, this portion of the lot had been backfilled to ease some drainage problems; naturally this made for a big pile of soil. Of course, like all good holes will do, the neighbor’s son was soon “overseeing” my progress. He surprised me when he asked my permission to play with his new army men on my dirt pile, so once asking that he stay on the side away from where I was working, I gave my permission. Several hours passed, and soon I saw his mom heading our way, she walked right up to me and wanted to know if her son was bothering me. I informed that me that he was actually quite good company and extremely well behaved, and that I did not mind him playing nearby. At this time she told him to go and get cleaned up for lunch, which he promptly did. Once he was out of ear shot, his mom began chatting with me about my project, and other bits of local gossip. Even I, who was never really a sophisticated person, could tell that this housewife was indeed not enjoying her distinctly suburban existence. It seemed that her husband had left her for a younger woman, and she was struggling raising her son and three daughters. As she spoke, I gave her a casual inspection, and concluded that her soon to be ex-husband, was as big a fool then, as I feel Tony Soprano is now (Carmella is fine, and she can cook too, mama mia!). My neighbor too had given herself to make some ungrateful man a family, and was rejected for it. She too was a beauty in her own right. O.K., she would never make Playboy, but that to me was an asset, not a limitation. I prefer the natural beauty of ladies, when they are themselves rather that what many men twist them into. She was dressed comfortably for the heat of this late spring day, wearing shiny bl! ue spandex leggings and a simple white, cotton peasant girl type top. She stood about five foot six, in her well worn strapped on house sandals. She leaned towards the chubby side of the fence, but was in no way unattractive, she had nicely styled black hair and spoke with a decidedly thick, yet pleasant, South American accent. Sometime later I found out that she was from Peru. But enough of this background information; lets get to what you came here for. As time went by, I neared the end of my excavation; she started talking more about her a-hole of a hubby. As she spoke, I saw her son run off with a few of the neighborhood lads, exploring a different part of their universe. She asked me if I felt like having a beer with her while we spoke, and I replied that I needed a break anyway, and that I’d love to have a beer with her. With that she turned and trotted off to her house, I was immediately impressed with the jiggle factor of her ample backside, as she headed for her kitchen. A few minutes later, she came back with a little red cooler and some snacks to share. She got out the church-key, and removed the top from an ice cold bottle of Corona, and handed it to me with a huge, inviting smile. I thanked her, and took a good long drink. There is very little in life, as refreshing as an ice cold brewsky, when you are digging in the yard, and that’s a fact. Within half an hour, the beer was at work on her, and she began to loosen up a bit, I saw her looking down at the toy soldiers that her son had forgotten as she spoke to me, and suddenly she reached down and scooped one up in her pretty hand. She seemed to be transfixed for an instant just looking at the tiny figurine. Perhaps it was the fact that I was standing in a hole, looking up at her for nearly an hour, or perhaps it was the beer, but I soon had an image of the “Fifty Foot Woman” bouncing around in my head. I watched her holding that tiny man close to her face, inspecting “him”, and I had to wonder how that would feel to me, if it were only possible. It was just at that moment that she noticed me watching her, and she became very self conscious, and dropped the soldier at her sandaled feet. I went back to concentrating on my beer, and so did she. We made a little bit more small talk and then “The Big Event” was set in motion. A few moments later, her eldest daughter came walking by, and after greeting me, began speaking to her mother, in Spanish. My companion turned to face her eighteen year old daughter, and as she did, I became aware of the “peril” the tiny forgotten soldier was in. I wondered what his view must have been like, had he only been able to see. I soon found myself, much like some fish in that river I mentioned earlier, biting on some morsel in that river, only to find a hook now firmly set in his jaw. The major difference this time, was that instead of some fisherman reeling in a prize fish, it was my mind, and to some extant, my soul, that was trapped in a net that she had cast, without knowing that she had done so. I began to pretend that I was that tiny soldier, just inches behind her well worn house shoes, lying there unable to move or defend myself in any way, totally helpless. The two women finished their conversation, and the daughter continued on her way home. Mom on the other hand, now on her second bottle of beer, turned back in my direction, and as she did, her left foot landed right on top of the tiny soldier. She transferred most of her weight to that foot and shifted position, never even feeling the small, inch and a half tall man, disappear beneath her well worn sandal. I imagine that between the beer and the soft yielding earth, her “killing” had gone unnoticed. She lifted her right foot again, balancing on her left, and used that foot to scratch the back of her calf. I watched the tendons within her left foot working to maintain her balance as she did this. More than once, the heel of her left shoe came off of the ground, as remaining in balance required this adjustment, transferring every ounce of her body onto the tiny little figure beneath her. I was now in serious trouble. I had found out something a little dark and disturbing about myself; viewing this mock crushing was indeed stimulating, to say the very least. I soon discovered that even more and stronger images were rapidly forthcoming. Unwittingly, this surrogate GTS was casting a spell that would ensnare, and to a point, enslave me forever. I was unable and unwilling to help myself, and so I let things continue, in fact I gently nudged things to that next level. She opened another beer for us both, and as she did she stepped off of the soldier. There you could just make out his tiny form in her huge foot print, and I pointed this out to her, telling her that it looked like we had a fatality, and that she had better call 911. She laughed when she saw what I meant, and planted her foot back on the tiny form, telling me that “it” was her looser husband, and that he deserved to be squished like an insect. Unable to believe what I just heard, I pointed at the other army men and told her that those were his friends coming to rescue him, jokingly of course. Without any hesitation, she began stomping and grinding the entire group of tiny figures beneath the worn soles of her sandals. Stomping first one then the other, leaving her foot on one, as she moved her other foot to her next victim, and then she’d step onto that one, only then lifting her foot from her previous victims flattened carcass. She continued her destructive rampage until only one tiny figure remained, and this one she picked up and dangled before me. She informed me that this one was her husband’s new girl friend, and that she deserved something special. She walked back through the flattened figurines, not caring if she stepped on them or not as she went. And then she planted her “last” victim on top of a fresh dirt pile, and without saying another word, turned around and sat her big butt down, right on the! tiny figure. She rocked gently from side to side, until she felt comfortable, and then hoisted her beer to her mouth, and tilting her head back, gave me a good view of how well her throat worked as she swallowed four big gulps, finishing her last beer. She looked right at me and said that she felt like just one more beer, and noticing that mine was nearly gone, asked if I wanted another as well, naturally I agreed to this, and up she got, and back home she went. Of course, I just had to look, there, in the print of her massive right butt cheek, was the “girlfriend”, barely visible, but obvious. I wondered how that would have been too, having a woman so much bigger than you, mercilessly desire to crush you to death beneath her ass. I recalled that she had taken her seat, gotten comfy, and then finished her beer, and remained seated on her helpless victim for several minutes before leaving. Don’t think that this action didn’t carve a deep scar into my crumbling psyche as well. It took her awhile to make it back, she made a passing reference to stopping for the call of nature, and popping the tops off of both bottles, she again handed me one. Moving back to her “seat” she looked down and saw the figurine, laughing, she informed me that it looked like this little “girl friend”, was still alive. She again turned and sat down where she had been; only missing by a small amount her exact same position. She was now about two inches further to her right, guaranteeing that the figurine was now almost beneath her crack, if not exactly under it. From her seated position, she leaned over and grabbed the small cooler, and retrieved a zip lock baggie full some sort of candy. My blood actually ran cold, when I realized that her snacks of choice were gummi-bears. Ohhhhh . . . . . the humanity! Opening the bag, she tilted it towards me, and offered me some, I refused saying my hands were too dirty, and that they bothered my teeth. She accepted this and began in munching these; instantly three were pulled from the bag and dumped right into her open mouth. I pretended not to watch as she chewed, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught every detail of her first mouthful of fresh victims. I watched her jaw work, as she chewed them; saw her pause, and a moment later saw the chewed lump move down her throat, to join the contents of her beer filled tummy. I started a fresh line of chatter, but soon returned to the main topic, asking her what she would do with all of those shrunken bodies. She asked me what I meant, and I told her that within a few hours they would all return to full size, unless destroyed, again, jokingly of course. We went through several scenarios, all ending up with us getting caught, until she came up with a grand idea. She said that the best way to destroy them, would be to eat them, but first she would turn them into gummi-bears, so that it would taste better. I told her that this was a perfect solution, on many levels. With a wave of her mighty hand, all of the victims stopped being toy soldiers, and had the honor of being promoted to gummi-bears. Some people have all of the luck, or so it would seem. She busied herself with the task of ridding the real world of all of her pretend victims; she threw a few at a time into her waiting jaws, time after time, repeating these actions until only a couple! remained in the bag. She washed down the last of what remained in her mouth, with another swallow or two of beer. This was followed by a pretty healthy belch, that she attempted to muffle, but was barely successful in so doing. Wow, only two left, I mentioned, with a smirk. To this she replied that she felt full, and needed to rest a bit. A few moments later she burped quietly again, and informed that now she had some room. I pointed out how the last two in the bag happened to be her husband and his new girl friend, and it looked to me like they were still barely alive. How fitting she thought, and made a comment of how she should give them some time alone together, before the end came. Not understanding her meaning, I asked how she meant to accomplish that little trick. She demonstrated by pulling the couple out of their plastic prison, and casting them into her mouth, with a rather rapid movement. She then brought the nearly empty bottle of beer to her luscious lips, and without another word drained the contents in a couple more gigantic gulps. This effectively washed the two remaining gummi’s down her throat, whole and intact, or as my mind ever so slowly began to grasp, alive! That conce! pt had never occurred to me before that moment. I must have had quite a strange look on my face, as she looked at me and began to laugh quietly. Patting her slightly plump belly, she informed me that they finally had the privacy that she had promised. I did not know what to say, my mind was so overloaded with sensory input, that it was suffering its own version of a system crash. I changed the subject, and for several more minutes we spoke of other things, and then decided that it was time for her to begin the preparation of her family’s dinner. As she walked off, I though, what a shame it is, that some real GTS interaction is not really possible. Then again, imagining the horrors of dying in the stomach of somebody who ate you just for fun, well, maybe we should leave well enough alone. We never spoke of that afternoon’s happenings again, even though we met frequently for a few years after that day. Like most good things in life however, that relationship ended with more of a whimper than a bang, as one day she moved two states away, for a better job. The year she moved away, was the year, that I first saw Kathy Castro’s advertisement in Leg Show. I began to realize that perhaps I was not alone after all. After reading some of Kathy’s work, I realized that I was fairly tame, in comparison to others out there. I was never very good at knowing when or where to stop, but from now on; I’m semi-retired as a writer. I just wanted to tell my story . . . . . . . while I could still remember it!