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Author's Chapter Notes:
A minor digression, in light of the fact that my two's of loyal readers are getting (quite understandably) tired of the Sharapova-style sound effects. ;-)
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NEW YORK, NEW YORK, USA
(AUGUST 7, 2012)

Most everyone else in the crowded Manhattan sports bar was watching the Summer Olympics from London. More specifically; they were trying to see which two of the four pairs of semi-finalists (in women's beach volleyball) would be facing off against the duo of Walsh and Trainor in one day's time.

One man, however, was not.

He was a short white male, perhaps five feet/ten inches tall. With graying brown hair putting him in his mid-to-late forties. And, with brown-rimmed spectacles (perhaps made of imitation tortoise-shell) upon his eyes.

Instead of watching the various TV sets, like everyone else, he was working on a lap-top computer!

The newcomer's curiosity was aroused, in spite of himself. And, as most of the other tables and booths were filled to capacity, he at least had a legitimate excuse for going over and introducing himself.

"Excuse me. Are you saving this chair for anyone?"

"Huh?" replied the scholarly type (taking off some earphones in the process): "Beg pardon?"

"Is this seat taken?"

"Oh! No, go right ahead."

The newcomer sat down. He was also a white male. But, with black hair; blue eyes (sans glasses); and a height of six feet/three inches.

"Chuck Robertson," he introduced himself: "Public defender."

"Pleased to meet you," replied the scholar, shaking hands: "Aryc Omcic; professor of comparative literature at U-Conn/Torrington.* And, American-born son of naturalized Slovak immigrants!"

Chuck snickered, good-naturedly: "I take it that's the first question you're usually asked, concerning your name?"

"Guilty as charged."

"So, what's more engrossing than eight half-naked hotties spiking a volleyball around on the sand?"

"I'm using my summer sabbatical to meet my annual 'publish-or-perish' obligation to the college. This year, I'm doing it on a relatively recent literary phenomenon called 'gts-fan fiction.' "

"Oh! Isn't that the sub-genre of erotic science fiction where men get shrunken down to one foot or less, so that normal-sized women look like fairy tale giants to them?"

"Yes; though, sometimes, it's also normal-sized men meeting actual giantesses within the stories. Right now, I'm devoting an entire chapter to a sub-style of the sub-genre called 'unaware stories.' That's where the male protagonist (usually a self-centered lover of attention) becomes shrunken through either an act of God or some far-fetched earthly means. And, almost immediately, he becomes endangered by giant women who are totally oblivious to his existence. Despite numerous strenuous efforts to the contrary!"

Chuck nodded: "From the few on-line stories I've read, they seem to be the most popular format of gts-fanfic."

Professor Omcic frowned: "And, that's what I find puzzling. The popularity, I mean! In real life, there are some normal-sized people who are already socially invisible. So, if shrinking were possible, why bother to shrink such people at all? It'd be more redundant than..."

"...the phrase, 'criminal lawyer?' " suggested Chuck (with a smirk).

Professor Omcic smiled back: "You said it! I didn't."

"Seriously, though," continued Chuck: "If we were in court, I'd have to conclude from the evidence that most of the appeal comes from the depiction of poetic justice. And, whether or not the shrunken man in question dies at the end of the story depends on the mind-set of the author in question."

"Interesting!" replied the professor: " In other words, half of all unaware stories are latter-day Swiftian fables disguised as sexual farce."

"If that's the way you'd like to summarize it, yeah. I think so."

"Yet, narcissistic attention-seekers are the protagonists in only half of those stories," continued the professor: "What about the other half?"

Chuck shrugged: "I think you could probably stereotype the rest as well-meaning work-a-holics who unwittingly ignore the wrong woman. Usually portrayed as a vindictive narcissist, in her own right!"

Suddenly, their conversation was drowned out by a deafening cheer from everyone else in the place.

"What happened?" Chuck shouted towards the bartender.

"Treanor and Walsh are gonna face the other American women!" he yelled back: "Brazil and China are gonna have to settle for seeing which of 'em gets the bronze medal!"

tbc
Chapter End Notes:
*U-Conn/Torrington: Northwestern CT branch of the University of Connecticut.
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