We Come From Somewhere This Was Real

By Aborigen

Five original short stories by Aborigen, all dealing with the shrink fetish in various styles, from comical to violent. "Gilbert the Goblin Goes to Town"—a naive goblin finds misadventure in the annual county festival. "The Disconnect"—a man discovers his world is a computer program with broken code and falls into the mercy of a coworker. "No Good Deed"—a nebbishy young man helps a large, dull woman with her computer, and she rewards him by turning him into a diminutive sex slave.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aborigen
• Release date: Jul 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370984541

Aborigen

Aborigen has been a Size Erotica and Size Fantasy writer ever since his first keyword search for “giantess” in 1993, harboring a love of giant women and a sympathy for tiny men all his life. Over three decades he has become well-known within the GTS community, with over 300 short stories and series uploaded to his blog and various online forums. He hosted a popular flash fiction writing contest for four years, inspiring Size writers around the world to produce and refine their work. Aborigen’s stories explore themes of power, morality, and relationships, examining all forms of “othering” through size differential. His dedication to his craft and his willingness to push the boundaries of the genre make him a distinctive voice in the world of Size Erotica.

Book preview

We Came from Somewhere This Was Real

By Aborigen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Aborigen

Discover other titles by Aborigen at

https://aborigen-gts.org/

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

# # #

Dedicated to my endlessly supportive wife,

who always encouraged better of me.

Contents

Gilbert the Goblin Goes to Town

They Make Great Pets

The Disconnect

The Giant, His Prize, and Her Lover

No Good Deeds

Gilbert the Goblin Goes to Town

What is this, Saturday? Gilbert asked aloud to no one. A breeze whistled through his scrap-wood hovel. Slim beams of sunshine lanced the darkness, illuminating piles of assorted rubbish.

Gilbert, fists on hips, looked around his squalid living space and nodded with satisfaction. I think I’ve done as much as I can here! Time for a little fun! He plunged his gnarled fingers into a Gewgaw Pile and found some fancy bracelets for his arms and legs—dressing like people did—and burst from his hovel like a bullet from a gun.

His bare, leathery feet pounded the walking-trail, clouds of dust in his wake. This is gonna be great! I just know it! Sunshine flashed off his bracelets and the gold rope necklaces that crossed his chest. I bet they’ve got some bands going on! And is that roast fish I smell? There was no roast fish scent in the air, but Gilbert had been to Stamtune before and he knew how humans celebrated. He could remember it so strongly it was as though he was reliving the experience: brightly colored streamers, music everywhere, delicious food being cooked, and crazy performers doing incomprehensible things, all far above his head.

And they’ll be so excited to see me! he insisted to no one, rounding a large rock in the path that marked the one-mile stretch. I look just like them now! No one can argue with ol’ Gilbert about where he belongs! He hopped over the minnow stream that led to Murrey River and scampered on down the trail.

In an hour he spotted the front gates to Stamtune and, just as he remembered, trumpets and flutes pierced the air most welcomingly. Splendid! This is delightful! he crowed, and he sprinted with renewed energy toward the town.

Two portly guards stood before the gate, slowly examining a long line of people trying to enter. These people were tradesmen, performers, and visitors from other towns. People who lived in Stamtune had a special necklace that identified themselves as such; without this necklace, visitors had to answer a series of questions and be judged worthy by the two guards posted at each of Stamtune’s five gates.

I love the city festival! Gilbert screeched to the woman before him. Don’t you love it? Mmm, I can almost taste the trumpets! The woman did not respond, only remained staring straight ahead, her back turned to him. He hopped up and down, yelling, Don’t you love it? Don’t you love it, lady? She was much taller than him, no matter how he sprang, and so he yelled his questions at her bottom. It was broad and round, swaddled beneath layers of blue robes. When she didn’t answer, he punched her bottom playfully with his little fist. Her bottom shuddered and swayed for a moment, and then the woman’s long arm swung around her side, and the back of her hand collided with the side of Gilbert’s skull.

The little goblin sprawled in the dirt, getting a laugh from some farmers behind him. Yeah, I love it too, he said, getting up and rubbing his cheek. It’s always a good time at Stamtune. The woman only walked forward slightly. Gilbert did too, and the farmers led their donkey forward a couple of steps in turn.

Gilbert looked at the donkey. What’s your favorite part of the festival?

The donkey twitched an ear, and his long skull slowly turned to the side.

Is it the ribbons? You seem like a ribbon-guy. Streamers, bunting, stuff like that. That’s it, isn’t it?

A tall, burly farmer spat off to the side. Donkeys don’t talk, idiot. The other farmer chuckled and patted his friend on the shoulder.

Well, not when you cut them off before they can answer, Gilbert said. He was composing his thoughts and just about to speak, and then you stomped all over his answer. Now he’s put out. He stroked the donkey’s velvety muzzle sympathetically. The donkey took it.

Get yer hands off my donkey, growled one of the farmers. Gilbert didn’t have time to see which one spoke, before a large, rag-wrapped foot planted itself in his chest and booted him backward.

Unfortunately, his head slipped between the buttocks of the angry woman before him in line. She wailed, tugged the fabric out from between her buttocks, and complained to the man standing next to her, pointing at Gilbert. What’s the big idea, said the man menacingly. He’d balled up his fists and was about to step toward Gilbert when one of the guards distracted him.

Sir, quit causing a commotion, the left guard said tiredly. What’s the nature of your business in Stamtune?

Officer, you saw what this horrid little goblin did, surely? The man pointed at Gilbert like the woman had. This confused Gilbert, who not only hadn’t done anything wrong, he was not a goblin. He was a human just like all these humans, except he had better manners and was clearly wealthier.

The nature of your business, repeated the guard.

I can’t have my wife molested in public like this! the man insisted, his face turning red.

Don’t you raise your voice to us, said the right guard. His large hand rested on the pommel of the sword on his belt.

The man paled and stammered. Certainly not my intention. I’m just saying, we’re here to sell some turnips, like we do every year. He indicated two large burlap sacks before him. But we’re waiting peaceably in line, and this little monster molested my wife.

The guard on the left rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. So you’re a turnip farmer?

Are you even listening to me? the man snapped. The guard on the right quickly drew his sword, driving the rounded pommel into the man’s jaw. He collapsed like a sack of turnips, and the woman with him shrieked. The farmers behind Gilbert swore under their breath.

Are you here to sell turnips, woman? The left guard had resumed his questioning with the only human of the pair still standing. But she was too frightened to answer and looked at each guard in turn, gasping for air. The right guard sheathed his sword and narrowed his eyes at her.

Gilbert knew it was up to him. She’s with me, he announced brightly, climbing upon the back of the collapsed man and wrapping his fingers around her fat hand. She’s my wife!

The left guard’s eyes grew wide and his mouth made an O-shape, as he looked down at Gilbert. The right guard was unfazed, however. Oh, she is, is she, he said, resting his hand on his pommel.

And we’d like our visitors’ bracelets, please! We’ve got to sell whatever’s in these two bags.

The left guard could only stare and blink, while the right guard chuckled. I see. And where would you two like your visitors’ bracelets?

Gilbert looked at his two forearms, then slid a thick, ruby-embedded bracelet off his wrist to make room for the visitors’ ID. The left one, I guess, he said, releasing the wife’s hand and tossing the bracelet up to the guard on the right.

Now it was the right guard’s turn to look surprised. He turned the bracelet over in his hand. It glittered in the bold sunlight. Slowly he nodded to the left guard, and the farmers behind Gilbert swore again. As if in a trance, the left guard tied the brightly colored ribbon around Gilbert’s left wrist, and then another one around the large woman’s wrist. Wow, that was easy! cried Gilbert. He hefted a large sack of turnips over his shoulder and bade the woman do the same. She complied, as though in the same spell the left guard was under. Take it easy, fellas! He waved at the guards as they strode through the front gate.

What… what do you want with me? the woman gasped. Gilbert could hardly hear her over the roar of the festivities.

He looked up her long stretch of arm, into her panicked expression above her shoulder. What do you mean? We’re gonna sell whatever’s in these bags! How do we do that, by the way?

You just… we just… She hefted her sack to a more comfortable position and looked into the crowd. Without finishing her thought, she broke into a sprint and barreled into the densely packed people.

Gilbert laughed, watching her big round bottom churn beneath her dress. He scampered after her, wondering where she was leading him. It was no effort to keep up, as the much larger woman had shouldered a path into being and so there were no obstacles for him. After several minutes of this, the woman paused and caught her breath, and she didn’t look pleased to see Gilbert standing right beside her.

Is this our stand? Is this where we sell our stuff? he asked her. She looked up and realized she’d led him straight to her vegetable stand. Glumly she nodded, still catching her breath, and dumped her turnips into a large wooden display shelf. Gilbert imitated her and tossed the empty sack into the booth. And now what?

Now we sell turnips, she said, walking behind the counter behind the shelf and scanning the crowd as though searching for someone.

What’s a turnip? Gilbert joined her behind the counter.

These are. She held one up, then tossed it to him.

He rolled it between his hands, hefted it to determine its weight, and rapped his knuckles on it. What do you do with them? Are they toys?

The woman blinked at him, her brow furrowing. It’s food. You eat it.

Gilbert’s eyes brightened as he opened up his exceptionally wide maw and attempted to dig his yellowing teeth into the vegetable. However, his teeth and jaw were not strong enough to break into the turnip’s hide.

No, no, no, the woman said, snatching the turnip out of his hands. She inspected it for damage, then turned the bad side down as she replaced it in the display shelf. You boil it in hot water for a long time, then you mash it into a paste. She peered down at him with cold blue eyes. Like I’d like to do to you.

Gilbert was about to ask her if that was a pleasant thing to do to someone, but he was interrupted. Some people had walked up to the booth while they were talking, and they looked over some turnips, but when they spotted Gilbert they yelped and trotted away.

The woman frowned at him again. You need to get lost or I’m not going to be able to sell anything today.

Gilbert was taken aback. Why should I get lost? I’m selling turnips! If no one’s back here, they’ll get stolen, and then how will we make any human money?

I’m selling turnips, she growled. You’re just a pesky goblin. These aren’t your turnips, and when my-...

I’m not a goblin. I’m a human. Gilbert sniffed. Like you.

You’re not a person! You’re a goblin!

Well, then, you’re a giant.

She drew herself up to her full height and loomed over him. I’m not a giant! You’re a wretched little goblin, and for whatever reason I seem to be cursed with you! There was another scream from a potential customer and the woman smacked her own face with her palm. And you need to hide yourself because you’re scaring away the customers!

Well, I’m not leaving you! I have to help you sell this food. With that, Gilbert ducked under the hem of the woman’s dress. He stood up inside like it was a blue tent, standing between her legs like two strong, fleshy pillars. As long as he was nearby, he figured, no one would get away with stealing anyway. He wrapped his arms around the woman’s knees and settled into a hard day’s work.

Get out of there! He heard her voice yelling from outside of her dress.

Are you in trouble? Do you need help? he called back.

Get out! Suddenly her knees slammed shut, clobbering either side of his skull.

Gilbert became alarmed. Are you fighting someone? You accidentally bonked my head! Unsure how to help, he decided he needed a better