I have been staring at this screen for what feels like the stretch of time between getting into bed and falling asleep. You know that period when everything happens, your brain is simultaneously picking up speed while your consciousness slowly meanders down a ramp of counting sheep?

Yeah, that long.

What do I talk about when I make a post categorized as “Size Thoughts”? Is that just a catch-all term for anything not story related?

I decided to make this particular post about my experience talking about #SizeKink with my wife, past partners and relationships. How I went about it, how they reacted, etc. None of this is to drum up sympathy. It’s more a diary entry that I hope to share with those who care to read it.

I’m going to start off by talking about my experience with revealing this side of myself with my wife. She and I have been married about 2 ½ years at the time of this post, and I learn new and fascinating things about her every day.

For one, she’s apparently been trying to catch me in a jump scare for months now, and I keep foiling her dastardly plans. I’ve been giving her tips on how to sneak up on me, like how to move without making the floorboards creak or making sure to stay out sight of reflective surfaces, etc.

Still hasn’t managed to do it just yet.

In any case, I first told my wife about this side of me completely on accident. I had an old tablet that I didn’t keep a password on — yes, yes, I know, for shame — and it just so happened that I’d forgotten to log out of one of the more well-known sites. Well, I told her she could use it for something or other, I think it was to look up a recipe, but in any case, it opened up to that sites landing page.

Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like that cannon launch of fear, panic, and shame when your significant other finds something like that before you’re ready. I was already deeply and vastly in love with her then, the kind of love-struck attitude that would be called ridiculous and over the top and various other disparaging terms by more cynically minded, but still, I’d been burned by revealing that part of me before. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone.

But after about ten seconds of me quietly asking for the tablet back, and thirty seconds of me stammering, looking away, waiting for the earth to swallow me whole, my wife (then girlfriend) just accepted that it wasn’t something I could talk about. She just told me that while she has questions, she wasn’t going to force me to answer them to satisfy her curiosity.

I explained in the barest of terms, what a giantess (the most common type of material I consumed because of personal ignorance) was, maybe in the hopes of staving off her questions and any google searches she might make.

The box was opened, but still I tried to pretend there was still a cover on top of it for about a year afterwards. Whenever topics of fetish, kink, and what we wanted came up, I could feel that small voice in the back of my head pondering, wondering, insisting on finishing that conversation properly.

It took about…oh I’d say a couple years afterwards, for me to fully address the topic. It didn’t come about as planned or anything, I’d mostly resigned myself to keeping quiet the rest of my life about it. But one night she’d shared something intensely personal with me and I, in the interest of doing the same, shared some things with her. Stories, vignettes, old crappy captions that I’d written. Mostly with her as an inspiration in part even if obviously I didn’t include the same physical characteristics or name.

I shared these with her, and was fully prepared to be lambasted for it, for daring to objectify her like this, and so on, a prepared to receive the kind of tongue lashing you could only find in a Lit class because she is good at putting thoughts to words.

She didn’t though. She just put her hand on my head, ran her fingers through my hair, and told me she already knew. She asked a few questions, the ideas behind my stories, and so on. She asked if I’d wanted to include anything like that in our intimate moments. She still occasionally asks questions, but where before I used to think of those as trials to overcome, to be parsed and carefully answered, now I’m much more relaxed.

Heck, she’s even betaed a couple stories.

It wasn’t grand or epic or some great painful ordeal anything along those lines. It was simply acceptance, in its purest form. And though she doesn’t share this kink with me or all the things that come with it including mad writing frenzies that can take up my mind for hours, days, weeks at a time, she has never made me feel lesser for it, unlike others to whom I’ve revealed it to.

It is in fact, because of her that I’ve begun learning and exploring more about myself. I’ve ventured from consuming and writing just giantess/shrunken man content to a lot more than that, helping to branch out and discover more and more of who I am.

I have talked to previous partners about this side of me before. One outright rejected the idea, calling it a sickness that needed to be cured. Another was clearly left uncomfortable with it, or at least wished to never think about it and frequently did not talk about sexual matters with me after that. Neither felt like acceptance, not even the latter, because both, whether intentionally or not, resolved to push the subject either out of the house or into a closet.

Love isn’t always romantic, nor is there always a sexual component. It is in the little things, like saying “I see this is important for you” or “I’m really thankful for sharing this with me”; just a hug and smile and letting them know you’re there for them; it’s holding someone while they cry and ramble; it’s letting them know that their worth to you isn’t contingent on anything except being them; that they’re feelings are not yours to govern, that they are valid, as messy and fraught with pitfalls as we all are.

Acceptance born of love, romantic or not, and not resignation, is what’s important when communicating this part of us, I feel. Acceptance of self, acceptance of others, and acceptance of the differences in everyone, even between partners.

One thought on “Acceptance

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