Venus Needs Men

Last month, Blog Buddy Matty Boy at Lotsa Splainin' contacted me and Blog Buddy Undersquid with an idea for one of his regular Giant Women posts. He wanted to feature collages inspired by several verses in four of Elvis Costello's songs which allude to either giantesses or shrunken men. The verse I eventually worked with was from his song My Science Fiction Twin.

He's trapped in his own parallel dimension,
That's why I'm so forgiving,
But how can I possibly forget to mention those fifty foot women
Who put the fascination back into my science fiction twin?

You can see the final results of all four collages and verses at this post here. Featured are two collages by Undersquid, another by TheShrinkee, and one by yours truly, which is also posted below.

I'd never made a fifty-foot-woman style image before, nor any other size difference other than what fit within the confines of My Own Parallel Dimension. However, I was also loath to depart from the rest of my collages and do a one-off piece that I couldn't really post here as this blog is, really, only about my world. This led me to come up with the concept of a poster for a science-fiction movie or TV series from my world which features your classic 1950s-style giantesses, but updated for modern times. This is what I ended up with.

The Wild Ones

The image of women as leather-wearing, motorcycle-riding, sexually-charged predators is a vibrant mainstay in popular culture in my world. In books, movies and on television, women on motorcycles are glorified as defiant rebels, going wherever the wind takes them, hard-brawlin', hard-boozin' and hard-lovin'. If there was ever a phrase that brought a worried furrowing to the brows of a boy's parents, it would be "She rides a motorcycle."

Some househusbands, sitting in the passenger seats of their wives' SUVs still feel alittle tremor in their hearts seeing a biker roaring down the street, her boy sitting insolently between her thighs on the leather seat, and think back to when they were younger, the fervent crush they'd had on the bad girl from the other side of town, fantasies about holding on to her for dear life as she gunned her chrome machine down the long empty stretch of open road to the American dreamscape. And, when she got there, how she'd throw them down on a splendid unending field of grass and then slowly, have her way with them.