Don Quixote had it right.
Macrophilia. It’s big terminology for a big inkling … as in the intense sexual attraction to literal giants.
Giants — be they the stuff of the grandest legend or the wonkiest sci-fi romp — are as chimerical as the unicorn or the mermaid, creatures born of mankind’s entreaty to find something more magical than itself. It’s that heady ambition that drives Macrophilia, an abstraction that can never truly be realized yet still beguiles its dreamers nonetheless.
Plus it makes for some great fanfare:
Mammoths with unfettered desires and unyielding bodies! Behemoths breaking seams and busting asses! Grasping! Looming! Dwarfing! Crushing! Cyclopean troglodytes who crave the delicate pleasures that only man can provide! Your body — their plaything. Your world — their toy box!
Juggernauts conquering the globe! Inescapable! Insurmountable! Too big to handle! Too vast to deny!
You’ll satisfy their every whim … or die trying!
Every culture features a variation. The Norse had their factions of giants warring against the godly pantheon of Asgard. Greek mythology tells of the titan Atlas bearing the weight of the world upon his shoulders. In the Sumerian legend of Gilgamesh, the Cedar Forest — where dwell the gods — is guarded by the great ogre Humbaba.
One of the Bible’s central parables is the slaying of lumbering Goliath. American folklore has benevolent lumberjack Paul Bunyan civilizing the American frontier.
Giants this ubiquitous are bound to inspire not only a fabled horror, but a morbid curiosity. “Denude yourselves of all depraved affection” Francois Rabelais admonished with no shortage of irony in the introduction to Gargantua & Pantagruel, the eponymous chronicle of a Renaissance-Era father-and-son pair of giants.
In the world of the Macrophile, a healthy sense of depravity is not only welcomed, it’s encouraged. An overblown, hypersexual grotesquerie is the nature of the beast. Macrophiles tend almost invariably to be men, though token women do confess the same inclination.
Hetero giant worship with internet shrines inaugurated in honor of massively carnal women — known in the vernacular as “GTS” — is the more common manifestation, but the male-on-male community has begun to step out of its long shadow in recent years with the advent of the Web. Devotes stem from all walks of life, spanning age and ethnicity with no clear common factor outside of gender to define the typical Macrophile.
Like homosexuality itself, the trait tends to alternately mystify and repulse both the mainstream world and the psychiatric community. Certain sectors opt to classify the mindset as a repressed/submissive juvenile state centering around an inferiority complex, fallout from childhood resentments of being overwhelmed by a domineering parent. An infantile flight of fantasy. Others deem it simply a harmless sexual variant with no underlying traumatic root.
Who knows the mysteries of the human libido? Its vagaries may very well be too enigmatic to always relate back to whether our fathers loved us enough or if we were toilet trained properly.
The stigma attached to the penchant often motivates individuals and groups to become insular and self-protective, especially given that it often walks hand in hand with other paraphilia like sadomasochism, bestiality, vorephilia, frotteurism, partialism, actual biological gigantism and foot fetishes like trampling and crushing. Some message boards go so far as to post disclaimers that no sexual connotations are to be presumed from their content.
Muscle-morphing is the latest addition to the litany of fetishes. Herein a man’s muscle mass is digitally defined to superhuman size, the proportions of which an actual skeletal structure would likely be crushed beneath.
Macro-Furryism — involving huge anthropomorphized cartoon animals — tends to be frowned upon and segregated from strictly human-centered giant forums, proving even the most marginalized subcultures are capable of drawing the line between their proclivities and others they deem “serious behavior disorders”— the purviews of the pervert.
Giants being central fairytale figures, the childhood trigger seems to have some merit based on actual accounts from Macrophiles in their own words. Everything from schlocky Godzilla movies and Strongman Pepla with their riotous suited leviathans and trussed-up colossi, billboards featuring larger-than-life spokesmodels, comic books and encounters with attractive/intimidating authority figures are oft-described trigger memories of the erotic sensation that arises from the first brush with enormity.
Recalls one self-proclaimed Macrophile:
“I had this disturbing fantasy ever since my father left our family. It began when my step father appeared in our lives. It was during my puberty and my hormones were reaching the ceiling. He was a hairy 6 feet 4 inches, very aggressive and dumb. One night, I dreamed he was six inches tall and he was trying to hide under the couch running for his life seeing me towering over him. I suddenly woke up with a hard on and my dick was dripping precum.”
Despite the common assumption that children are “innocent” and somehow magically oblivious to any sexual stimulation, the phenomenon of Giant Lovers would suggest there is indeed a pre-sexual state in which we form the fantasies that later characterize our adult libidos.
Macrophilic externalization is itself twofold; in one sense it focuses on the magnification of an aggressive sexual monster, and in other the miniaturization of a helpless dwarfling. Giants have a graduated scale of classification based upon their size and accompanying ferocity that sounds like a role playing rubrics from an adult-oriented Dungeons & Dragons game.
Rampagers are the largest and most feral, berserkers who level cities, ransacking and maiming as they go. Next are the carnivorous Vores who swallow their victims whole. Crushers use their immense fists and feet to pulverize.
Growers are giants produced by extraneous means such as sorcery or radiation, The Amazing Colossal Man and The Incredible Hulk as popular typifiers. Masters are the most sexually possessive, gathering up men as trophies and forcing them to submit to all manner of debauchery. The exceptions are the kindly and inquisitive Collectors. They in essence keep their finds as pets in enclosed habitats.
On the opposite end are the miniature submissives, known as Tinnies. They’re defined by their forms of servitude and subjugation: tending to feet, being crushed, shrunk a la The Incredible Shrinking Man, caged, imprisoned and guarded as cherished love objects like the gorilla Koko and her kitten.
Macrophiles insert themselves into either role and may even shift back and forth. Gulliver’s Travels in which wayfarer Lemuel Gulliver experiences both sides of the scale as passive and active player (contending with the advances of a lovestruck, tower-scaling monkey some two hundred years before Fay Wray was pawed at by an adoring King Kong) is the classic literary springboard that starts many a young Macrophile on his way. The arrival of computer technology has made visual representations once merely consigned to pen and ink renderings or the dreamscapes of the mind now vividly alive and easily disseminated.
The images of men projected into these worlds come from the same sources that we all covet — Hollywood celebrities, professional athletes, fitness models, pro wrestlers, porn stars, etc. — and are in turn expanded to gargantuan heights. The most accessible visuals are of tall, rugged men photographed at steep angles to give the illusion of intense height.
Others boast a more inventive manipulation of scale. Still gentle in nature, they focus on the exaggerated beauty of their titans. Phalluses become as tall as redwoods and obelisks, orifices as cavernous as caves, and the giants the equivalents of mountain ranges diminishing the panorama below. Skyscrapers are the emblematic landmarks to give the greatest impression of asymmetry.
Rape fantasy is integral implicitly or explicitly, franker imagery showing tiny nude men fleeing from enormously turned-on pursuers bent on possessing them as sexual peons. Others focus on the impossibility of the sexual encounter in which a smaller partner must contend with disproportionate muscles and tree stump dicks, sometimes even gaining control and mounting the larger from behind in the ne plus ultra of role reversals.
In its most extreme and esoteric form Macrophilia involves miniscule men being menaced by yawning open mouths and swallowed. Again, allusions to stories like Jack The Giant Killer rear their heads. Interestingly, one of if-not-the most primal of childhood fears manifested in the Grimmest of fairy tales is also brought to the fore: the nightmarish dread of being devoured whole.
What lurks at the heart of this rara avis is the Power Principle. Be it becoming so lofty in stature that you can have your way with anyone in the palm of your own hand or succumbing to the ardor of a brobdingnagian brute who has the power to kill you if he so chooses, it’s unchecked bombastic force that unites Macrophiles across distances.
The potency of man spills over: curvaceous torsos quilted with muscle, full lips, broad hips, lantern jaws, dicks as prodigious as the sandworms of Dune and rosy puckered assholes akin to moon craters prevail. It’s only who’s the biggest Blunderbore on the block that separates the Top from the Bottom.
In Norse mythology, the Frost Giants were created from the sweat of the proto-being Ymir, his very body teeming with imminent life despite the fact that he was mateless and with only the equally immense cow Audhumla (shades of Babe the Blue Ox) as his companion.
So it goes with these contemporary giants, a race of dreadnoughts bent on raping and pillaging, subduing and glutting, born of a cuisinart cocktail of myth, folklore, comic strips, late show monster movies, musclehead chest-thumping and outsider porn. It’s primordial Man who is the wellspring of all life and the elemental avatar of Nature itself. This is masculinity in its rawest and most primeval form, one in which violence and hypertrophy are the absolute expressions of male prowess, a vigor that can create as much as it can destroy.
The occasional excursion to the fabled Land Where Giants Roam is hardly as fearsome as the story books would have you believe. Its wonders are after all boundless. Jack makes regular climbs up the beanstalk to wrangle with a rough-and-ready Galligantus, every castle houses a dungeon replete with all manner of fun-sized fuck pawns, and the Valley of The Dolls regularly swells with rivers of spooge.
Whatever tilts your windmill.
Imagery courtesy of Coiled Fist.