Page 1 of Catching His Eye (Monsters of Moonvale)

REN

Ugh, why am I even bothering?

I open up the Bewitch’d app on my phone with a sigh, checking to see if there are any new matches. It’s an exercise in futility. There’s never anything there to find.

No messages.

No matches.

No hope of finding a date.

I scrunch my eye shut, rubbing at my temple as I close the app. Just because there’s never anything there doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Listen, I’m not stupid. Sometimes my friends act like I am because I’m not always the best at reading social cues and I’ve spent most of my life pretty sheltered. But I understand the realities of my situation. I know the chances of finding a mate are slim to none.

After all, I’m not exactly a catch .

I’m a monster. A cyclops, to be precise, so not even one of the hot kinds.

Nope, I’ve got one big, dopey eye that makes me look somehow terrifying and na?ve at the same time.

At least my eyelashes are nice. Someone generous would say I’ve got the whole big and strong thing going for me, but for most, my size is a deal breaker.

Even the most adventurous monsters would balk at trying to take on my giant ass.

Can’t say I blame them. No one wants to worry about getting crushed while they’re trying to make out or get off.

To say monster dating hasn’t panned out would be underselling how bad it’s been.

I went on exactly one disastrous date with a gargoyle who only asked me out because he wanted to ask if he could take a video of me sitting on a cake.

Still not quite sure what that was about.

While I may be hard up for companionship, I declined.

Why would you sit on a perfectly good cake when you could eat it?

There’s a bit more time left to kill before the stream starts, so I open up the MeetCupid app next. I installed it a few months back when it became abundantly clear my monster dating prospects were non-existent.

Too bad I’ve fared even worse on human dating apps.

There’s a handful of new matches today, which should excite me.

The problem is that every time I get to the point where it’s time to arrange a date with a human, I panic.

If I go out with them in my human glamor, that’s a form of catfishing, right?

Yes, I could look like a human all the time if I had to, but after a while it feels uncomfortable—like too tight underwear smashing your junk.

With humans, there’s even less of a chance they’d be interested if they saw me without my glamor.

It goes far beyond the fact that most humans don’t even know monsters exist. I’ve seen how tiny my monster friends’ human mates are and there’s just no way it could work.

Wesley’s a minotaur and he has to use magic so he wouldn’t hurt his partner when he tried to… fit.

A human would run screaming if I showed them my true form, and all the considerable size that comes with it.

That doesn’t keep me from having perverted fantasies about finding one that would let me try it out. A human that would beg me to stretch them open, then scream out in ecstasy as I filled them past the limits their much smaller, delicate bodies could handle.

Shit, I’m getting hard thinking about it.

I close the app without checking the new matches and groan.

I’m a deviant. My family would be ashamed of my unnatural desires. They already think I’m tarnishing the clan name by spending so much time outside of giant society. For choosing a job that has me spending most of my time in front of a computer screen instead of performing manual labor.

Last time I begrudgingly called my parents, Dad spent the entire time going on about how it was time to think about an arranged marriage. Time to stop messing around with my “silly hobbies” and carry on the family legacy by mating and breeding with a giantess.

And they wonder why I left home in the first place.

I have nothing against my fellow giants.

Hell, I still have the Giant Gazongas porno magazine I stole from my brother that got me through the horniest years of my puberty.

But giant kin don’t like me. Especially not other cyclopses.

I’m too shy and weird. I’d rather paint my miniatures than go for a hike.

I like cuddles much more than wrestling for dominance.

I’m soft. Weak. Maybe not physically, because I’m still a giant, but inside I’m a marshmallow.

The good thing is, I like the way I am, softness and all.

I’m just being realistic when I rule out most giants as a dating possibilities.

So I’m left trying to either convince the monsters that live in the Moonvale area that I’m not an aggressive meathead like the majority of my brethren, or testing my luck on human dating apps.

Neither of which are working.

I wish my friends’ human mates could introduce me to an eligible human who they could ease into the concept of monsters being real. But whenever I’ve tried to bring it up during our monster support group meetings, Susan immediately says I’m being “cringe” and shuts me down.

Pardon me for not wanting to be alone. Sure, I have Mango, my precious orange cat with zero brain cells who is the snuggliest girl ever, but she’s not exactly a replacement for a partner. I want romance and passion. I want love .

I sigh at the thought, the fluttery feeling I get whenever I think about a mate out there somewhere waiting for me to find them, swelling inside me.

Great, now I’ve got a hardon and I’m pining for someone who probably doesn’t even exist.

An alarm goes off on my phone, and I startle from my reverie. Two minutes until TiffanyAngel starts her stream.

The arousal and butterflies intensify.

Okay, maybe I was lying when I said that I was imagining a nebulous someone. Maybe I was thinking about the gorgeous, captivating human I’ve become obsessed with.

Shit, I am stupid. I’m pining for the most unattainable woman possible. But I can’t squash the bubbles of excitement or the way my cock leaks pre-cum as I sign in to my SpiceCam account and wait for her stream to go live.

When the notification pops at exactly 9pm—Tiffany is punctual like that, another reason why I like her so much—I force myself to wait two whole minutes before I join. Don’t want to seem too eager.

The window expands, and my breath catches when I see her.

Tiffany sits on the edge of her bed, legs swinging playfully as she greets people as they join the stream.

Her dark brown curls fall in perfect, delicate ringlets that brush against her shoulders, and her lips are a bright cherry red that looks stunning against her light brown skin.

She’s wearing a fluffy white sweater over a tight baby blue dress that matches the color of her eyes and hugs her ample soft curves in a way that makes my mouth water.

Gods, how does she get more beautiful every time I see her?

“Oh! Welcome back, GentleGiant. I’m so happy you’re here with me tonight,” she says, beaming as she sees my username in the log of people watching.

My heart almost stops at how genuine her words sound.

I’m not surprised she remembers me—I’ve joined every show she’s done since I stumbled across her profile a handful of months ago on a night I was feeling particularly lonely.

But the brightness in her voice, and the hint of pleasure at seeing my name, feels so real.

I know it’s all an act. She’s just so damn good at it. My mind is playing tricks on me by imagining that her greetings for others as they join aren’t quite as enthusiastic. I’m sure I mean nothing to her beyond a means of making money.

Which is fine! This is her job and I’m happily enjoying her services. It’s ridiculous for me to hope for something beyond that, but it doesn’t hurt anything to let myself get caught up in the fantasy that this adorable human is performing for me. Other than my pride, which is already non-existent.

Despite my self-delusions, I’m careful not to be a creep.

I’m polite when I use the chat function, never pushing her for anything, even as others demand she show them her tits or spread her legs and fuck herself with one of her many toys.

Even if I would love to see how much she could stretch herself.

I type a message out in the chat, ignoring the way my cock strains against my pants.

If I wanted to have a quick jerk off session, I’d watch porn.

I like watching Tiffany because she’s funny and friendly, and it makes me feel like I’m not so alone, even though I’m sitting on the other side of a computer screen.

GentleGiant: Hope you’re having a good night. That dress looks beautiful on you.

“Aww, thank you!” she says, smiling at the camera in a way that feels like she’s looking me directly in the eye, and smoothing her hands down the skirt. “I got it when I was visiting some friends and every time I wear it, it makes me feel so pretty. It’s wonderful to know you like it.”

I go to type out a reply and grimace at the messages I see appear before I can finish it.

FapMaster69: Who gives a shit about the dress? Show us your pussy.

User2846329: She’s kinda hot, but talks too much.

DaemonSinner: My cock choking her would shut her up.

My jaw flexes as I fight not to grind my teeth together. Gods, people are awful tonight.

Tiffany doesn’t so much as blink as she reads the messages. In fact, her mouth twists into a wry smile. “Aww, that’s cute that you think you’re big enough that you’d choke me.”

A laugh bursts from me, and the chat fills with messages appreciating her burn. Tiffany always knows how to deal with assholes. Another reason I’m half in love with her.

DaemonSinner: Fucking ugly fat whore, no one wants you anyway.

I ball my hands into fists as my instinct to defend Tiffany flare up. I keep them away from the keyboard and take a deep breath, resisting the urge to send a thinly veiled threat or jump to her defense, because I know from previous streams she can handle it on her own.

Sure enough, Tiffany casually leans forward to do something off camera and a moment later, the message vanishes from the chat. She must’ve banned him .

“Wow, someone was overcompensating,” she says with a soft laugh. She sits back and crosses her legs, flashing the tops of her thick thighs and a hint of her panties.

She starts to chat with us, asking people how their days are going, and answering questions about what she got up to.

It’s so hard to tell if any of her answers are real or not, but when she falls into a giggle fit telling a story of how her brother got locked out of his house buck naked by the woman he’s dating, it doesn’t seem fake at all.

Mango leaps up onto my lap and butts her head against my hand, oblivious to my besotted pining for the woman on my computer screen. I scoop her up so she’s not resting her surprisingly heavy paws on my balls, and give her a kiss.

“I know, I know. You’re my sweet pretty angel,” I coo to her, stroking her head as she lets out a little meow of agreement.

Her tail swats against the screen and she headbutts my hand, begging for more pets.

“You’ll always be my baby, but daddy needs some other kinds of affection too,” I sigh, looking back at Tiffany.

Mango meows louder this time. That’s her hungry meow. I shake my head at her. “No, angel. I gave you food a little while ago, and the vet said I need to cut down on extra treats.”

She blinks at me blankly and meows again.

“Sweetheart, I’m busy,” I grumble, attempting to look back at the screen despite her demands. I’ve missed Tiffany removing her sweater, and she’s laughing at a joke someone made in the chat.

Dammit.

I attempt to lift the orange furball off my lap, and she wriggles wildly in protest, knocking into my mouse and keyboard, then leaping down to the floor with a bewildered, hurt expression.

“I love you, but you’re so weird!” I shake my head at her antics, and when she leaves my bedroom with a loud yowl, I shut the door behind me.

Settling back down at my desk, I sigh and begin straightening out the things Mango knocked over.

“This is an unexpected surprise,” I hear Tiffany say, and I look up to see what’s going on in the stream. The chat box is empty, and she’s looking at the camera expectantly.

It takes me a second to process that she’s talking to me. My heart leaps up into my throat and I frantically scroll up. In her fit of cat weirdness, Mango must’ve hit the button to send tokens to request a private session.

Fuck. What do I do? Oh gods. Oh gods.

A sweet smile spreads across Tiffany’s perfect, plush lips. “A really good surprise, in case that wasn’t clear.”

I’m dead. Mango knocked over my glass of water and somehow I got fried from the liquid touching the electrical equipment. There’s no way I’m in a private with the camgirl I’m obsessed with and she’s telling me she’s happy about our alone time.