It’s been a while since I’ve put up a story about my real-life sexual adventures. There is actually one in the works, and it was going to be on the blog this past Monday, but that was before a virus laid me low. Look for it next week!
The post, by the way, is about my very first real-life encounter with a feedee boy. His name is Hugo, and he’s promised to contribute his very own story for Stuffies sometime soon! *crosses fingers that it happens*
Some other updates on my life:
Me and Nikolasco are working to bring a second Kink for All to Washington, DC (albeit verrryyy slowly). But we have a date set for it!
Me and DC Boy are no longer boinking, for various (private) reasons. This makes me sad.
Me and Cee are planning to meet in the UK sometime this April. This makes me happy!
Taken together, I guess those last two things make me poly?
I’ve also been working on a personal (though still sex related!) project that I may be able to unveil in a month or so.
I should be back on course by the end of this week. Just wanted to let you know that I still remembered I had a sex blog. ;) And thanks, as always, for reading!
We were in the toy pile, snuggling and talking. One of the things Hylas is not particularly happy about is what he terms his ‘podge’ – his stomach. He was talking about how he needs to eat less and exercise more in so her can work it off, be somewhat slimmer, and fit his outfits better!
And then he made a crack about celery. Because, as many of you probably know, eating celery causes negative calories – the amount you burn eating and digesting it is greater than the amount you gain from having eaten it.
And he hates celery. So of course I had an epiphany.
“I know what your punishment is going to be,” I said somewhat gleefully. “And to make it worse, you thought of it yourself. Tomorrow I’m going to feed you three stalks of celery!”
He groaned and made a face. So it was definitely going to be a good punishment.
I think I saved a post in “queue” instead of in “draft”. Which is why the latest post you read on here probably didn’t make much sense. It’s been removed, and I’ll put it back up after I’ve actually finished it.
i just saw another picture of some cute chunky young white woman’s belly with “to every girl with insecurities… you’re beautiful” written on it in black marker.
i don’t like to be a downer, but those pictures really bother me. i mean, i know in middle and high school my worst insecurities were never “oh, no, i’m a cute chunky young white woman.” i mean, i guess i was. but i know that the whole “insecurities” thing is meant to specifically address fatness, and i never ever felt like fatness was the worst of my problems. i thought my acne was turning my face into an untouchable mountain range. i thought the bags under my eyes were like ghastly fucking chasms leading to mordor. i thought i was as hairy as a monkey. most of all, i thought because i was queer, nobody would ever want to hear the story of my life. i didn’t have time to worry about striking a silhouette.
what i mean is:
my own personal experience has been that the single most self-esteem-increasing thing you can do for yourself is to give yourself permission to be ugly. we should teach girls that they can look like hell and still be worthy of love - worthy of writing novels, having great sex, running the business, whatever amazing thing they can do while still not being a symmetrical tan white skinny bikini beach babe.
ugly people are great. ugly people are iconoclasts. ugly people do their thing and are not beautiful and do not apologize for it. frida kahlo made a life out of painting her disability & chronic pain, her depression, and her moustache & unibrow. these things are good and human. if we chalk over them and pretend that we are beautiful, when culturally defined beauty is a privileged commodity, we are erasing our strengths.
Do you get off on watching your feedees gain weight? Do you enjoy seeing them get very fat?
I do. I enjoy weight gain (or WG, as it’s sometimes abreviated on feederism message boards) a lot.
I am usually super-embarrassed to admit this aloud, even among kinky people. I feel like it will brand me as a Very Strange Person, and I do believe that being “very fat” is unhealthy, no matter what Kate Harding may say. But I really get off on having that amount of control over someone’s body. I orgasm over fantasies of boys meeting specific goals I’ve set for them, whether it’s adding ten pounds so that their tummies round out, or doing chin-ups so they get more defined arm muscles. Most of my fantasies are firmly focused on making a boy look exactly how I want, and he being worshipfully eager to do it for me.
Of course, I haven’t yet met someone who would actually be willing to gain for me in real life. I want to respect the wishes of people to keep their bodies the way they are, and I feel like I’d have to find someone who cared enough, and was sane enough, to work and plan with me on how to change their body for it to be good for both of us.
Not like I haven’t gotten offers. They’re usually from people that can’t spell and are willing to fly huge distances before they even know what I look like, and those boys just sound insane to me.
Every Time I Go To Dark Odyssey Happy Hour I Learn Something New
1. Remember those painful pressure points I mentioned in the last post about DO Happy Hour? You can learn how to do them yourself from a book written by a guy named Fifth Angel—but the book only went through one printing. All the internet information I could find on him dates from the mid-90s, so I pretty much gave up on finding a copy… until tonight. Two members of DO have Xeroxed copies they might be able to loan me.
2. I like many different bodies, but my absolute favorite coloring has always been dark hair, fair skinned. I stated this prefrence tonight and discovered it’s actually an ethnic group—the Black Irish. If there’s such thing as a Black Irish dating site, I’m joining it yesterday.
3. Another rare kinky thing is a vintage vibrating dildo that mimics the shape of a real gun. There’s a guy named Officer Will who takes one with him to parties, and said he’d most likely have one at Lucky Paul’s birthday tomorrow. I might go just because of this.
4. I met a girl who reads my blog and decided to come to DO Happy Hour because I’d posted about it. This was really awesome.
5. Though it takes a long time for me to build up enough trust that I could just go home with someone, I still really hate sleeping alone.
Is it the act of feeding them, watching them eat, or seeing them get full that you find so appealing (or a combination of them)?
I like all these things, really. Feeding someone is a very intimiate thing to do, and knowing someone is eating to please me (or thinking of the physical results that will result from them eating) is very satisfying too.
For some reason, though, I like seeing the full part best. I don’t even know why, there’s just something about fullness and sleepiness that I find orgasm-inducing.
Have you ever had a sex/food/mess scene? Where you smush food all around and fuck and stuff? Would that be part of your kink?
For me personally? No. Being *in* the food, for me, is besides the point: I get excited from the eating itself, and its effects on the body of person I’m feeding. Fucking someone in a bathtub full of pasta would just be kind of icky, but I think there’s another fetish called sploshing that’s more up your alley.
(Though come to think of it, Halodid eat pieces of chocolate off my tummy once—does that count?)
Seems like everyone’s jumping on the “ask me” bandwagon these days. Some people say that it’s just an excuse to post a lot of useless TMIs (kinda like that “15 Facts About Myself” meme on Facebook), but personally I love the format. Writing about feederism can sometimes be a little overwhelming, and you guys asking me questions gives me a place to start (as well as finding out what people are most curious about.)
I don’t identify as male, but I often have butch fantasies. For instance, sometimes I’ll imagine someone photographing me for a portrait. I’ll be wearing the costume of a boy. In one version, I’m wearing knee stockings and double-breasted coat, hair tied back with a ribbon and one of those ostrich-plumed hats under my arm. Channeling Jack Aubrey. Or I am wearing goggles and a leather apron, holding a knife over a table while I’m splashed with blood. (I haven’t decided who’ll be on the table yet. Maybe Laken.)
This desire got a little bigger after playing with Halo, since her current femme-ness seems to bring out an urge in me to open doors for her, carry her books. A good binder, I discovered, is a lot like the corset she always wears, only that it shapes the body in different ways.
But even fantasies can occasionally be brought down with a thud. I realized there might be quite a bit more to dressing butch than I originally imagined when I started quizzing my lesbian feeder friend Pippa about breast binders.
The Boy let me try on his binder, Pippa wrote to me, and it gave me cleavage. Cue irony!
My jaunty chatter about how it was so hard to find a binder review for a product in my size dried up. I’ve never felt anything close to approximating gender disphoria, but the thought filled me with horror. I’d have cleavage? How embarrassing!
I’m a 36DD, I wrote. There might not be any hope for me.
I’ll be talking about feederism, naturally. Jack Stratton (of Writing Dirty fame) will also be guest-starring. From there the conversation will probably degenerate into Spock slash. The best part? It’s live! Tune in tonight at 8pm Eastern, 5pm Pacific to hear us shoot the shit about fetishes, erotic writing, and tomatoes.
If you’ve never seen Kink on Tap, it’s the digital version of a kinky salon, where smart people get together online every Sunday to talk about what’s new in the blogosphere and (sometimes) drink beer. Through the magic of Skype, each episode is livestreamed so you can see and hear us in real time, and even join in the conversation by using the chat room. To get a better idea of just how awesome it is, you might wanna watch one of my favorite episodes, Where’s the Dick?
I didn’t bring back many digital artifacts from KFADC (actually, the photo above was it). This was mainly because I found it distracting to tweet or take photos while listening to what people had to say. I needn’t have worried, though: Maymay and Adisson had it covered. From what I could discover, no less than 10 people—maybe more!—were tweeting at some point during Kink For All. Addy took photos of everyone, and Maymay was careful to videotape everyone who allowed themselves to be videotaped (I wasn’t one of them). He’s posted these videos on Vimeo, and if you didn’t get to go to KFADC, it’s the next closest thing to being there.
While writing this post I felt like I should not be giving the highlights of an event I went to, but outlining an inspiring plan to bring sex-positive education to the masses. It was that kind of unconference: KFADC was a gathering of minds, with amazing ideas about pulling together your kinky life and your vanilla life, how to create the best possible place for kinky people to meet, adultism and slash. There were wonderful, meaty discussions about all these things that went on for hours without any of us getting tired (we talked about sex from 10am to 6pm!) and went on even after that, when we all drove in a caravan to a not-so-local diner that had a waiter out of a crime novel (no-nonsense, Boston accent) bring us gravy fries and coffee.
Which is really the biggest thing I took away from attending Kink for All: that there was a safe space where I could talk about my kink and be accepted for it. (Everyone was teasing me about it afterwards, saying they’d eat a cookie—but only one cookie!) For years I’ve struggled to break into the social groups surrounding me, but this was one place where I felt immediately welcome. Even when the idea of simply explaining my kink made me blush with shame (“Hi, I’m Molly, and I like to watch boys gain weight”), my ideas were held up, discussed, and looked on with fascination.
Sometimes we even seemed to have a hive mind going on. When lunchtime came around, we trickled out to explore a local farmers’ market. Helio bought cheese, Quarter Note some apples, another person some bread, and me and Maymay split the price of a roasted chicken. Without even planning it, our group ended up with a picnic spread that we brought back to the conference hall to share. There was enough for everyone.
Finally, I think we all got a kick out of watching Maymay and Helio flirt with one another. He would rub up against her and purr like a kitten—or like a child pretending to be a kitten. When she laughingly asked him, “How old are you?” he said in a small voice, “Six?”
Someone brought peanut butter cups to the table, and when May took one, she stole it from him. I passed him one of mine.