The Feedback Blog

I’ve loved fatness my entire life. Those with the privilege to be fat are beautiful, regal, and effortlessly elegant. A silver lining of the pandemic was a societal shift in beauty standards, the body positivity movement, and an expansion of society’s definition of an ideal body. It seemed like we were moving in the right direction, only to have the rug pulled out from under us by the worst political leaders of our lifetimes. Because of that, fatness in 2026 has cultural and political meaning - it’s a giant FU to everyone and everything that’s making the world worse right now. It’s Rage Against the Machine for the waistline. It’s an act of rebellion against the leaders that want us thin, xenophobic, and controlled by the availability of our next paycheck.

Right now, the executive branch of our government:

Was closely tied with Epstein and Les Wexner. Wexner is responsible for the thin-centric beauty standards marketed to teen girls for decades: rail thin, white, young, and overly sexualized. Hate 2000s Abercrombie, Limited Too, and Victoria’s Secret? That was these assholes. The damage to the self esteem of so many women is immeasurable.

Is providing government subsidies for GLP-1 weight loss drugs, while simultaneously claiming we can’t afford basic medical care from medicare and medicaid. So the only medical funding this administration is willing to provide is focused on making you thin.

Constantly belittles fat people in the media and in the military. It’s clear that hate toward fat people runs core to their values (ironically, since most of them are fat themselves). Maybe it’s the same self-hatred tendencies causing so many closeted gay republicans to back anti-gay policies.

Hang around the feedism community for long enough, and you will inevitably see a melodramatic post from someone yearning for “the good old days of the feedism community”. A time when there was less drama. When interactions were less transactional. When people were generally happier, nicer, and more excited to see fat loving weirdos like themselves on the internet. These posts generally elicit strong responses, ranging from nostalgic agreement to wholehearted dissent, likening said comments to boomers waxing on about America in the 50’s and 60’s. It’s impossible to ignore the divides these comments expose within our community - divides we really can’t afford given the diminutive stature of our kinky safe space. We’re a small group - all with similar wants, needs, and desires - and in my humble opinion, we should stick together. In this post, I’m going to try and explain what “the good old days” actually were, and how it was a one-time thing that can’t ever be replicated. I’ll also touch on bigger socioeconomic factors that occurred after the good old days, and how they drove some of the changes we’ve seen in the online community. In the end, what I’m trying to encourage is empathy for each other.

The “good old days” My first encounter with the feedism community came during the days of fat friendly Yahoo groups, but the OG feedism faction has to be Dimensions Magazine from the 90’s. We’ve come a long way from that print publication, jumping online with the Dimensions forum, growing further with Fantasy Feeder, carving out subgroups on Tumblr and Reddit, and creating more specialized sites like FF Ambrosia and the short-lived feedism.net. All of these communities were lifelines to disconnected fat fetishists like yours truly, showing that yes, there were other folks out there that felt the way you do, and no, you’re not alone. However, it’s impossible to understate the absolute explosion in feedism activity that occurred after the introduction of Feabie. Suddenly, we had fat Facebook. A place to meet people, post about your day, share a spicy picture or two, and organize local events. Meetups popped up everywhere, organized and populated by some of the nicest people you’d ever met. Content exploded - stories, pictures, art, and even podcasts. Relationshipy people started relationships, and hookupy people hooked up. It was amazing - all of the fat fetishists from around the world finally had a place to meet and gather, and we were overjoyed to see one another. I like to think of this period as comparable to what San Francisco must have been like in the 1967… Jimi Hendrix ripping sweet guitar licks in Golden Gate park, everyone high and happy, free love and all that jazz. A monumental simultaneous first time introduction of people that shared an intense common interest. Feabie burned bright for that first year, and I doubt it’s a time period that will ever be replicated. As we all know, the honeymoon period only lasts for so long - then you have to live with those you’ve met.

Factors bringing us to where we are now Unfortunately the demise of the Feabie honeymoon was only one of several factors that hurt the feedism community. Here is a list that is by no means exhaustive - I’d love to hear if there are others that I’ve forgotten.

That nagging little global catastrophe known as the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s tough to foster a strong community when everything abruptly moves online, not to mention the economic struggles and mental health issues that come with time spent in isolation. I know several of us used the pandemic as an excuse to finally give in to our suppressed feedism desires, but IMO the impact of the pandemic has still been net negative to our community’s collective well being.

Trump was elected president. Suddenly the guy with the bully pulpit was giving dog whistles to racists and openly encouraging Americans to act upon our worst instincts. The shittiest of people felt enabled to espouse their grievances about whatever disadvantaged group they pleased - punching down on minorities, LGBTQIA folks, and of course fat people. Because of Trump and the Republican Party, feedists are now even more exposed to societal hate than we were 5-10 years ago. (And sorry if you thought the “both sides coming together” attitude of this post would extend to politics. I have my pet peeves with the Dems, but I have zero love for the Republican party and the damage it’s done to the feedism community, amongst other things).

Inflation (and not the fun kind). Food and housing has gotten a lot more expensive, and wages haven’t kept up. A hedonistic evening of fattening debauchery might have cost $20-30 before the pandemic, and now it’s almost double. It’s a massive bummer that some people are bring priced out of this kink, especially when other kinks come for free (looking at you, feet people 😛).

Bad publicity and the invasion of normies. Through other social media outlets, our feedist safe space has been exposed time and time again to the general public. While I’m sure there have been several positive introductions as a result, the negative ones have been tough to deal with, to say the least. Verbal abuse, doxxing, and impersonation have resulted from bad actors discovering a vulnerable population it could take advantage of. 

And finally, we became a bit incestious. This is by no means anyone’s fault, but a natural side effect of a community with limited numbers. If you only have a small handful of fat fetishists in your area, odds are that you’ve talked to, hung out with, or even dated some of them. No friendship or relationship is perfect, and the resulting animosity adds up.

So what do we do about it? Despite the barrage of bummers listed above, I’m optimistic about the future of our community. Seriously, I really am. We’ve come a long way and dealt with a lot of crap, and are stronger for it. Compared to a few years ago, we have thicker skin, and are much more willing and able to tell the haters to fuck off. The next challenge, in my opinion, is recognizing that it’s gotten a lot harder to be a feedist as of late, and supporting each other through it with empathy. More specifically:

Empathy for those who need money to fund stuffings. I know the transaction of funds can create a weird dynamic of expectations, but at the end of the day, someone has to pay for that buffet and the multitude of desserts afterward. I’m not sure what a truly equitable breakdown of funds looks like, but it’s something that should be talked about openly without the weird stigma that currently exists. Food is expensive now, and the cost should no longer be an unspoken burden that is (more often than not) bared by feedees.

Empathy for those with their defenses up. If you’re a guy on Feabie, ask a female friend to see screenshot of their notifications bar. You’ll be absolutely shocked - in all likelihood you’ll see hundreds of messages from dudes playing the numbers game trying to get dates and freebies. So don’t get upset or take it personally when your finely crafted introduction message gets no response, or your brand new body pic gets no likes. Women on Feabie are constantly barraged with attention, and you would react similarly in their situation. Go to a meetup, join the public discourse, and shift your focus to making likeminded friends.

Empathy for newbies, because we’ve all been there. See a new person asking an obvious question? Give them a non-sarcastic answer. See someone quiet and timid at a meetup? Strike up a conversation. See someone acting like a douchenozzle on the newsfeed? Engage them directly and set a positive example. See someone hating on fat people and feedism? Still tell them to fuck off.

Empathy for past friends, past lovers, and past feedist partners. This one is especially difficult, because there are so many examples of valid reasons to hate someone’s guts after a relationship ends. In normal life, you’d cut that person out completely, your friend group would agree that he/she was a piece of shit, and you’d move on. That isn’t really possible in the feedism community anymore… we’re all 1 or 2 degrees separated from each other. Again this is tough because where do you draw the line? Abusers should be named and shamed, but what about people whose relationship just doesn’t work out? I worry about what kind of community we’ll become if we can’t break up amicably.

Empathy for feedees who don’t want to gain. I’ve written about this in the past, but getting fat in modern society puts a huge target on your back. Just because ‘thick is in’ doesn’t mean you’re immune to disparaging comments from relatives at thanksgiving, or concerned looks from friends who haven’t seen you in a while. Some people just don’t want that kind of negativity in their lives, and that is totally valid. Also valid are feedees who start to gain, and later decide it’s not for them. They may be acting as a result of health issues, career focus, financial concerns, or pure vanity. All are valid. Two things that are true simultaneously: 

You’re no less of a feedee because you aren’t fat or gaining.

Feedees who get fat are total badasses for pushing through external societal pressures.

It’s the little things I notice.  When was the last time you skipped dessert?  I can’t remember.  You’ve been unbuttoning your jeans lately, sometimes after a big meal, sometimes in preparation for one.  They all seem to have gotten a bit snug lately, haven’t they?  Your shirts are clinging to your body, and every day they leave less and less to the imagination.  You pull them down subconsciously, because they’re always creeping up your hips.  I must be a bad influence on you, and you know I’m an enabler.  Ever since I told you about my preferences, you’ve let go.  I can tell that your inhibitions, your hangups, are slowly fading away.  You’re getting more hedonistic by the day, and I’m not going to stop you.

***

Those little things are becoming less and less little.  I can tell how much you’re enjoying all of this… the eating, the pampering, the spoiling.  You’re a natural.  These last few months I’ve had a hard time keeping the kitchen stocked, and I’ve been grocery shopping every day.  Despite my best efforts, you always want more.  More and more - there’s so much more of you now.  That pooch hanging over your waistband seems to get thicker and heavier every day.  I can’t see my hands underneath it when I grab it from behind, do you like how it feels when I do that?  I love how your body feels in my hands, so soft and feminine.  You know I can’t get enough.  We might have to go clothes shopping again, even though it seems like we just went.  I suggested we buy a size up to leave room, and you laughed and went up two.  I love that.  Aren’t those the ones you’re wearing right now?  They seem awfully tight.  Sit back.  I hope you’re hungry, I’m going to feed you until that button pops.

***

A massive bowl of macaroni and cheese was placed in front of her. She knew she was supposed to wait, but the smell of it combined with her ever-present hunger were overpowering. Laying down on the couch, she looked at it, her view partially obscured by a new fat roll. She thought about eating it right now, all of those calories making their way into her mouth and down to her belly. Nothing but carbs and fat - she knew a huge meal like this (or snacks as she now called them), would add to the impossible amount of weight she’d gained over the past year. She thought about how constantly gorging on meals like this had transformed her figure - once petite and and lithe, into one clearly shaped by excess and hedonism. She always wanted more, and today was no different.

She struggled to sit up, feeling the spandex in her stretch pants reach the end of its extension. Hand’t she bought them two sizes too big to grow into? She made a mental note to ask her feeder to buy her new ones. She pushed her arm back against the couch and began to lift her upper body. Her belly, previously stretching toward the ceiling, now jumped her waistband and poured between her soft thighs. She struggled, more than she ever had before, and she was eager to make it worse. As she began to sit up, her belly and thighs battled to occupy the same space. Her belly won, forcing her thighs apart, and resting on the couch between them. She wondered about how long it would be until her belly reached her knees - not long at all if she kept up her current pace. She lifted her arm - now doughy and filled with fat of its own. She mused about the times when her arms hung freely, whereas now they were met by cascading side rolls, bulging love handles, and ever widening hips. Her fingers met the bowl, and she dug in like ravenously, like she hadn’t eaten in days.

The macaroni and cheese was sublime, made with extra cream and butter just how she liked. She had stopped eating out of normal bowls a long time ago - too many dishes to clean. The mac and cheese instead occupied a large salad bowl, and on its own contained enough calories to last a normal person an entire day. The lines between eating and sexuality had become blurred, and she felt herself getting wet as she scarfed down bite after bite. The pressure growing in her stomach only intensified things, and the pace of her gorging quickened. The bowl was empty just minutes after she started, and she leaned against the back of the couch in satisfaction. Instead of reflecting on what she had just consumed, she was already thinking about the next meal. What would be the next fattening snack today? How many pounds could she pack on in a single lazy Saturday? How much harder would it be to sit and stand up tomorrow? She intended to find out.

He walked back to the couch, a pitcher full of special weight gain shake in hand. He found her laid back with an empty bowl beside her, belly distended, looking fatter than she ever had before. “I was going to feed that to you!” he laughed, realizing he should have known better than to leave something fattening alone near her. “Too slow” she smiled, with a new double chin forming. “I need something to wash it down with though”. He was way ahead of her, putting the pitcher aside on the coffee table. His other hand held a funnel, the end of which he placed into her open mouth. She closed her eyes and quivered in excitement, anticipating her favorite feeding ritual. She had never been funnel fed before meeting him, but now she couldn’t imagine life without it. He had rigged up a funnel holder next to the bed, so he had a free hand as he poured the the thick fattening mix inside. He used it to reach his hand under her shirt, and feel her soft expanse of fat. She moaned involuntarily as she sucked down the shake, his hand rubbing and kneading, making room and helping her expand. He was mesmerized by the sight of her, and she could see his jeans struggling to contain how hard he was getting. He knew she must have been soaking wet, but her belly had long since gotten too fat to reach around and explore while funnel feeding her. He wondered how long they would last before they could no longer contain themselves. She gulped hungrily, blowing past the halfway mark, and past the three quarters mark just as fast. At this point the fullness in her belly, its pressure resting on her pussy, and the sight of him lustfully feeding her had taken her to the tipping point. It was almost enough to make her cum on its own, and maybe it would be with just a few more pounds. She wanted more though, and she drank as fast as she could. She knew he wouldn’t give it to her until she drank every last drop. He squeezed her belly harder, his fingers sinking deep into her rolls, feeling nothing but more softness inside. He could barely stand seeing her like this, and he watched desperately as the shake got lower and lower in the pitcher. She could feel the moment getting closer, as the shake crept past the funnel and into the tube leading to her mouth. They both watched as she gulped ravenously, desperate for what would come after she took her last mouthful. His hand crept as low as he could reach, lifting her massive belly and reaching the softness beneath. She shook and drank faster, five more gulps left, three, two... 

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything to the ol’ feedism blog, and there’s good reason for that.  To make a long story short, I’ve been a bit of a rut with this stuff lately.  Despite all of the wonderful aspects of this feedism - the ones that make me feel lucky to be a feeder - the negatives have been especially vocal lately.  It’s the usual suspects, with whom I’m sure you’re all familiar…

Why does the rest of the world insist on being so shitty to fat people?

Why don’t my friends and family, who support me in all other aspects of my life, accept my preferences?

Why is it socially acceptable to drink, smoke, mountain bike, rock climb, ride motorcycles, drive fast cars, etc etc… but being fat is somehow an unacceptable burden on the health care system?

If our brains are hardwired to eat as much as possible for survival, why is enjoying the process considered immoral?

Why do some FA’s resort to fat shaming to deal with their misplaced sense of guilt?

Will our culture towards fat people ever change?  Will it happen in my lifetime?  What can I do to make things improve faster?

If feedism is such a niche thing, am I missing out on an otherwise amazing relationship because of kink incompatibility?

Should I try to suppress my preferences and make things work with a normie?

How important is feedism to me?

Why do some people seem to fundamentally lack empathy for the thoughts, feelings, and preferences of others?

Two weeks later, it was fattening vacation time.  Funds that would have normally been spent on airfare to a faraway destination were instead used for a grocery delivery service; the shopping list of which contained hundreds of thousands of calories in treats.  By this time she had grown even larger, and her appetite had followed suit.  Her stomach groaned in pain if it wasn’t stuffed to the brim, and her between meal snacks resembled feasts that could feed a small family.  The small roll above her belly had doubled in size, supporting her chest and leading down to a gut that had almost fully obstructed her view of her toes.  Her hips wedged between the arms of every chair she sat in, and she noticed that her butt (having now officially achieved donk status) propped her up noticeably higher when she sat down.  She hadn’t weighed herself in a while, but she was sure she must be close to 200 pounds.

She reassured him.  “I like being fat.  I like taking up more space than I used too.  I like feeling larger than I did the day before.  I like jiggling when I walk and getting tired when I move too fast.  I like being the stereotypical out of shape fat American.  I like making furniture bend and creak when I sit down.  I like catching myself in the mirror and surprising myself with how obese I’ve become.  I like eating everything in sight, and I like when people watch me do it.  I like gorging on fattening foods, and blowing up like a big butterball.  I like knowing that I’m not even close to done yet.  I like being lazy and spoiled rotten, and I like being your fattened piggy. “

He didn’t need to be told twice.  On the first day, he laid her in bed with her head propped by two pillows.  Looking downward, she could see nothing but her now obese belly rising above her chest.  He slapped it and gave it a squeeze, and the she felt her whole body quiver in his hands.  “I want you to drink as much as you can,” he said, taking out his funnel and putting the end into her mouth.  She could feel her tummy grumbling eagerly as she wondered what exactly he was about to feed her.  She knew it would be fattening, but she had no idea how badly.  In fact, he had researched the most calorie dense milkshake he could find, and what he had contained an entire day’s calories a single glass.  The shake consisted of a half pint of heavy cream with five scoops of brownie batter ice cream.  On top of that, half a box of cake mix and three scoops of Ovaltine were poured on top. Finally, the shake was finished with three spoonfulls of peanut butter and another two of nutella.  He knew it tasted incredible, and he knew she was going to love it.

She tilted her head back as the first drops touched her lips.  Her eyes widened as she took her first gulp, quickly followed by five more.  It was incredible – she had never tasted anything so rich and delicious.  She looked at him and took five more gulps, grabbed her belly and took another five. He poured more into the funnel and she felt herself filling up.  She swallowed down gulp after gulp, ravenous and unable to get enough of the fattening milkshake.  She was delirious with pleasure, and lost track of how much she was consuming.  Her belly was expanding in front of her, and she could feel herself fattening up with every swallow.  Wanting more was her only thought – and he kept pouring extra into the funnel.  Her belly began pressing downward, and she felt its pressure between her legs.  She opened them to make room for it, realizing she was soaking wet.  Moaning in pleasure, she saw that she had almost finished the milkshake.  She didn’t want to stop.  He poured the last drop, and she sucked it down greedily.  

Thought I’d try my hand at another story, this time combining the fantastical nature of the last one with the practical mindset of earlier stuff.  This is as close as it gets to real life for me, and I’m sure a lot of you have had similar experiences…

*****

A few weeks after meeting, they realized they had found everything they ever wanted, and yet everything they were afraid of.  Both feedists, both kind, intelligent, and down to earth, and both left wanting more from their previous vanilla relationships.  He always wanted to spoil someone silly, taking care her every need, constantly feeding her until the absence of such excess felt strange.  She always wanted to let go, eating without stopping, growing without bounds, encouraged to indulge and become the beautiful fat woman she knew she wanted to be.  They never thought they would find another so likeminded, and yet here they were, confessing safeguarded vices, trusting each other with secrets they’d never told anyone before.  The only thing left to do was eat.

She wondered aloud “They always say ‘It’s more about the journey than the destination’, but what if there is no destination?  What if the road kept going, and you loved it so much, you never wanted to stop?  Would you still take it?”  

He paused for a moment before stuffing another cupcake into her mouth.  “Well that sounds like the ideal situation doesn’t it?” he mused, “If every day of the journey brings you happiness, why would you ever want it to end?”

“Well what if you knew that it had to?  You wouldn’t know when, but someday down the road it would have to end, and you wouldn’t be on the same journey anymore.  Wouldn’t you worry about that the whole time?  How could you really enjoy the journey if you knew it couldn’t go on and on?”  

He chose his words carefully, reading between the lines.  “You know I think you could say that about anything in life.  Everything changes… sometimes for worse, sometimes for better, and it’s up to us to do the things that make us happy without tainting them with fear of loss.  I think we have to trust ourselves to know that we’ll be happy even if we eventually need to stop doing something that we love, and we’ll look back with contentment that we never held back.”

She smiled in agreeance.

“Now look at the bright side” he said, “the cupcake you’re eating right now – that’s going to end. But… I have two more packages, so really, I think you’re just getting started.”

“Take me on a never-ending cupcake journey!” she giggled, her new belly fat jiggling as she laughed.

*****

When they met, she had been 150 pounds, wearing size four pants and a medium top.  Now, just three weeks later, her weight had ballooned up to 175 pounds, and her clothes all strained with her new softness.  She couldn’t believe how fast she was packing on the pounds, and all of her initial fears about gaining were eased with feelings of self-congruence.  For the first time, her belly folded over her waistband when she sat down, making its way down onto her lap.  She felt a small roll forming below her bra, wrapping around to her growing love handles. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, and as she laid eating, would run his hands down her widening hips before turning back and moving inside her softening thighs.  He was only able to see her a couple times per week, but her appetite had exploded regardless.  Previously adhering to a strict 2,000 calorie per day diet, she realized she was often consuming over 4,000 daily calories on a diet that consisted heavily of ice cream, pizza, and doughnuts.  She couldn’t get enough, and her growing body – coupled with the way he treated it, just made her want even more.  She feared there was no turning back, and wanted to make sure that was true.  She told him what she wanted, and he knew exactly how to give it to her.

“I hate snapping back to reality” she exclaimed, taking a breath from a gulp of thick milkshake. “The worst part of all of this is waking up the next morning, with your hand on my belly, feeling nice and warm and plump, and having to get up and go to work.  It’s cruel, really.”

“The feedee hangover!” he yelled from the kitchen, cooking a heaping plate of nachos, “It’s funny you mentioned that, because I thought we could do something about it, at least for a little while.  What would you think about this – a big vacation, except the destination is your belly and the invitees are all of the desserts I can find.  We could take a couple weeks off and combine it with the holiday coming up, and have three weeks of pure uninterrupted feeding.  You could lay in bed as I fed you breakfast, fall back asleep and I’d wake you up for a fattening lunch, rub your belly until it was time for your milkshakes, feed you doughnuts until it was time for dinner…” he trailed off daydreaming about the possibilities “…every single day, and you’d eat more and more and grow bigger and fatter –

“- Oh my god” she interrupted, “Stop.  I mean don’t stop.  I mean yes – please.  I’ve been thinking about that for a long time, and I want to know what you’d do to me if you didn’t hold back.  It’d be a greedy, gluttonous, indulgent break from reality… I want more.”

They both looked at each other, thinking about all of the possibilities that three weeks of feeding, stuffing, and hedonism could bring.  She had one more thing to add.

“You know that you’ve gotten me too fat for all of my clothes, yes?”

He smiled.

I usually try to keep it real on this blog.  I’ve found that there isn’t enough down to earth talk about feederism and its real life impacts, so that’s always been my focus here.  However, this blog needed a little spicing up, and I’m only human.  Here’s a fun story, I hope you like it...

Lying in bed and peering downward, she couldn’t help but smile.  She stared, transfixed by her massive belly, bulging skyward despite resting on her back.  Reveling in its size and mass, she shifted slightly only to feel it wobble and shake under it’s own weight.  A rush of warmth and joy rose from her midsection as she realized that yes - all of it was hers.  Sometimes when stepping in front of the mirror, it all seemed foreign.  Catching a glimpse of such a round shape felt contrary to the thin frame that once occupied her reflection.  But not anymore, no.  Lying in bed on a Sunday morning, it was all hers.  As she rose to sit up, she felt her belly fall onto her plump thighs, and then slip between her legs.  Leaning to the left to pull off the covers, she felt rolls folding along her sides.  The bed creaked as her legs swung around, and the vibrations produced reverberated throughout her softness.  Every movement was ecstasy, her sense of touch heightened by newfound fat.  She rested her hand on her stomach, having to reach further than ever, and paused to remember how she had gotten here.

 Back in college, a small a bit of overeating had turned into an obsession.  A small roll folding over her waistband fascinated her, and online research led her to a community of like-minded individuals and encouragers. The social reservations she held against gaining were quickly erased – quieted by a potent mixture of taboo excitement and ice cream.  She became obsessed with food.  A quest for the best of all cuisines was embarked upon, and special attention was always paid to dessert.  She ate chocolate soufflé, gilato, flan, apple pie, cannoli, strudel, angel cake, and crispetti.  Of it all, cheesecake was always her favorite.  All culinary moderation was consciously thrown to the wind, and several milestones were soon to follow.  One month after embarking on her quest, the button popped off her favorite jeans.  One month later, bending over ripped the seams of her last pair.  Buying larger clothes was a temporary solution at best, and three months into her quest, she began to notice her belly jiggling with every movement.  The sensation it produced was incredible, and it took all of her strength to keep her hands off of it in public.  One morning, while driving to work, she was completely overcome with the changes to her body. Her belly now folded over the seatbelt, her love handles peaking over the edges of the seat.  Lifting her shirt to expose her stomach, she caressed her potbelly, which now had three distinct rolls along its sides.  It felt massive, and she licked her lips at the thought of what was happening to her.  More is what she wanted.  Exiting the highway, she pulled into an In and Out Burger – a guilty pleasure.  Four doubles and four orders of fries – not the healthiest choice, but that wasn’t what she was going for.  She finished it all in the parking lot, and her dress shirt struggled to contain her engorged stomach.  She decided not to go to work that day.  Instead, she stopped at the grocery store and loaded her cart to the brim. At home she consumed everything she bought in a single sitting, finishing with cheesecake, of course.

 She was nervous when she met him, but that faded quickly.  She had spoken to a handful of people online about her newfound obsession, but he was the first that she met in person.  Apprehension was immediately replaced by gratification, and as kindred spirits their relationship grew as quickly as she did.  He loved seeing her grow; she was a dream come true.  He made sure that delicious food was always present, and that her now ravenous hunger was always satisfied.  Every night, he sat upright while she squeezed between his legs, both facing forward.  With one hand he fed her bite after bite, and with the other he grabbed, squeezed, and caressed her stomach.  Every day she found it a bit more difficult to squeeze between his legs, until one day, her hips were simply too wide.  She longed for more of his touch, but didn’t want to give up being fed continuously. Sheepishly, she suggested they try something that she was curious about but was always too afraid to ask.  He lit up when she told him, as he had always felt the same way.  From that night forward, their nightly ritual was altered.  She reclined in bed, propped up by pillows.  He helped one end of the funnel into her mouth, and filled the other end to the brim with any number of delicious treats.  Her favorite was milkshakes made with cheesecake ice cream. With both hands unoccupied, he was free to touch her completely.  His hands ran over her swollen belly, down her sides, and into her love handles.  He jiggled her thighs briefly before massaging between them, pushing harder as he worked his way up.  As he neared top, he kissed lightly, first one thigh, and then the other.  He made his way between the triangle created by her two thighs and bulging belly, kissing each briefly and faintly running his mouth across.  He loved watching her struggle to keep the funnel in her mouth, regain composure, and continue drinking.  She knew he would go no further until it was completely empty. Her body ached as she scarfed down the last drops, looking at him as he waited with anticipation.  Finishing with one final gulp, he parted her thighs and lifted her belly.  Hesitating for a moment to tease her, she convulsed as he grabbed her hips and pressed his mouth and tongue inside.

The past few months have been eye opening.  A new job, a new coast, a new city, new friends, new places to go, things to see.  A new life in sunny San Francisco.

  You may be asking yourself ‘what the hell is a feedist going to do in SF, the land of pine cones for breakfast, free yoga in the streets, and calorie burning hills for days?’  You would have a point as well, as us feedists are definitely underrepresented in this - the fittest of all US cities.  So what was I thinking?  Have I made a huge mistake??  What am I gonna do???

In a completely non-sequiter moment, a friend recently asked me “So, why are you into feederism?”  I told her I could go on and on and on, and she flatly replied, “Do it.”

  So I did.  Here’s what I said.

  For me, it’s the convergence of three independent things that I enjoy very much.  When they’re combined, they become this amazingly addictive thing that allows you to become intimate with someone in a way that nothing else does.  It’s taboo, it’s warm, and it’s personal.

  Firstly, I think fat women are gorgeous.  This is by no means discriminatory against thinner women - they’re definitely attractive too - but heavier women just float my boat.  They always have, and they always will.  Curves, hips, softness… yup, love it.

  In addition to that, I’ve always loved taking care of the people I care about.  This is probably dangerously close to bragging, but it’s honestly one of the reasons I love feederism.  Thinking about feeding someone, taking care of their every need, and spoiling the crap out of them is immensely satisfying.  Seeing them gain weight is the manifestation of all that – they got fat because they’re so happy and well taken care of.  I realize this sounds kind of creepy when it’s written out like this, but all it really means is that making other people happy makes me happy.  It’s simple. 

Food = Happy. 

Food + Food + Food = Fat. 

Therefore, Fat = Happy + Happy + Happy.  

Mmmmm feeder math.

I love writing in this blog, and one of my favorite parts is the fact that it introduces me to tons of cool new people.  I’ve met FAs and feedists from around the world, and I’m constantly amazed by how feederism seems to exist everywhere – regardless of race, age, gender, or sexual orientation.  However, it has also shown me that feedists are definitely more prevalent in certain locations.  My main geographical takeaways after 6 months of blogging are as follows:

There are tons of feedists from the Midwest, particularly Illinois/Indiana/Ohio.

Seriously was this area originally settled by fat fetishists?  It seems like at least one out of every three people I meet here are from the eastern end of the Midwest.  I guess it shouldn’t surprise me too much, as it is the birthplace of the deep-dish pizza.  If you’re an FA in the Midwest, you’ve got it made.

There are a relatively small amount of feedists from New England (I’m from Boston so this makes me sad.)

This one is particularly distressing for me, because as much as I love Boston, the feedist culture is practically nonexistent.  New England is a very thin-centric area, so even the FA’s that do exist tend to be closeted.  That’s not to say there aren’t any exceptions, as I’ve met a few awesome northeastern feedists who I don’t want to offend :)  I just wish the feedist culture was more widespread.  I’ll quit bitching now.

For its size, there are TONS of feedists from the UK.

This one is even more crazy than the Midwest.  At least half of the people I’ve met online have been from the land of Dr. Who and Top Gear.  For an area the size of Michigan, the amount of FAs and feedists living in the UK is nuts.  I don’t have any concrete numbers to back this up, but having that many feedists in such a small area must make building a culture so much easier.  Maybe that’s why the London feedist meetups always seem to be better than the ones in the states.  If only the food was better in the UK…

Alright, let’s shine a little light on that elephant in the room.  

Us feeders like to think that we’re in the same boat as feedees.  We have similar preferences, we go to the same websites, and we love something that most would consider taboo.  So we’re the same, right?

Sadly, we ain’t.  The reason is simple, but many people never seem to fully wrap their head around it.  At the end of the day, a feeder is the same as he ever was.  There’s no evidence of his/her sexual preferences, and there’s nothing different about them for anyone to notice.  A feeder is free to denounce feederism and start anew in seconds.  There’s no accountability, and it just isn’t the same for a feedee.  Because at the end of the day, a feedee is, well, fat.

As we all know, fat in today’s society comes with a healthy helping of stigma and negativity.  It’s nasty, it’s evil, it’s unwarranted, but it’s reality.  I have a hard time getting over this fact, because I know that helping someone gain weight is akin to introducing them to this cruelty.  And what happens when a feeder/feedee relationship ends?  A feeder simply moves on, but a feedee is left to deal with the hateful public on his or her own.  It’s a huge, huge bummer.

I’ve got a lot of sympathy for the gay community. 

I think we’ve got a lot in common. 

As an FA and a feeding enthusiast (coining a new phrase, hope that’s ok), I know what it’s like to be undeniably attracted to something that’s openly looked down upon by the general public.  This thing that I refer to is something that I’ve loved for as long as I can remember.  Softness, indulgence, abundance, and weight – they’re all linked to femininity and sexuality in my eyes.  I’m aware that I’m part of the minority though, and all of us – FA’s, feeders, and feedees alike – have at one point worried what the rest of the world thinks of us.  We’re faced with the same dilemma that everyone in the gay community faces – do we come out of the closet, or do we keep our preferences to ourselves?  I happen to believe that sexual preferences shouldn’t define who you are, and I know I’m not alone in that belief.  The problem is, many of us in the FA community use that as an excuse to live in the closet.

Let me put this bluntly: dating as a closeted FA is wrong.  Lying to yourself is one thing, but if you date in the closet, you’re eventually going to hurt someone you care about.

Unfortunately, I’ve come to this conclusion as a direct result of personal experience.  I’ve got two stories to tell, and hopefully they’ll get some of y’all out of the closet.

A few years ago, I was in a long-term relationship with a girl I had known since high school.  She was thin and athletic, and had a freakishly fast metabolism.  One night we got on the topic of deep dark sexual desires, and I eventually caved and explained how I found the idea of women gaining weight incredibly sexy.  She was the first person I ever told – I had spent nineteen years in the closet.  To my surprise, she didn’t react negatively.  She thought it would be interesting to put on a few pounds, and after the first 20, she decided to go even further because she could tell how much I loved it.  One day, about 30 pounds later, she came out of the bathroom with tears in her eyes.  She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but after some pressing, she broke down and told me that she hated her body.  She missed being thin and didn’t like the extra weight, but was always afraid to tell me.  I was crushed because I had inadvertently forced my preferences on someone I really cared about - I was no different than some douchebag trying to get his girlfriend to drop a few pounds.  I told her I didn’t care about her weight and she should make herself happy, but the damage was done.  We split up a few months later, and I vowed to never make the same mistake again.

Later on, I dated a heavyset girl that I had met though friends.  I “came out” to her as early as I could, and again to my surprise, she didn’t react negatively.  She did, however, make it very clear that she wanted to lose weight for health reasons.  She loved that I loved her body, but she just wasn’t into being a feedee.  That’s totally fine with me, and we happily dated for a while after that.  It was that simple.  There was no secret fattening, wishful desires, or fear of her finding out I was a feeder – the air was clear from the get go, and that was great.  It wasn’t a typical “feeder success story”, but honesty, is that really what matters?

Careful, this stuff is highly addictive.  With great power comes great responsibility!

My Favorite Pumpkin Bread Recipe

 4 eggs

3 cups sugar

1 cup olive oil

1 (16-ounce) can pumpkin

2/3 cup water

3 ½ cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

½ teaspoon ground ginger

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

 1.   Preheat oven to 324 degrees and grease (2) 9X 5 x3-inch loaf pans; set aside.

2.   Mix eggs, sugar, oil, pumpkin and water until blended.

3.   In a separate bowl whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger and cloves.  Add to pumpkin mixture and stir until just mixed

4.   Pour batter evenly into prepared loaf pans.

5.   Bake for 60 to 80 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean; cool in pan for 10 minutes on wire rack; remove and cool completely. Wrap tightly to store.  This bread freezes well.