Yeah, it seems as if it’s going to take some time for this blog thing to get me to the point of understanding and happiness I want.
So, meantime, I’ll just keep trudging along.
Never doubt that feederism is more about sex than it is about food. It’s about sexuality and, what’s more, It’s about the kind of sexuality that most people find repulsive. Feederism isn’t as hideous as an attraction to children; but I kind of think it’s worse than an attraction to members of the same sex. If you come out as gay there’s sure to be a bunch of lame brains who’ll say some hateful shit; but a lot of people will be welcoming and understanding — people will even commend you for being courageous. It don’t work like that if you’re a feeder, not these days anyway.
If I won the lottery or something; in other words, if I had money to burn, I’d open up an on-line store for women’s clothing and call it Big-Kini (or Bigkini) Fashions. I suppose you can guess from the name (or from the fact that you read about Bigkini in a post on this blog!) that our aim would be to provide fat girls with oodles and oodles of sexy and attractive clothes in larger sizes. If we end up marketing a supply of clothes that well exceeds the demand, so be it. The fantasy is that I’d have money to burn. I wouldn’t have to worry about making a profit, so I could concentrate on what I really care about: which is the celebration (and promotion!) of female obesity.
It’s amazing to me, but there are hundreds — no, thousands — no tens of thousands of weight gain videos out there on YouTube. If you’re interested in watching a pretty young girl transform herself from thin to fat you’re in luck. Forty years ago, when I was young, and when the women of my generation were young, there was more restraint. From what I can tell, it’s a lot more socially acceptable for today’s young woman to fatten up than it was for her mother. Plus, it’s easier than ever for a girl to get her hands on high calorie drinks and snacks.
I always expect — and I think this is more than just paranoia — that people will hate me and be disgusted by me if I open up about my feederist fantasies. Well, that’s they’re problem — or maybe that’s your problem. My problem is learning how to stop beating up on myself for being a feeder.
Back when I was in my twenties, I was lucky enough to become intimate with a sweet, smart, affectionate, sexy woman of my own age. Like just about every woman in America, weight was problematic for her. She was 5 foot 5 and weighed 120 lbs, which probably doesn’t sound like much of a problem but it was. “I have to starve myself all the time,” she told me, “or I gain weight — and whenever I gain, even if it’s just three or four pounds, everyone in my family notices. ‘You’re getting fat’, they all say, ‘better lay off the potato chips’. It makes me so mad! It makes me want to eat a huge bag of potato chips in front of them.”