First of a few comparison posts of ginormous fatso Cody Steiner. It's so funny to me how he keeps wearing some of his old shirts that used to be baggy on him when he was still a skinny boy, but which are now hugging every single pound he gained since then, and it are obviously quite a lot. What a pity he can't wear the 'cowboy belt' anymore since his waistline has ballooned. This greedy piggy never lost his love for a good mirror selfie, but his love for food and beer is even much bigger, I guess.
Look how this fat swine is filling out that blue polo shirt in the last picture! It's not like he was still skinny when he was wearing it in the first pic, but there's still a big and round difference between the different photos obviously. He's rounding out more and more everyday. He's filling out his car seat much more too these days, just like that shirt he keeps wearing despite all the pounds he put on since he bought it. When you took a selfie from a higher angle in the past we used to be able to see your feet, but now your big round gut is blocking it more everyday, fatso.
it should be studied how often I think about having a life partner immobilized by their weight. Every necessity, pleasure and comfort provided for them. Propped up in a well supported, sturdy bed just waiting in comfort for their feeding.
Watching the breakup of another feedist couple, and all my deepest-seeded fears brought to life.
A few months ago there was a post going around from a feedee recommending that if one really wanted to pack on the pounds, feedees should think about getting a feeder. This made my heart drop on so many levels. It highlighted how feedees can enjoy their kink without a feeder at all. It lay bare the difference between a romantic partner who is also a feeder and a feeder who is a kink dispenser (even if consentual.) It reopened every question I have about my value in a feedist relationship.
Feedees are the ones who have to live with this kink in public 24/7. It changes your body, and that body will be scrutinized and judged non-consensually and usually negatively. In many ways it is difficult and vulnerable and I do not want to lessen that risk or consequence.
But feeders cannot practice this kink without a feedee. There is no solo version for us. (Unless buying food for randos is satisfying on its own for some feeders--maybe it is.) Our version of 24/7 feedism might not be as obvious and public, but it a lot more lonely. We are the purveyors of kink--and we like it that way--and we don't get anything back. There is no "my turn" within the kink. The focus of feedism for both feeder and feedee is the feedee.
What we "get" is a feedee. And if that feedee wants a feeder but not a partner, what we are "getting" might be very little. The chance to pay attention to someone else for a few hours at a time? A one-way attention funnel? A Saturday night motel when the real partner is out of town?
This kink hinges on so much trust. The feedee has to trust a feeder to take care of them (however roughly you want to interpret that) but the feeder has to trust that the feedee gives the slightest fuck about us. I love that element of kink, of having to be bonded in trust for it to be really good, but it is also terrifying. I hate the way the language can be abused to hide what you really want from a person you are being really vulnerable and intimate with.
Yes, you want a feeder. What does that mean about your partnership? Do you want that human in particular?
I suppose this does go both ways, but today I am feeling my version, my fears. I don't want to just be a feeder. I want to be partner to a real human. I don't want just a feedee. It isn't real until the other part, the committment to me the human, is consumated.
God, do vanilla people have to overexplain like this? Feedism is my sexuality, and my sexuality is part of who I am, full-time. Why do we treat "relationships" and "sexuality" like two different needs? It is the same need. It's one need.
When we moved in together, they told me that they wouldn’t mind cooking most of the time. I couldn’t get enough of what they made so I didn’t argue, but despite their protests I insisted that I do the dishes so I could help out a bit. They would always make way more than either of us could hope to finish in one night, always leaving leftovers for me to take for lunch the next day. Every night after dinner I would clean and they would take care of the leftovers.
Domestic bliss hit me hard. They seemed to love cooking, and I loved what they made. After every meal they would ask what I thought and do their best to encourage seconds and thirds, but no matter how much I ate there was always plenty leftover. I didn’t notice the way portions seemed to grow even as my wardrobe shrank, nor the way they learned my tastes so that I couldn’t resist another bite.
The next year passed quickly, and our little routine started to show cracks. First I would be so full after dinner that they would sit next to me and rub my belly for a few minutes before I could stand to begin cleaning. Next, standing at the sink became too much of a workout so I began to pull a chair in front of the sink every night. They made sure I never felt bad about needing extra help, always telling me how happy they were to see me enjoying their cooking, always cooing sweetly into my ear as they helped me deal with the consequences of my gluttony.
Every day there would be some new task they took over for me, soothing my anxieties and making sure I knew how much they loved to help. My weight skyrocketed under their care. Before I knew it, they were doing almost everything for me, except for the dishes.
On a night like any other, I had just come out of my feast induced daze and began the slow shuffle towards the dishes, using the chair I would need to sit in front of the sink as a walker. As I eased my bulk onto the creaking chair and tried to get into position, my belly pressed against the cabinets and my arms spilled over the countertop like normal, but no matter what I tried I couldn’t seem to reach the faucet. I could see them watching predatorily out of the corner of my eye as I desperately tried to shift and wobble my way closer, but after a few breathless attempts I felt their hand on my shoulder. “You must be so exhausted trying to do all that work by yourself tubby, why don’t you just let me take over?” They whispered in mock sympathy. They help me stand and lead me back to the table, glibly talking about how hard I’ve been working even as I barely make it back to my seat. “How about we switch things up? From now on I can do the dishes. Do you think you could take care of the leftovers for me?” They ask in the sweetest voice they can muster.
I nod and look for the Tupperware, but they just chuckle and walk to the sink, calling back over their shoulder to me. “Oh you wont be needing those, piggy.” They say with a wicked grin as they nod at the table, filled with enough food for a family. “You must be starved after all that exercise. I’ll be done in a few minutes if you need help with that too.” They say with a wink before they get to work. I stare down the plates stacked high with my favorites, and my mouth waters despite the fullness of my stomach. As I pull another place towards me and reach for my first bite, they hum in satisfaction. I could never say no to them anyway.
