FFA Who Is Unrelatedly A Fat Gal (not A Feedee)

32 year old FFA, been around for a long time. She/her, asexual ?romantic, but likes most gender expressions. Obvious pure bbw horny blogs do not interact.

[thatshy-ffa]

Trying to convince you that this is a reasonable goal weight. [Fresh off the … press? Actually recorded in 2026]

[alternative-ffa]

I need you to tell me. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you desire. I need you to be vocal, to inform me. I don't want to step over a line.

You sit there, impossibly fat. Your belly covers your thighs and you can't keep your hands off of it. But I'm nervous... is it okay to touch? Can I enjoy you the way I want to?

You sit there, full of food, burping every few seconds. Please tell me what you want, big boy.

Then I hear you, "Come, touch me. Rub my belly. I can see that you want to."

I'm unsure, but I approach. Is it a trick? Then you grab my hands assertively and place them on your fat bloated gut. If this IS a trick, you certainly have me fooled.

I want to follow my instincts... to knead all the heavy fat, to gently caress your stretchmarks, to even kiss every inch of blubber that pins you to your chair. But my anxiety is sabotaging me.

You can tell, so you look down at my small hands, resting still on your belly. Then you grabbed one of them. Your soft, warm, fat hand began to guide my small one. You applied pressure and pushed it into your stomach. You spoke, "Yes, right there. Do you feel how full I am? My stomach is hard as a rock. I need you to rub it. Help me digest..."

I obeyed. I began to lightly caress the firm stomach hidden deep beneath the fat of your belly. You interject, "... no my dear... pressure, apply pressure! Yes! Circles... small circles... oh *burp*... that's it!"

I was worried about hurting you, I was pushing down so hard. Another belch escaped you and instead of excusing yourself, you said, "Burping tells me that you're doing it right. Keep rubbing me. Don't stop."

I was entranced. I kept kneading your belly in small circles. I massaged your stomach and every few seconds, you let out another gluttonous belch.

But I wanted to explore further. While one hand continued to rub your belly, my other one began to touch more of you. I reached towards one of your breasts. Your nipples were harder than your full bloated belly. I looked you in the eye as if to ask permission. You just grinned. My hand reached for it. I couldn't get it all in one handful - it was an impossible amount of fat. You chuckled, and after another burp, said, "I'm so fat aren't I? Tell me. Tell me how fat I am."

Was this dirty talk for you? I hoped it was. I carefully said, "Yes, you're huge. I've never seen someone so fat."

You closed your eyes and began to assist me in rubbing your belly. It was only silent for a second, but it made me continue to speak, "You're so gluttonous. So fat. So obese. What have you done to yourself, big boy?"

You moaned and said in a whisper, "... oh yes, I've turned myself into a fat fuck, haven't I?"

"Yes, you certainly have. Look at you, unable to lift yourself. You can barely move. And all you can do is eat, huh big boy? Your a glutton. A fat, greedy, hedonistic glutton."

"Oh God. I am, aren't I? I'm a greedy pile of blubber. Oh, I'm so heavy!"

"You can barely move. But I think I love watching you struggle..."

The moan you let out this time was filled with sexual pleasure as opposed to the pleasure of your gluttonous abandon. You tried to reach down past your belly. I knew what you were reaching for. What would be the ultimate satisfaction. I could help. But I'd rather watch you struggle to try.

"Come on, fat boy, you can reach..."

You grunt and groan as you continue to struggle. I ask facetiously, "Are you too fat? Too fat to touch yourself?"

My teasing seemed to get you more aroused. You wiggled to the side, trying to use gravity to move your belly out of the way. You were determined to reach your hard, throbbing, desperate dick. Then, suddenly you exclaimed, "Oh fuck. What have I done?! I can't... I can't reach it. Oh, please, please help me."

All I could do was smile. You watched intently as I got on my knees in front of you. I disappeared beneath the fat of your belly. You could no longer see what I was doing. But you felt it.

Oh, you needy fat boy; you felt it.

[thatshy-ffa]

I follow a lot of cute artists on Facebook… This one feels quite relevant to our community 

[chubbybear1994]

I need help carrying these huge jugs

[thatshy-ffa]

If/when I leave this job, I want absolutely no one to know because I don’t want them to pretend to miss me, or for them show me that they won’t and be assholes in the process if it is a known thing.

It’s like … THE thing our office does to do a going away potluck and I know I’m hated so that entire procedure would just be depressing 

[sillysoftie]

POV: You take me out on a brunch date & the dish I order looks like slop in a trough when it comes out. 😇🍳

(Bed of hash brown potatoes, a buttermilk biscuit, a chopped fried chicken cutlet, bacon, and cheesy scrambled eggs all smothered in chorizo gravy. 😍)

[growingellex]

the quart of ice cream wasn’t originally part of the plan, but it was absolutely delicious 🤤💓🐷💦🍦

[thatshy-ffa]

would you ever stream? You’d be fun to hang out with

I make TikTok’s and sometimes I go on live so kind of… But I don’t have consistent enough energy levels to like… make a plan of doing something like that.

[thatfatgoth]

That trend where you eat sushi off your partner’s bicep, but make it feedist!

[sillysoftie]

me spraying “extreme feeders” who have never done a single thing for a disabled person once in their life ever:

[thatshy-ffa]

I finally cooked for myself for the first time I’m like… Months. And I’m also watching a live stream of bears. 

[thatshy-ffa]

I wanna touch a big soft man titty real bad. 

[thatshy-ffa]

Me to my manager: I’m really bad at catching hints and tones, if something is frustrating, please tell me explicitly instead of the silent treatment/just using a weird tone.

My manager: So what I’m gonna do is whenever you seem like you might be upset, instead of inquiring or trying to understand, I’m gonna give you the silent treatment.

One month passes by then we have the exact same conversation and she apologizes because obviously that wasn’t how she should’ve conducted things and she’s sorry, but then she does it again for some reason. X4 cycles now.

[thatshy-ffa]

Just vented at my Notes app and wanted to post it here too:

If I don’t approach every single situation absolutely perfectly, then I’m wrong, even if nobody else does anything right in response.

There is no consistent way to react to “how are you doing” correctly. If I lie and say I’m fine, they don’t know the truth, if I say the truth and it’s not fine then that’s wrong. If I say, I don’t like that question because it doesn’t matter the response, I’m also wrong. Then when nobody checks on me, even when they notice, AND CONFIRM THAT THEY NOTCED, I’m having a hard time, it’s also my fault, because I didn’t respond well to that fucking question at some point in the past.

I’m treated like I’m unreasonable, even when I’m more willing to bend than almost anyone else, for some reason. I’m the difficult one even though I acquiesce and try to accommodate every single time I’m asked and no one else of them does. But since I do it in the wrong way, then I’m the difficult problem, person.

They treat me like a wild animal, gonna attack at any minute, then get mad when I’m like “why are you guys treating me so weird?” because, if I act poorly when treated poorly, that’s the sign that I deserved to be treated poorly the whole time. There is no winning.

If everything about who I actually am were the same, but I had a penis, slim body, pale skin, and straight hair, it would all actually be incredible and perfect, but because I have brown skin, a fat body, kinky/curly hair in a queer style, and a vulva, I’m wrong every time, if I don’t have the perfect, happiest tone in the whole wide world, or don’t say everything that could possibly be interpreted as critical with a wrapping of happy little ribbons and bows, no matter how I feel.

I can say “I need clear communication, I don’t know how to process weird tones/facial expressions/the silent treatment,” and then they say “you seemed upset so I decided to give you space a.k.a. the silent treatment,” I’m wrong for being upset at that, no matter how directly I’ve said that I want to give them what they want, I just need to be told more explicitly.

Because I am female, and brown, and fat, and autistic, I have to be absolutely perfect, or I will be utterly rejected, every time.

A thin white man with the exact same characteristics would be praised.

[thatshy-ffa]

Me to my manager: I’m really bad at catching hints and tones, if something is frustrating, please tell me explicitly instead of the silent treatment/just using a weird tone.

My manager: So what I’m gonna do is whenever you seem like you might be upset, instead of inquiring or trying to understand, I’m gonna give you the silent treatment.

One month passes by then we have the exact same conversation and she apologizes because obviously that wasn’t how she should’ve conducted things and she’s sorry, but then she does it again for some reason. X4 cycles now.

[cupfeedcake]

#1 fastest folding chair ever fold

[jade-eats-rainbows]

Stuffed heifer.

[thatshy-ffa]

How long does it take a person to lose all understanding of how hourly employees operate once they go into management? It seems fast. Like they can’t conceptualize how unhelpful their “assistance” is even though they’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of frustration not a year before?