Chelsea Jean. 20 years old. ISFJ.
Absolutely entirely in love with my
skinny Noodle boy.
fat [and loving it]. feedee. gainer. ommetaphobic. human. broken.
powered by Tumblr.
I am fat.
I am a feedee.
I have a fetish.
I gain weight because I want to.
I have fantasies sometimes about being the size of a lesser planet.
More important, I am a human being.
I think for myself, I take care of myself, I have a heart and feelings and I don’t care if you’re disgusted by me. I don’t care if you think I am hot as fuck. You don’t get to disrespect me or call me a fat slut unless I want you to. You don’t get to send me messages telling me that I’m killing myself. You don’t get to send me messages telling me that I need to ‘gain 100 more pounds before I get to suck your cock.’ Fuck you. I don’t exist to please you or anybody else. Just because we share the same fetish doesn’t mean we share the same way of practicing it. And when you start objectifying fat people - most not even feedists! - and generally being a disgusting person, you make it even more difficult for those of us that are genuinely good people just trying to enjoy this part of our sexuality that we can’t (and shouldn’t have to) deny. So let me get this straight for you, assholes. Before you think about sending me a message that lets me know you want to fatten me like the cow I am, or tell me that you jack off thinking about me gaining 1000 pounds, ask yourself, “Am I her boyfriend, the one she constantly talks about and so obviously loves?” and if the answer is no, kindly fuck off.
I AM NOT MY FAT. I AM NOT MY FETISH. I AM CHELSEA.
[This is a feedist fetish story. You’re free to not look under the cut if it’s not your thing.]
Allow me to preface by stating that this is absolutely not a love song. Troublesome things, love songs… for sweet melodies and poetic words so often belie a bitter end. But this tiresome topic, thankfully, is not the subject of this post. Rather, I come to you today to speak of the man in my dreams.
This was beautifully written.
Last Friday, I put in a transfer request to a WalMart out in Ohio. The one closest to Michael, to be precise. My personnel manager told me that it usually takes about a month for the process to be finished. Turns out that it can also sometimes take four days. So on Tuesday of this past week, I accepted the job offer from the WalMart out in Ohio and found out that my first day there would be September 8th - a bit over 2 and a half weeks away.
No idea how to get there, no idea how the financing would work out, no clue how I would find the time to pack and clean and still work every shift I was scheduled. I asked my best friend Tommy if he would be willing to drive me out, offering him cash, gas money, food money…probably in the range of $400 altogether…and he said yes. But the next day, his tires locked up and he spun out on the highway. He and his car are fine. Today, I talked to my him and he informed me that, unfortunately, he won’t be able to drive me to Ohio next week to get me moved because he found out that he needs his wheel bearings changed. So tonight I checked online, terrified that last minute plane or bus tickets would be around 600 bucks.
And lo and behold, $200.60 later, I have a one-way plane ticket for one week away.
I’m moving. I’m doing it all myself and it’s on my own terms and in my own time and nothing could possibly explain the way I feel knowing that I will get to cuddle with Michael in one week…and in two, and three, and four, and five…
I don’t have to say goodbye this time. It’s a big step and it’s scary in the sense that this is the first time I’ve ever loved like this…enough to just pick up my life and go. But I also know that it’s worth it, and that if I didn’t do it now, I probably never would.
I am so in love with my Noodle. I know that things won’t always be avocados and bunnies and cuddles, and that he’ll discover little quirks of mine that bother him, and that we’ll get on each others’ nerves and I might scare him with the amount of crying I do over the next month…
and I also know that there is nobody else in the world whom I would rather have on my nerves than him. :3 I am so ready to be there, in his arms. ♥
The picture on top was taken on January 17th of this year.
The picture on bottom was taken today, August 15th.
Seven months of progress! :3
My webcam still sucks, though.
The scale in my house of non-fatties maxes out at 330 lbs. most store bought scales stop at 300, 330, 400, or 440. In my situation a 440 lb scale would work but it wouldn’t be useful after a few months, so I ask this: Where can I get a scale that goes much higher for not a lot of money? A max capacity of at least 600 lbs would be about right, if not higher.
I know at least two of my followers are BBW paysite models who have done weigh-in sets and likely know what’s up, so leave a reply or ask or something? :)
it is impossible not to get turned on (and ridiculously excited) now that I’ve officially seen this post.
I’m going to be so fat. :3
Being states away from your feedee for weeks and getting so excited to see new curves, rolls, marks, and appetite upon being reunited.
Not mine, surprisingly, but holyfuck agree!
*excited for him to see them :3
Pizza leads to cuddles leads to belly rubs leads to fat talk leads to fatter talk leads to belly jiggles leads to back roll jiggles leads to every-kind-of-fat jiggles leads to soaked undies leads to no more undies leads to amazingly mind blowing fat sex.
More pizza please!
He willingly turned me on after I ate 3 burritos and a Crunchwrap Supreme (after giving me the best belly rubs in the history of the universe). And the things happened.
That’s true love, feedist style. :3
my belly to get bigger. Right now. I want my Noodle to feed me and jiggle me and to have it start getting bigger and not stop until it’s hanging almost down to my knees and I have to lift it up to do things like get into bed and wash it in the shower…and touch myself. So he has to lift it to wiggle his little hips between my thighs… Unf. I want more of me and I want a bigger, jigglier belly. but I’m impatient. I keep eating and I am getting fatter, pretty quickly…it’s just all going to my tits and backfat. Which is great. But I have huge belly envy…
An accurate portrayal of Feederism in practice.
Everybody thinks Friday is the new Friday but I’m pretty sure I overheard some street toughs saying Thursday is the new Friday and frankly I can’t afford to have my wallet stolen again.
So hey, Feederism chat. When’s the last time you talked to awesome people about your deviant desires? Earlier today? Fuck! Come on in anyway! 11pm Eastern, 10pm Central, the rest of you can figure it out!
Why must it be the day I get home from my most feederific week ever and have to be to work by 6 in the morning? AND when Michael’s at work for the first time in six days? blargh. We need to create a schedule because I need to brag about awesome first-time feedee experiences :D
My first car was a maroon 93′ Chevy Cavalier that my friends dubbed “The Stallion.” My love for that car ran incredibly deep as it never died on me, never stalled, never broke down and always got me where I needed to go. I didn’t take care of it nearly as well as I should have and despite that fact, it never betrayed me. I was spoiled from the start. I assumed that every car would behave this well.
My first date was when I was 14. I don’t know where or why my infatuation with AJ began, but I had it bad. I was going into my sophomore year of High School, and he had already graduated. I knew that I only had one real chance, so at the end of the summer, I approached him and meekly asked him out. I can’t imagine what I would ever do in that situation, but he handled me in a brilliant fashion. We went to the movies. He picked me up, dressed nicely, wore cologne, and paid. The movie was mediocre, we sat in the very back row (it was his favorite place to sit for the best view,) and he had been exhausted from a late night before this. But I was happy and it was nice. Shortly thereafter he left for college and explained that even though we can’t ever date, we’ll always be friends. He could have crushed me and yet he didn’t. Much like with my first car, my first date left me spoiled. At 14 or 15, I assumed that every man would behave this well.
This is an outstanding piece and absolutely worth a read. Related directly to fat sex stuff and particular fetishes, but the message applies to far, far more than just that.
Completely agreeing with Murph here. It’s a little long, but her words flow so elegantly and they are so completely true. Raw and honest…it seems to be her style. And it’s amazing.
I hope I don’t sound like a total asshole for asking but: why are you looking to gain weight? (Honest curiosity.)
of course you don’t sound like an asshole, silly. :P I think out of anybody to ask, you’d always be the least ass-holey to ask. First, I said “maybe” because I’m not sure my body will even let me. My thyroid is a temperamental thing that throws hissy fits and makes me gain and lose weight at random times with no regard to what I’m eating, how active I’m being, etc, and so forth. But I do want to gain weight. Healthily! But being fatter is…unf. How can I explain in a ‘normal’ way?
Basically, to put it bluntly, it’s part of a fetish/lifestyle. I’m a total feedee, and a lot of people with the fetish only talk about or fantasize about gaining more weight. My body, however, is usually good at actually doing it. I really, in every way, just feel better fat. It’s hard to explain, because I only just really opened myself up to being honest about it, especially to somebody that doesn’t share my particular proclivity…
the wonderful chubbybychoice has always put it into words that actually make sense to me. I find all bodies attractive, I just think mine is more lovely and sensual and such when I’m fat. So, naturally, more is sexier, at least in my imaginings.
Now I’m not necessarily suggesting that I’m going to gain the weight I want, or gain in the places I want it the most, or gain at the speed I want to. And I know that I will probably want to have a cutoff point where I don’t want to put my health at risk. Right now, I’m almost at 370 (I keep fluctuating from 365-368) and I’m not in the best shape I could be at this weight…but I’m a healthy person. I do exercises [read: Dance Dance Revolution, Just Dance, going on walks, running after stupid people that have forgotten their stupid bags at my stupid job] to get my blood pumping. I keep my muscles in shape, too (holy hell, you should see how much fat girls can lift with our legs. Hot damn.) and even my soft, sexy, squishy parts are pretty toned. And, believe it or not (not directed at you, Ariel, just some other people that may, for some strange reason, be reading this little rant) my meals really are balanced. I am a lover of all the foods (except mushrooms) and I make a point to get whole grains, fresh fruits and veggies, dairy, and some kind of meat (mostly white, though I can’t say I don’t love burgers and steak) into every day. And I don’t always eat in excess. But if I want to, I do. Because I love to eat. =]
All bodies are awesome bodies. They’re so capable of so many things. I’ll never deny that health is an issue for obese people, but it’s an issue for everybody. And there are a very wide range of different kinds of health. I am very, very for people that want to lose weight in a healthy way. It takes a lot of dedication, and it’s admirable when I see people that are doing it for themselves. But I’m personally done surrounding myself with people that make me feel ‘less than’ because of my size. I’m done letting other people dictate the way I should look because they’re ‘concerned’ about my health. I’m not at my heaviest at the moment, but for the first time, I’m at my happiest. I finally love my body, and embrace it, and accept myself for who and what I am: very into feederism, and very fat.
I feel like maybe I didn’t explain myself very well. If not, just check back in. I’m sure I’ll be around. :p