MOLLY: My, you are gothy. There was an unreadable red design splashed across his chest.
CEE: It's a Gorillaz shirt, dammit!
I smile. I can see the reflection of myself in the little box below the list of Yahoo contacts, the comforter pulled up around my shoulders. I'm lying in bed with my favorite sex toy: the laptop. I only wish Cee's webcam quality was better: he looks more like a photograph that's been run through the dorkier filters of Photoshop than my own interactive fetish toy.
Cee is a boy I met when I placed an add for stuffer boy pics on Myspace--proof that whenever I do something pervy it leads to something good. He's from the UK and describes himself as a "gentleman", though he has awfully long hair. He wanted to talk to me because he was curious about the pleasures I portrayed, and wanted to explore them by IMing a curvy girl, even one that's across the ocean.
MOLLY: Ready to start?
CEE: Cigarette first.
The smoke is a white blur in front of his face. He's often stopped to smoke during our talks--we've spoken about everything from communism to what it means to have a fetish-- but this time it's a torment.
Not an hour before I'd been fully dressed, sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by my housemates. Then that little "pop!" that announces a new IM conversation--Cee, as usual. He had something--I forget what it was, the UK version of Tang. And he wanted to try stuffing with it.
But I have to go to bed, I told him. And anyway, it's no fun if I can't see you and it's just text.
I have a webcam, he said.
Well, I said, that changes everything!
On my computer screen Cee takes off his shirt. Though the colors are unnatural, the outline of his body is clear.
CEE (looking down at his chest): Eeek.
CEE: Man boobs.
They're not the hanging breasts seen on overweight men but little tips--"mosquito bites." The nipples are large, black against the yellow skin. I get a glimpse of his curving side.
MOLLY: Nice waist.
A good start, he writes.
He may mean the fact of my praise. Or he may be referring to the way his now-flat belly will look when it's round and full, I can't say.
How many boys have done this for you? he asks.
Two, I wrote, counting yourself, and was astounded at my own count, as if I had expected more.
I had begun to have a presence on the web through my erotica and blogging, but the only one I had really seen do it--and by "do it", I mean stuff themselves--was the Colt. All other times it had been the results in pictures, or a pre-filmed video of the boy from collarbones to just above the waist.
And this was to be Cee's first time--he had never before stuffed himself.
I was like someone who had only seen porn when it came to having sex, only seen the photo of couples embracing, not the act. I had only seen the ejaculation, not the touches and whispered fantasies that led up to it. These late night talks--through text and live webcams--were as close I had been able to get to making the fantasy reality.
I watched Cee lift what looked like a plastic measuring cup to his lips. God, he wrote, I'm nervous already and it's only a frickin' liter.
Then he drank it down.
All his nervousness vanished as he stood up, blotting out all but waist to collarbones, and demanded to know if I could see an immediate change in his body. I told him that honestly, no, I couldn't.
He mixed another one and within seconds had drunk it down. His stomach began to puff out a little, a very slight bulge on his slight tummy.
CEE: I think I could squeeze a third in there
CEE: but not now.
Let it go down, I wrote, soothing him. Let your body adjust.
I watched him, sitting down with his adorable little tummy pushing out slightly over his belt. He was full--trying to ease himself, he lay half on his side, supporting himself on one elbow. It was almost a cheesecake pose. Though I couldn't see his face he could see mine--he pinched his side, knowing the showing off of his soft flesh would excite me.
The bad camera quality made it difficult to tell, as always, but I thought he looked quite pleased with himself. It was as if the satisfaction he felt--the warm glow of having a full tummy--spread out to me through looking at him. It started a tickling in my own tummy, and I rubbed it a little against the mattress.
Then his camera messed up. It went black, divided up into colored lines like a television set, and finally went off altogether. He fiddled with it for a while (or so he wrote) but was unable to bring it back.