Monday, September 28, 2009
The Perfect Man
One of the side effects of being into feederism is the ability to guess someone's weight just by looking at them. FA*s, like tailors, learn through looking at hundreds of profiles listing height and weight what to expect, and after a while certain numbers become more important than others. There is a kind of man who will begin to stiffen and leak upon reading the stats "5' 5", 200 lbs." before he's even seen a picture, and I myself am not immune to this phenomenon.
For me, the magic number is 170 lbs. (My ideal height for a man is a little shorter than myself--say 5' 8".) I'm unusual in wanting something so low, but much over 170 lbs. and a boy's frame will begin to look overloaded. The fat will begin to fold over and bloat him out, overbalance him. Under 170, all his muscles will stand out and his belly will be flat. But at 170, the extremes are perfectly in balance. If he has muscle definition it will still be visible, perhaps slightly softened, but the main difference will be in his belly. The extra flesh will have a round, tight look to it: he'll still fit in his clothes but form-fitting t-shirts will pull across his tummy like a slut's dress. This, in feederism parlance, is called a "ball belly", and I zero in on it the way an ass man looks at pictures of Beyonce.
It is this set of parameters, as unforgivingly specific as the demands of height and weight for a Vogue model, that seem to set me apart even in what is already an unimaginably rare fetish. I am forever trying to get my cyber-beaus to slow down when they want to speed up--when boys talk lustfully about reaching 200, 300 lbs. I'm urging them to stop right where they are. I want them to be gluttonous, but also go to the gym, maintain. If I could just freeze them in time I absolutely would.
And, thus, I jinx myself. Most boys I've talked to just want to give their gluttony and lust free reign. What I want is much harder. I want soft hardness and restrained indulgences, I want their bodies to be everything to me, all at once. When I told Cee that I was going to stop looking so hard for a feedee and start trying other things because if I didn't I would be very, very lonely, he said, "Don't you want to create your ideal man?"
And that's the intoxication for every feeder's heart: the ability to mold someone into exactly what you want. Every modern retelling of Pygmalion makes him out to be a shallow, silly cunt, but really, who wouldn't want this power? When our robot overlords get good enough to marry I'm not so much going to want to program a boyfriend to do whatever I want (because who wants something as unchallenging as that?) but mix and match billions of skin and hair and bone structures so he looks exactly how I want. High cheekbones. Skin like marble. Black hair and blue eyes and a round porn star's ass and long fingered hands and a small, perfectly rounded belly. If there was any personality programming going on I'd install a desire to maintain his body that rivaled any starlet's (or would he be a Real Doll-like model that was stuck looking exactly one way?)
But the thing that keeps me from becoming a shining example of how women can have as insanely specific desires as men is that I'd can't imagine how I'd have the right to impose my standards on a real live human male, one that I'd sleep next to and make dinner with. Do I have the right to demand that my lovers shave and wax themselves when I hate doing it myself? Should they always look perfect when I seldom care to put any work into my appearance at all? It's a long and detailed list that would stress anyone out, and if they weren't naturally endowed with the "proper" bone structure it could drive them to despair**.
Nevertheless, I think of this description as the core of my desires. Sometimes it influences my sexual choices, sometimes not. It's true I've had several partners of the dark and delicate-boned variety, and all the feedees I currently cyber with fit that mold. But it's also true that their charms can lose their power over me if they're inarticulate, needy, or just plain mean: the ones I've kept in contact with for over a year are all smart, interesting, and mostly happy boys with their own style of language. And sometimes I just want someone completely different: my first love was a conservative with a body that made one think more of WWF wrestlers than dancers or jockeys, and when I look at the endless parade of boys on my Tumblr I'm constantly surprised how one physical attribute will look quite different on one boy than on another. (I've told Jefferson he'd be more attractive if he shaved his kiwis, but have found myself buried in DC Boy's far hairier crotch and loved every minute of it.) And there's a whole other as-yet-unwritten branch of my sexual desires where the men always come in pairs, with matching appetites but exactly opposite bodies. Perhaps the key to my desires isn't hungry brunettes, but contrast?
So at the end of this long rambling post about my ultimate desires I've come to the conclusion that there are some things I like a lot, and some things I almost like, and some things I like that I had no idea I liked before I saw them. The fact that hardly anyone has all these things or none of these things guarantees that even if you don't fit my core desires exactly, you don't have to worry I'm "settling" for you. (And neither, thank God, do I.)
Which doesn't erase the fact that if a boy came along who was mostly sane and had the right bone structure I wouldn't go absolutely mad for him. The six weeks or six months it took to change his almost perfect body into my ideal perfect body would be the most intensely sexual of my life. Even if we didn't fuck I might be able to cum just from watching him eat, or work out, or whatever else I had demanded he do to mold himself. If he was slightly dumb I would put up with it, if he was really dumb I'd feel humiliated, if he was a sub I'd push him around and if he was a domineering asshole I don't know what I would do, but no matter what personality he had a part of me wouldn't be able to say no to him. He'd have more power over me than I'm comfortable thinking about, and if he were wired the way he'd have to be wired for this to be in any way consensual, I'd have the same power over him.
There's a movie called Original Sin. It's been many years since I've seen it, so it may in fact be horrible. But it's redeemed in my memory because it has Antonio Banderas and Angelina Jolie in it. They were two of my favorite actors for a long time. I have no idea what's happened to Mr. Banderas, and this was long before Miss Jolie became the woman every straight girl wanted to fuck. I just had an innocent awe of the fact that such alien lips were part of a real human being.
But to cut to the chase: Mr. Banderas sends away for a mail order bride, and gets Jolie in return. After he meets her, falls for her, and fucks her she leaves him (something about her really being a thief who posed as a mail-order bride in order to steal his fortune.) Apparently, she didn't really care for him at all. There's a few minutes of montage where it shows Banderas going into many different brothels, with many different types of women. But they all have the same physical characteristics, the slender build and the long dark hair, and he makes them smoke cigars as she did.
I know what that's like. I know all too well.
*FAs: "Fat Admirers". It's feederism speak for chubby chasers. If you're a female chubby chaser you're supposedly an FFA, but why do we need another F in front of it telling people the admirer is female?
** Or drive him to get very expensive and painful plastic surgery just for me, but that's another post altogether.
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