You don't have a fetish, you're just selfish

Violet Blue critiqued an article by Psychology Today entitled "Typically Twisted" The article attempts to de-mystify many of the thoughts and behaviors people keep secret for fear of not being seen as "normal". Like fetishes, for example (direct quote):

A practice that is harmful, exploitative, or dangerous—such as pedophilia or public flashing—is deemed abnormal. But outside such clearly damaging obsessions, human-sexuality experts have a general rule: Unusual sexual practices are mostly harmless as long as they are part of a range of sexual responses. If you like dirty talk or get aroused by women's underwear, that's nothing to worry about...

Ok, I thought, until I finished the sentance:

... unless it's the only thing that turns you on.

Then it's usually called a paraphilia, defined as unconventional sexual behavior that's both obsessive and compulsive. For instance: A guy who can get off only when he's wearing diapers, or a woman who insists on dominating her partner. The person "is now substituting a behavior for a partner, and the behavior has become necessary for sexual satisfaction," sex educator and author Yvonne Fulbright explains.

A little bit of kink is a good thing if it spurs open-mindedness and a spirit of adventure. But when an object or a ritual becomes more important than the living, breathing partner, it gets in the way of a relationship and of sexual fulfillment.

Oh, crap.

I've had ten partners in my life, and I've never asked any of them to stuff themselves while having sex (mostly because until recently I wouldn't have been able to tell them what I wanted if they asked me). Instead I've pushed myself to be what--for me--might be termed "adventurous". With all the proper contraceptives and barriers in place (and sometimes not), I've been penetrated in all my holes. I've had penises and fingers and dildoes in my pussy, ass, and mouth. I've been sucked, licked, and fingered, experienced rimming, been handcuffed to a chair and even spanked (by my request). And there's never been a time when I've let my lover go before they've cum themselves. Usually, it's through my mouth on their dick, because I love to swallow sperm. Once, it was when I got a girl to squirt.

So much for just sexual reciprocity--how about emotional? Of the different people I've been with, some I've loved, some I've hated, some have just been a casual fling. Every one of the experiences has involved me reaching out to my partner, wanting to know what they liked, wanting to know about their lives. Some of these experiences have changed me forever, making me think deeply about how another's mind works, how I should treat people, and how I wanted to be treated myself.

But of all these varied experiences, not any of them has ever brought me to orgasm.

For a long time I was miserable over this. I've had partners feeling inadequate because they couldn't get me off. I thought there was something wrong with me. Then I thought I was just a normal woman. Then I thought it was just because my lovers couldn't find my clit. Then I found a lover that loved pussy and was willing to spend hours down there doing all kinds of things... but still nothing.

Then one day I was wandering around Myspace and saw this picture: instant orgasm.

This has brought me to only one conclusion: The only thing that's ever taken me "there"--the only thing that makes the blood flow and my clit swell and finally every muscle in my pussy convulse with delight--is watching a skinny boy eating until his slender belly bulges out into a tight dome. No exceptions.

I could go on like I have been. I could chalk it all up to some kind of strange narcissism on my part and find a partner that was only into normal sex--and by "normal" I mean light BDSM or vanilla. And then I'd never have an orgasm again--unless it was through masturbation. Now that's what I call selfish.

The thing that puzzles me most about this article is how it can simply be narcissism at work, when I've searched for years to find an alternative that would allow my partners to get me off?

But what do you guys think? How do you answer the question of balancing what gets you off with finding a partner you can connect with--especially if you only get turned on by something rare? Is it like being gay, something that cannot be changed and must be lived out in order to be a fully developed human being... or is it just as narrow as only seeing a skinny blonde chick (or a fat blonde chick) as attractive?

I've cross posted this on Myspace and Fantasy Feeder. At the end of the week I'll cull out the best answers for a new post. This is something I've been struggling to come to terms with, so I'd love you guys to comment with any of your thoughts, feelings, or experiences. This probably won't be my last post on this topic... the "Typically twisted" article is being hooted in several places, but it's gotten me thinking about how I and other tummy fetishists tick...and this will definitely not be my last post on the subject.

Exploring Feederism: The Motive

It's been around a year since, on a whim, I decided to visit the Museum of Sex in New York City. As luck would have it, the exhibit was on fetishes, and in between the pony play harness and the furry costume there was a small group of paintings on the wall showing a cartoon woman being force fed until her stomach bulged out.

I started sweating. What had formerly been a mind-expanding stroll through the interesting subcultures of New York had suddenly entered my bedroom. I was almost afraid to look at them, for my desires for the first time were laid bare. Outside of my own private daydreams I had never seen such a thing. Oh, I remember thinking, that's what I think about...!

Then I got to the last panel, where the woman had been fattened to the size of the Goodyear blimp and was colored blue. ...only, um, not like that.

This was my first experience in discovering that even in the kink world there are barriers to what one person will find "hot", and finding my way through the maze of terminology and other people's very personal takes are what inspired me to start this blog. More than anything, I wanted someone to teach and explain a fetish that seemed so rare I wasn't even sure what keywords to use on Google when I was looking for "my porn". I also wanted a way to foster a dialogue between other people that might not even have the kink, but were open to finding out more about it in order to understand what I liked. Stuffing dreams have been an integral part of my sexuality for as long as I can remember, so it stood to reason that someone would eventually stumble upon this aspect of my personality and need an explanation. I'll be the first person to tell you that my particular brand of kink can be rather disturbing (I still haven't been able to sit all the way through that one scene in Spirited Away where a couple gorge on an endless buffet until they bloat up and are transformed into real pigs.)

The great difficulty of explaining feederism to others is acerbated by the fact that I have been finding out about it, mostly through the medium of the internet, for only a year. There is the danger that I simply haven't found an aspect of it, or that something that other people think should be included will be left out. However, I feel like the nature of fetishes is broad, and thus I have striven to try to include as many aspects that I have seen in not a definition, but something that will give someone as new to their desires as I was a "feel" for what feederism might be for them.

So, without further ado, I present Part 1 in what is bound to be a very long series, in which I attempt to show the "why" of feederism. As in,

"Why the fuck would anyone find this sexy?"

That's a bit like asking, "Why are there fetishes at all?", to which I have always turned to Violet Blue's answer: "No one knows." She adds that many fetishes have theories about it, and most of the ones that I've encountered in my wanderings on the internet have been annoyingly out of date, the majority stemming from Freud. Even Newly has told me, "what your fear most becomes what you most desire, so..."

My theory on kink is based more on giving someone who stares in shock at, say, mamabliss' work, a roadmap to understanding how anyone could possibly find shitting, eating, stuffing or bloating a turn-on. I feel that everyone has inside them the raw triggers of pleasure that kink is made of.

There are certain human things that, for whatever reason, are always pleasurable. Eating is pleasurable. Being held tightly is pleasurable. Even peeing is pleasurable, though it's so integral to the experience most people don't even notice until it's pointed out to them. I'm not willing to make the argument that everyone feels these pleasures to the same degree, but most people, even "vanilla" people, have the bare bones of these pleasure centers inside them that can help them understand what brings on that stirring in the loins beyond the often alien images of blimp-like women and very hungry men, which are, after all, meant to be fantasies. From realizing that a certain action brings you pleasure, it's not at all a far step to imagining them as something that will help to get you off.



As is amply illustrated in the video above, even people who aren't into feederism think eating is damn sexy. Even heteros get into the act: whipped cream is supposed to be a preferred "vanilla" sex toy, and I think the manufacture of flavored lubes stems at least partly from the fact that eating is fun, and a warm wet mouth is even better when laced with something sweet. In a now-forgotten issue of Playgirl I once read a fantasy where a woman created a robotic lover that squirted chocolate and strawberry cream instead of sperm. Even the tradition where newlyweds feed each other wedding cake stems from the joyous intimacy of nourishing someone else.

It is all delightfully connected, this hole which is like a mouth which is like a cunt which is like an anus; a picnic where eating leads to kissing leads to sex.

Dirty Stories

All my life I've hated the idea of finding love on websites because I was afraid of branding myself as being socially inept. When I thought of looking for a girl/boy using a dating service I was faced with two images in my mind: that of a unwashed geek who spent five hours wanking in his basement hiding behind a computer screen or those dumpy conservative couples on eHarmony. I didn't drag myself up from being a virginal high-school bookworm with no fashion sense just to be shoved right back into that closet, I vowed.

Then I discovered I had a fetish.

As feederism, Myspace porn, BBWs, BHMs, and the hidden uses of Mentos and Diet Coke all exploded into my consciousness I realized I was spending at least as much time on my computer in the dead of night as that stereotypical geek. I also realized two things simultaneously: (1) this wasn't going to "just go away" and (2) it's almost impossible to tell a stuffer boy by looking at him. Unless I found a bar where the patrons regularly competed by drinking gallons of beer or started frequenting the completive eating circuit my chances of meeting one would be few. With a sigh of relief I realized my time spent on the internet was a forced necessity, not an acknowledgment of my own insecurities, and I set about trying to find out if there even was such a thing even as my friends wondered why they never saw me any more after school.

As Violet Blue says in her podcast about fetishes, finding a fellow fetishist on the internet is "hit and miss". Once I got over the sweaty palms and chair-rubbing reactions of simply being on such websites (hey, for a virgin feeder girl it doesn't take much), I discovered their flaws: they are uniformly ugly and they all seem to be populated by men that are at least fifteen years older than I am, a native of India whose spelling and seduction techniques didn't get far beyond fifth grade. "Ah", said some of my college friends, "it's the same level of people you meet in real life."

Intellectual snobbery aside, it is sometimes quite difficult to find someone who shares your same tastes in bloating and stuffing as well as your level of vocabulary. As I tried to condense the essence of my desires into an easy to read paragraph that still allowed for those lovers I'd never imagined to slip through the loopholes, I reflected that this was why eHarmony's elaborate screening process had been invented, never mind their inherent homophobia. I was wandering in the back alleys of the internet where transactions were shady and boys sometimes threw bottles to get your attention.

At the same time I posted this story in the forums, simply because I liked the idea that the most-read stories ended up on the front page of the website after the readers had voted for their favorites.

Without even knowing it, I had done the right thing. Before I posted "Water Bottles" I was having to comb my way through the archives looking for someone who might be what I wanted; after it appeared on the front page boys started messaging me. Even after it had disappeared into the archives I received e-mails from boys that were intelligent, articulate, and grammatically correct, saying that they'd always wanted to do that, that they wanted me to help them start stuffing or they looked like Mister Six or knew people that were like Rufus. I had stumbled on one of the truths of writing that happened way back when things were still written on paper: good writing calls out to good writers, and they will respond.

So this is my advice to people who are just starting dating on the internet: if you have a specific thing you want to do, a life-long fantasy, or are even looking for a specific body type, lock the bedroom door, get out a little lube, and spin a bit of smut. My dirty story in which I'd written out my main fantasy had attracted more like-minded people than my short "personality profile" or even my photographs ever did. For whatever reason, a little tale with characters gets deeper to the heart of most people and crosses more barriers than filling out pages of "likes" and "dislikes". And, If you are at all good at writing (and most readers of sex blogs tend to be), people who also value the written word will be drawn to you: the creative geeky stuffer boys, in my case, who can make me melt with a well-written e-mail or whose wit can stand up to my own.

In this way, I realized, I was carrying out a fact of writing that was happening even when words were only written on paper. Anias Nin, who was sadly born too late for sex blogging and whose juicy private journals were published after her death, wrote to a friend that when one puts oneself out in wiritng, others will come bringing gifts. Among writers who are still alive, Jefferson is an excellent example of the power of smut to find you the kinky literate partner that you would never look twice at in real life. He meets women almost entirely through his blog, which details his exploits with sometimes dozens of men and women in a week. It would be easy to simply write him off as as a user, but the reason women seek him out is because his writing makes you trust him. He tells stories against himself as well as his experiences hosting the Bukakke Social Club, and his blog archives (going back three years) are so detailed that after reading them you feel you could walk through his apartment with your eyes shut. In being so explicit about so many things, from his relationship to his children to giving a woman her first orgasm, you forget you have never actually met him. You can fake a persona, of course, and there is always the danger that someone writing about him/herself will leave out their most glaring flaws, but I remain awed by the depth to which you can glimpse another human being's mental world in such simple things as a choice of word or how they construct a sentence.

It's so intimate talking to someone whose read my stuffer stories and really paid attention to them. If we haven't met in real life before this, I can have the exquisite feeing of a partner having read my mind, coming to me already filled with the knowledge of what turns me on. Writing honestly is making your mind naked to another. In the act of writing, you have already taken the first step towards intimacy, opening yourself to anyone who's listening.

The Feeder Girl

I knew I was looking for trouble when my fetish didn't have a name.

It seemed to be part of Feederism, of course: all this stuffing, bloating, and inflation went under no other sexual category. But they weren't BHMS. They weren't soft. They had clean cut faces, delicate arm muscles, tight rumps, and flat stomachs that they were capable of inflating to an enormous size.

I called them stuffer boys. They called themselves bellydudes, bloaters, and stuffies.

Most people, I thought, wandering through the back alleys of the internet where such things usually go, had the wrong idea. A "fedee" was a huge cushiony woman, indulging in whole pizzas and giant boxes of cupcakes that were lovingly provided by a much skinner male. He couldn't get enough of her growing belly and breasts, and would stroke them and tell her--perhaps for the first time in her life--how lovely she was.

My fetish isn't anything like that.

It's about a woman dominating a man, holding him in place, making him helpless through the lust of his own body, his own immense appetite, holding him down like the wolf with his belly full of stones. And yet the stuffer boy still has teeth: he is clever, an edge paired with his delicate body that allows him to prick my ideas, bite my breasts, demand that I push his limits. He is an exhibitionist, challenging himself to swallow more, proud of his ability and jealous of other's. He has the same discipline to work out that he does to fill his body, keeping the contrast, his body tight and hard and beautiful... but then, one or twice a week, or even every other night with water or soda or warm milk, he will succumbs to his indulgence and be mine.

I am soft--as soft as any Burger Queen that inhabits an FA's fantasies--but I am not interested in making myself a slave to someone's eating fantasies. I am very giving: I gain more pleasure from watching a body drink and stuff than I ever do from my own eating, will forgo meals and sleep just so see his belly swell larger, tighter, coaxing him to drink just one more, just for me. For the first time I am conscious of my body, how it's heavy breasts, wide belly and round rump can inspire.

But there are no roadmaps as to how to be a feeder for a stuffer boy--at least none that I have found. The girl feedees have it easy: they just have to lean back and open their mouths. I have to find my own way, training my soft flesh to corsets, my soft feet to heels; and my soft hands: when to soothe and stroke... and when to jerk the leash.

What Is A Stuffer Boy?

By now you're probably like, "Ok Molly, we've seen you like tattooed penises. We've seen your ruffly behind. Is that all, or is this blog just another sop to a chubby girl's vanity?"

See up there, on the headliner? Way up there where it says "Molly loves stuffer boys"?

They are, in fact, why this blog was started in the first place.

To best answer that question, I realized I would have to do more than write a little post "in praise of stuffer boys". 'Cuz it's going to take a little more than that if you just got here to see the frilly rump and tattooed penis pics.

'Cus this blog is about to get a lot stranger.

And a lot more sexy.