Chat of the Week: Cee has an answer for everything

Cee! I moaned over IM one night, I met this new boy and he's too wonderful for me to talk to, what shall I do?

Cee: Stuff him and fuck him and hang him on the wall.

Cee: Then fuck him again.

Me: Of course. Why didn't I think of that?

I Want You To Be A Little Fucked Up

"He makes me think of a vampire... but then he wouldn't need the gun...". Originally uploaded by _Vorfas_.

As wonderful as all the hype has been for Fetlife, it sucks for meeting up with stuffer boys. To be exact, the only male feedee I've seen so far is Cee, and that's because I asked him to join soon after I did.

I guess I really do belong to one of the rarest fetishes in the world.

But just because I'm a feeder doesn't mean I don't have an insatiable appetite for a good old fashioned shag. In fact, one could say I'm perpetually horny because I'm perpetually unsatisfied. So tonight, between searching for a better job and a bigger city to move to, I've rewritten a couple of my profiles. I think they cater more to the type of man I've usually ended up with anyway:

You're more beautiful than I am. I want your ass to look better in women's underware than mine does, I want you to taunt me with the narrowness of your waist. I want you to outdrink me, outfuck me (well, you can try), have a sharper tongue and a randier wit. I want you to smoke endless cigarettes and have cheekbones like knives. I want you to look pale, consumptive, like you only come out at night. I want you to be a little fucked up... Read the rest.

First Spanking

The Colt and I send each other so many text messages every day I had to switch to a different plan. I always smile when I hear my phone buzz on the table. Sometimes I hold it in my lap as I wait for his next message.

THE COLT: Bored Colt is bored!

ME: R u still in class?

(The Colt has begun college in The State On the Other Side of the Country. He says he has classes from 7:30 am to 11 at night, which sounds insane to me. Recently he told me that no cell phones were allowed in class.)

THE COLT: I'm in class being bad!

ME: *lifts up your little tail* I'm going to spank you, you bad colt!

THE COLT: Eek! *bends over* Be gentle!

ME: *smack!*

THE COLT: *yip!*

ME: *smacks harder!*

THE COLT: *yips and whines back at you* Careful with my tail!

ME: It's such a little tail it won't get in the way. *smacksmacksmacksmack!*

Cyberfun

MOLLY REN: i wish you were in my country. it's a bit odd just knowing you on the internet

CEE: howcome?

MOLLY REN: you could be anybody, and yet I talk to you more than I talk to most people here

CEE: well, in all fairness, we're anonymous and similar in fetish, allowing for what may be considered my most open friendships, ever

MOLLY REN: that's exactly it. we are anonymous

CEE: yup

MOLLY REN: and yet we talk all the time

CEE: you dont even know my real name

MOLLY REN: yep. Mr. Lives or "Cee: a friend" on my blog

CEE: hehe. im not gonna tell you either of my names tho

MOLLY REN: i kind of don't want to know. a shred of romanticism, I suppose. if i knew your real name it would be harder to have fantasies about you

CEE: if you knew too much about my real life, i would probably feel worse about sharing fetishes with you

MOLLY REN: why worse?

CEE: the idea that exploring fetishes on webcam may be seen as cheating. yet, there's the realization that i love my gf and not you, which puts it back in perspective

MOLLY REN: i was reading an article about that today. people are still trying to figure it out, how seriously cyberfun can be taken

CEE: my real life is too good to take it seriously. even at the worst of times, its still eventful. and i dont come to the internet to escape reality, more to escape monotony.
CEE: i went to the shops, did paperwork, coursework, had a ride, did some gardening and housework today. i have mild insomnia by night
CEE: i donno
CEE: cyberfun is serious if you consider it the main part of your life, i suspect

MOLLY REN: mm-hmm

CEE: what do you think?

MOLLY REN: i think it's just fun for us

CEE: yeah, like exchanging pornography. but some people see porn as being unfaithful. i say fuck em

MOLLY REN: haha. even if YOU'RE the porn?

CEE: pornstars uphold serious relationships. its just a job for them

MOLLY REN:so you're an amateur porn star I am on friendly terms with
MOLLY REN:or
MOLLY REN: the most awesome interactive porn ever

It's A Small World After All

When you have a rare fetish, you often wonder how many other people share your interests. Are there only a few dozen, or maybe uncounted millions, just waiting for you to stumble upon the right keyword or underground club?

MOLLY REN: bet you'll make the elastic snap soon with an appetite like yours

Bloated Belly Boy: Well, it's not just my belly stretching it

MOLLY REN: yes I bet you can hardly keep it in. maybe you could slip them off, reach around that swollen gut of yours and give it a pull or two

Bloated Belly Boy: mmm, sounds good to me

MOLLY REN: just shut your eyes and imagine a plump girl like me reaching around to massage that big hog's belly

Bloated Belly Boy: Oh god, that would be heaven

MOLLY REN: have to use both hands

When Bloated Belly Boy (or BBB for short) messaged me on Myspace, we wasted no time getting hot and heavy. Of course, since BBB is from the UK, it was only cybersex.

Bloated Belly Boy: Mmm, I'd reach back and rub you too

MOLLY REN: you'll be too busy playing with that stiffy in your pants, because that's what I want

Bloated Belly Boy: Mmm, yes ma'am

MOLLY REN: I don't want you to stop until you come all over your huge stuffed belly

Bloated Belly Boy: How can I say no to that?

This is strange, I thought. I suppose in RL terms it would be the equivalent of picking up a stranger in a dark bar and finding out in the make out room that you both had the same rhythm. He demanded to be punished, I called him names; he told me he was "so close" and I sent him a string of saucy words designed to push him over the edge. Then suddenly he wanted to see my face.

MOLLY REN: what do you look like?

BBB: That:

The collarbones-to-navel shot that was his profile pic was replaced by a face shot. It was like pulling someone out of the bar into the light of the street lamps and realizing they were the same person you'd dated in the same bar months before.

MOLLY REN: hmmm. you know, you were on {pervy website XXX}, weren't you?

BBB: I was, crap I didn't realize it was you

Even before I showed him a face pic, he knew at once who I was.

MOLLY REN: hahahaha, of all the boys in the UK how did I not recognize you?

Bloated Belly Boy: God, who'd have thought, I can't believe I never realized it was you

MOLLY REN: i can't either. so, dear, long time no see :)

BBB, using different pics and a different handle, had IM'd me almost nightly in the "early days"--i.e. around 5 months ago--when I first began a serious search for a boy that shared my fetish. Like Alex and the Colt, he'd disappeared from the internets without a trace. But apparently it didn't mean he'd lost interest.

Bloated Belly Boy: Indeed, I had to take a hiatus, real life got in the way. But I'm back now

MOLLY REN: amazing. i was going to like send you an e-mail or something, but I thought you'd lost interest, so I didn't.

MOLLY REN: geeze, I guess this fetish really is rare, eh?

I suppose, in some way possible only on the internet, it makes sense that we would all know each other eventually. The main hangouts on the internet for (straight) stuffers and feeders are Myspace, YouTube, and the occasional fetish website. The Colt says he's talked to Bellydude500, who I also occasionally chat with. In cyberspace, the fact that the Colt lives on the western side of the US and Bellydude500 the east are immaterial. Seen like that, perhaps it's not so crazy me and BBB would run into each other's profiles again, even though we live on separate continents.

I haven't heard from the Colt in almost a week

Think he broke his phone again?

Last time we webcammed, he wrote: I have a neeeew necklace on today

ME: i noticed!

THE COLT: itz got a littel tag on it

ME: what does it say?

THE COLT: It sayz "Nacht fur You"
THE COLT: This is my "I'm taken" Tag

ME: my my
ME: who took you away?

THE COLT: You :V
THE COLT: "Nacht fur You" means "Not for You" if you could have possiblely guessed >>;

ME: it's true then
ME: u are my little beastie


I can't imagine him going to all that trouble unless he meant it.

But these long silences drive me crazy. Meeting anyone over the internet is so tenuous--I'm afraid he'll disappear for good before I can even see him for the first time in real life.

I sent him a txt message: Where are u? I miss you!

No answer yet.

The Mystery of the Disappearing Stuffer Boys

Lots of sex bloggers will tell you that they aren't Casanova. For various reasons they started dating later than most people do, and thus their mistakes in dating stem from lack of experience.

But sometimes I'm sure the confusion stems from the system of dating itself. I don't know what higher power decides the way dating is supposed to go--how we went from our parents negotiating dowries to splitting the check--but sometimes I'd like to take issues with the designers. One of the most puzzling things about my experiences with dating is the rule that silence means no.

It's a curious rule that I've never quite gotten the grips of. When I was in college I screwed around for the first time (like a surprising amount of people, I've since discovered.) Only I could never figure out the aftermath. I don't know what my girlfriends did--they weren't the screwing around type--but the boys seemed to know the rule of silence so instinctively they seemed stunned when I had to ask.

One Halloween I dressed as Red Death. It wasn't a sexy Red Death, but a mess of fake blood and sores all over my breasts and down my arms--my face was enclosed by a skull mask. A boy I'd asked to dance gripped me so hard I could feel it through his boxer's gloves. When we got back to my room he whipped of his nerd's glasses and I tore off his pants to reveal one of the most perfect asses I had ever seen.

My first (and so far only) long term relationship happened before that. It was a fuckbuddy thing: X. would call me up, we'd fuck and then he'd leave--we never went to dinner or sought each other outside the bedroom. I think for a while I thought all boys were like this: fucking was so rare, so precious to them, that after one taste they couldn't help but come back for more. I knew my own raging desires made me like that: after a single taste, I could never stop until I had scored another.

The nerd boy who had a thing for zombie girls was different than the boys I'd had before. He took direction, put his hands where I asked him, and screwed me up the ass with all the vigor of a jackrabbit after a week of celibacy. We even talked for a while after he fucked me--about music, I think, and he asked me what I liked. He told me I was pretty. Which was all so much more than I had ever gotten from X. or Constantine I was sure he would seek me out again, just like X. had, only this time it would be better. Even Q. said it looked promising.

Instead, we stared at each other for almost two weeks. Not coming up to say hi, not speaking, just staring. He kept looking at me, in the gymnasium or when he practiced his fencing outside. Q. told me to be patient: boys might call you after a week, she said. Time was different for them, or something.

Finally I came up to him and whispered, "I can't stop thinking about you!"

He blushed. "I got back with my girlfriend," he blurted.

"Oh," I said.

With internet relationships it's even harder to tell. A month of talking every night will suddenly end in silence: his handle will stay firmly at the bottom of your list of contacts, he won't answer calls, even your wittiest text messages go unanswered. Often you have no idea what "went wrong"--though who would ever tell you straight out what didn't work for them?

The second boy I had--before the Jackrabbit, after the X.--turned all the dating rules I thought I knew on their heads. All the signs that Q. had taught me, the proofs that a boy was "interested" in me, were there. But they didn't matter. If he asked me about myself or asked what I wanted when we made love, it was only a means to an end, not an indication that he "felt anything for me". When I tried to talk to him the day after he shrugged me off, walked by me: my first encounter with the rule of silence.

Why didn't I know this? I said to myself, embarrassed and enraged. Why hadn't I filtered this rule in through my skin, picked up on the minute vibrations that would tell me that he just wasn't that into me? I don't know how else I could have known.

After the Jackrabbit I made a rule for myself. The turnover time, I said to Q., isn't a week--not by a long shot. If they don't seek you out after a day or two, it's time to move on.

Same goes with stuffer boys. If the boy with the cute pic still can't meet with you after the second phone call, if they don't IM after two weeks, if they don't call back after the first date in the flesh, that's it. It's not that they broke their phone while racing Go-Kart or got called away to Japan or ended up in jail for 45 days, after two weeks they will have moved on, and so should you. That's why I'm so grateful for that little mass-email button on my favourite dating website: with a single click half a dozen people can be told, clearly and succintly, that you're "sorry, not interested."

Unless you're the Colt. Who has in fact had his phone broken racing Go-karts, left it in an airport and had it's batteries die all within a month or two. Or after 45 days, frantic from not being able to say goodbye, he finally was able to log on again and break the rule of silence.

Or Alex. He dissapeared from phone and internets a month ago. Then on Thursday, just as I was about to go to bed:

ME: long time no txt message

ALEX: yeah i know, i got some bad news and kind of stopped talking to people for awhile

ME: what happened?

ALEX: i got orders to japan

ME: fuck

Stuffer Boy Sunday: Alex

When Alex re-appeared on IM after several weeks with no word, he told me that he was leaving next month. For Japan.

ME: fuck
ME: you wanna meet with me before you go?

ALEX: you'd want to?

ME: yeah

ALEX: i wasnt sure if you'd want to since i was leaving but id still really like to

ME: hey, it's not your fault you have to leave

ALEX: you'd be real disappointed in me right now though, i havent been working out and i gained like 10 lbs

He'd sent me pictures of himself before he disappeared, when he'd looked like this:



My mouth watered as I tried to imagine this succulent new addition to his body. It's the contrast that I crave. Just as a man wants a tiny waist to be on the same body as a pair of DD breasts, the combination of extremes pushes all my buttons.

ALEX: ive totally been gorging myself since ive been home
ALEX: i had a cheeseburger, fries and a chocolate shake, then mint chocolate chip ice cream cone, general tso's chicken with chicken fried rice, then 18 wings tonight and a frappucino from starbucks

Alex is a long distance runner. He has a long, hard body, and I've often imagined stroking its hard taut angles. But now there will be this little bit of softness, proof of his voracious appetite. And where there's a huge hunger for one of the sensual pleasures, there's usually a desire for the others that's just as strong...

ME: I wanna see your new body
ME: that's like my favourite fantasy, bony guys getting slightly softer

ALEX: that's kinda what happened to me, its mostly in my torso i think, you cant really tell anywhere else
ALEX: you dont think i should work out and try to get back in shape, it usually only takes me like a week

I quibbled, told him it was really his decision. I didn't want to force him into changing even more when I knew how much work it took to get his body to that level of hardness... even when the thought of him gorging himself even more had me rubbing against the chair.

But he wouldn't let up:

ALEX: why dont you tell me your opinion and ill take it into account and make a decision
ALEX: so same, lose or gain?

ME: do you get turned on being this way?
ME: or do you not like how it looks?

I know he's told me before he's had fantasies about gaining weight. He's told me that he wouldn't even mind if it slowed him down a little, even though he's used to leaving all the other boys in the dust.

ALEX: im okay with it either way as far as looks, its not exactly like i have anyone to impress
ALEX: your kind of like the only person i have to impress which was why i wanted your opinion because it matters

ME: I can't be the only one

ALEX: you are and im happy with that
ALEX: seriously i can go either way with it so you just have to let me know, dont be shy you can be honest

ME: hmmm
ME: can I see a pic?
ME: then maybe I could decide

its your lucky day, he wrote. His camera phone was working.




ME: you can't get rid of it until we get to cuddle

ALEX: wow im kinda surprised, i thought you liked me better the other way but that's cool you changed

ME: i was interested
ME: because I, um, have never been with a dude with abs
ME: but the fetish gets me every time
ME: tummies rule
ME: especially on boys

ALEX: haha that's true
ALEX: okay so now just to be sure, stay the same, gain or lose?

ME: I think stay the same

ALEX: okay sounds good


So he's keeping his body this way. For me.

It's the way a sub might wear a collar for their dom, I suppose. Only it's not like that at all. Collars can be taken off, marks made on the flesh from bites or a cane will heal. Instead he's changed the very form of his body into what both of us most desire.

Yellow, Black, and Red

His skin is yellow--not with jaundice, but the color of caution tape. His eyes were pits of black. The colors are stark, but also smudgy, murky... what was that red stuff on the carpet, by his hand?

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.

MOLLY: What?

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: Wow

CEE: What?

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.

MOLLY: Tease!

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.

MOLLY: Darn.

The Best Before and After Pics

We had a very, very long chat. He said he had never stuffed before, that he had never talked to a girl that wanted him to do this. That I made him want to push his limits.

These were the only two pictures he sent me.

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.

Good Advice

MOLLYREN: So where are we meeting for lunch this Sunday?

N.O.: Totally up to you. a) It's your town, and b) girls meeting Net strangers should always pick the venue.

So I was having one of those 2am conversations...

You know the ones...

MOLLYREN: you know what you should try?

MOLLYREN: warm milk

MOLLYREN: I hear it's really easy to stuff with

MOLLYREN: and the warmth makes it easy to take more

NEWBIE: ive never tried that before but it sounds like it would work well

NEWBIE: i dont know that ive ever had warm milk now that i think about it

MOLLYREN: I haven't either actually

MOLLYREN: one of my internet friends tried it and said he could drink another whole bottle besides what he could usually

MOLLYREN: he was trying to get more capacity

NEWBIE: it does make sense that you could take more of it especially chugging it

MOLLYREN: yeah, he told me he was shotgunning warm milk!

And then it hit me: God, I love this fetish.

Chocolate Milk

MOLLY: have you always liked girls this way?

BERLIOZ: Well I really started noticing it in high school.....but I actually remember having fantasies about big women years and years ago when I was younger

MOLLY: so you knew right away

BERLIOZ: Basically I think I did

MOLLY: Took me a while to figure it out. stufferboys are a lot less visible than chubby chicks

BERLIOZ: Very true, lol

MOLLY: always had dreams about skinny guys drinking milk until their tummies bulged, though

BERLIOZ: Oh I've done that before

MOLLY: *happy daydream*

BERLIOZ: Really?

MOLLY: Can't help it

BERLIOZ: lol....well I can do a half gallon easily...then it gets fun

MOLLY: fun how?

BERLIOZ: Because thats when my belly really starts getting hard of course

MOLLY: ooh

MOLLY: ahh

BERLIOZ: In your day dream, whats your favorite part may I ask?

MOLLY: I think you just mentioned it...

MOLLY: I also like the idea of just milk, for some reason
it's such a sensual thing to drink

BERLIOZ: Very true
Thats actually the first thing I bloated with
I would go to my store on campus back at college and buy half gallons of whole milk and quarter gallons of chocolate milk...
It's an awesome feeling. All nice and tight.....feeling a small skinny tummy get bigger and bigger...it's quite intense...
What are you thinking about right now may I ask

MOLLY: stuffer boys!
drinking chocolate milk!

BERLIOZ: Like me?

MOLLY: you might be in there somewhere

MOLLY:deep in the chocolate milk guzzling orgy

BERLIOZ: Is it coming out of garden hoses into all of our mouths

MOLLY: it is now

You're My Favorite Motherfucker

Jaime is a stereotypical geek, and a self-described asshole. He has a penchant for Eggo waffles with ice cream atop them, a description that makes me shudder every time I think of it. He has a penchant for online games and is currently unemployed in another state. We met on a website for people with... unusual interests.

He's also the only softie I've ever been attracted to.

He looks even better on webcam, for his hair--like mine--looks pure blonde in the weird filtering that goes on between broadband. Out of the depths of his nerdiness he can somehow conjure an outrageously sexy look that seems to sum up all the wickedness in his black heart--a gaze that never fails to make me horny.

We came together through writing. I told him that I kept a journal, and, naturally, he wanted to see the bits about himself. Somehow, wanting to trust, I let him convince me.

It was a scathing entry, with his every flaw, every bad habit, on display. Too much.

He wrote back that it was funny, and true. He decided that I knew more about life than he did, wanted me to show him things. After that we seemed to be bound together--he began making comparisons between us, called me his stepsister.

We're both needy, I told him.

His personality is an odd mix of daring and complete weakness. I've conversed with him on webcam, watching him drink alternately from two water bottles, one of them containing straight vodka, the other water (he never mixes). Eventually he will excuse himself to the bathroom that I can see in the background. He will return to announce that he has just thrown up, and we will keep talking.

In short, Jaime is a disaster trembling on the edge of either getting worse or improving. At the moment, it is partially held in check by his poverty and the isolation of the rural area in which he lives. Since he has a wit and a command of language equalling my own, we have both agreed that he has enormous potential.

He just needs, erm, guidance.

We IM a lot:

JAIME: Ah, Look who it is
The only person who talks sense
Good to see you

MOLLY: the only?

JAIME: well, my mentor is in crisis I believe, and is rarely here
so her council is missing
and my girlfriend.. makes no sense whatsoever

For Jaime, drama makes the world go around. I listen to him, introduce him to bands like Snake River Conspiracy, and take a stab at showing him better ways to live. He counters with videos of Princess Leia bellydancing--for if there's one thing we can meet over, it's appreciation of pretty women in all different sizes.

After a month or so of this talk, we wanted to meet to end our prospective dry spells. We talked of signs and he bought Magnums. After hanging out for a week--a whirlwind tour of New York that involved a blur of burlesque shows, the loss of my credit card and Jaime throwing up on my host's couch--no signs had appeared. The Magnums remained sealed in their box.

During our first meetings he had unvoiced a disappointment in my complexion and the size of my belly. The sign, then, I said bitterly, would be when I became prettier and he managed to grow up.

But we are both perverts. So we still talk. He calls me "Wench" and "Brienne of Tarth". I call him The Valiant Bastard. He posts sexy pictures of himself on the pervy dating website where we first became acquainted, and I leave him private entires on my Livejournal, to which we both have access. It serves as a support for him, an outlet for his intellectual ranging, and for me an outlet where I can talk about all my perverted desires. It works.

For now.