Hipster Guts & Male Swagger

I haven't a clue where Nina Gapinski found this photo of Pete Doherty, but from the scarf's print I am guessing it may have actually been some kind of fashion spread. 

Just yesterday I was wondering why there wasn't a male term for plump-but-hot guys. Today, I found it in the most unusual of places: a blog about DC's Goodwill. The article's inspiration was from a NYT piece  talking about how hipsters are increasingly letting themselves go. There were the usual from-the-collarbones-down shots of fat people and the warning that "Women have almost never gotten a pass on the need to maintain their bodies, while men always have". 

But Nina Gapinski gets it:

I think most women know that attitude is everything when it comes to sexy. Belly fat held no appeal to me whatsoever when I was a teenager, but by my mid-twenties I’d turned the corner on that point. There was something to a man having some weight on him if he were going to be at all up to throwing it around, as I saw it... and most of the men I fancied tended to do that. Pitied in fitness magazines and the butt of so many Hollywood movie gags… belly fat, in my mind, held its own tacit countercultural standard; with the right swagger, it was its own brand of hot.

An unapologetic gut is very… gutsy, if you will. It’s take-it-or-leave-it; it isn’t trying too hard. And it subtly implies that this is a man with priorities that have nothing at all to do with some external standards, Greek gods or no Greek gods. The man makes the abs, but the abs will never make the man. It works for me. What, may I ask, is sexier than swagger?

Stuffer Boy Sunday: bellylover1977

[Via.]

Under Construction

Today I took down three of my previous posts: "Stuffer Boy Sunday: Alex" and "Baking Pies" and "'You Can Do Better'". ("Cyberfun" also disappeared briefly but then I remembered I had left a comment about it on Violet Blue's blog and she wouldn't be able to read it.)

I did this to avoid drama.

If you have been following this blog you will know that I have many different kinds of relationships with several different boys, both in RL and online. Recent events have forced me to think about changing my relationship to some of them, and putting my feelings out on such a public forum might create problems in the future. For instance, the Colt reads my blog, and I would rather he hear of the people I saw in his absence directly from me than read it in some impersonal blog post. (EDIT: he now knows about Alex and the BHM.)

Also, I try to make it my policy to ask the permission of almost everyone I write about before I put anything up about them on the internet (emphasis on the "try"). Cee, the Colt, Jaime, BBB and the "guest" stuffer boys whose photos I post every Sunday all know I write about them and have given their blessing. The exception to this is my housemates (who I've decided don't need to know I am a hardcore fetishist yet do things too amusing to avoid writing about), people I make out with in the murky darkness of parties, old flames who I will mention but haven't spoken to for years, and Alex, who I haven't heard from since he missed his date with me on July 4th. I told the BHM I wrote a blog last night and he said he wanted to see anything before I put it up, and thus some of the posts may reappear after I've talked with him. "'You Can Do Better'" will also probably re-appear in a newly edited state because I seem unable to write about anything in less than 1,794 words.)

So this is a needlessly long post explaining why you may have tried to find one of these articles and can't now. Unfortunately, Blogger does not have a password protect feature, which would allow people limited access to these posts while still letting you know they're there. This is the next best thing. The posts aren't gone, I just re-saved them in my draft folder. Hopefully after I've figured things out a little more they can re-appear.

(Here's a hint if you really miss them and use my RSS feed: even when it's been deleted on my blog, it's stuck in the RSS feed forever. Which is why you should really, really think before you put something on the internet, and why I always try to make sure it's OK with people first.)

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.

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 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.