My Experience Dating a Female Fat Admirer
For most of my life, my body felt like a neutral vessel—until I met her and realized the true erotic power of consumption. I was always lean, desperately wanting to be big, but constantly held back by a world obsessed with discipline. She was the one who finally gave me the right place, time, and, most importantly, the permission to become the fat man I wanted to be.
She didn't just cook; she performed culinary dominance. She planned feasts, invented snacks that were obscene in their caloric density, and elevated the act of eating into a shared, sensual experience. I had never been with a woman who derived such intense arousal from feeding a partner—and I was shocked to discover how deeply I enjoyed being the greedy beneficiary of her hunger.
It started subtly. She would whisper, "Try this," or "I made something new, just for your belly." Soon, entire evenings became feeding rituals centered on the table. She cooked with extravagant generosity, and I devoured with primal enthusiasm, because it felt profoundly easy and forbidden. Her eyes would light up, that possessive gaze burning into me with desire, every time I took another bite. The more I relaxed, the more I let go of decades of ingrained restraint.
The most shocking part was the speed of the surrender. I lived for her messages about dinner plans. I loved the way she smirked as she handed me a plate piled higher than any sane meal should be. There was no pressure, only a warm, playful energy that made indulgence feel like our sacred, shared secret.
As the months melted away, my body rapidly became hers. My clothes didn't just tighten—they struggled to contain the mounting evidence of my greed. She tracked every new fold and stretch mark with genuine, erotic affection. Instead of feeling shame, I felt seen as a creature of pure appetite. She made it clear: it was completely fine to relax into my gluttony, to let go of tiresome old habits, and to enjoy the comfort of being owned through calories.
There were nights when the movie was background noise, and the main event was the battle of the bulge—takeout containers, mountains of leftovers, homemade desserts she insisted would taste better on my expanding gut. She would lean her head on my growing shoulder, utterly satisfied just watching me gorge myself on everything she provided. This became the thrilling, hedonistic rhythm that defined our connection.
I won't pretend the path to becoming truly huge was effortless. Gaining weight is a permanent mark of submission. There were moments of hesitation, wondering if I was letting go of too much control. But she had a powerful way of grounding me. She would say things like, "You look so comfortable, so full, my sweet piggy," or "You look happiest when your gut is stuffed." Her words were a form of psychological conditioning, assuring me that my physical surrender was her deepest desire.
Even after the relationship ended, the addiction remained. I realized the profound power of being nurtured, encouraged, and fed until my body was permanently altered. It is rare to meet someone who genuinely loves seeing you over-indulge and actively resists pulling you back. There is something incredibly affirming about that kind of connection, something that stays hard long after the last shared meal.
I am not ashamed of the fact that I enjoyed being conditioned, being fed, and being allowed to relax into a larger, more helpless version of myself. It showed me a side of intimacy I didn't know existed—a connection forged in appetite and devotion.
If I'm honest, I wouldn't mind meeting someone else who appreciates that same dynamic, or perhaps multiple women who do. Someone who loves cooking, loves seeing a partner happy to devour everything she offers. Someone who sees excessive indulgence as the ultimate act of erotic devotion. Someone who sees me as an endless feast.
I am fully dedicated to becoming truly massive—a real hog. For me, the journey doesn't end with one person. I am actively open to connecting with female feeders around the world who are ready to help me push my limits and waddle right past the point of no return. If you are the kind of woman who finds intense joy in that kind of mutual, consuming energy, you will understand what I mean. There’s a quiet, gluttonous intimacy in those moments that is hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. And if you have, well, feel free to reach out. I'm always open to talking with women who get it and who wouldn't mind helping me get even bigger.
For most of my life, my body felt like a neutral vessel—until I met her and realized the true erotic power of consumption. I was always lean, desperately wanting to be big, but constantly held back by a world obsessed with discipline. She was the one who finally gave me the right place, time, and, most importantly, the permission to become the fat man I wanted to be.
She didn't just cook; she performed culinary dominance. She planned feasts, invented snacks that were obscene in their caloric density, and elevated the act of eating into a shared, sensual experience. I had never been with a woman who derived such intense arousal from feeding a partner—and I was shocked to discover how deeply I enjoyed being the greedy beneficiary of her hunger.
It started subtly. She would whisper, "Try this," or "I made something new, just for your belly." Soon, entire evenings became feeding rituals centered on the table. She cooked with extravagant generosity, and I devoured with primal enthusiasm, because it felt profoundly easy and forbidden. Her eyes would light up, that possessive gaze burning into me with desire, every time I took another bite. The more I relaxed, the more I let go of decades of ingrained restraint.
The most shocking part was the speed of the surrender. I lived for her messages about dinner plans. I loved the way she smirked as she handed me a plate piled higher than any sane meal should be. There was no pressure, only a warm, playful energy that made indulgence feel like our sacred, shared secret.
As the months melted away, my body rapidly became hers. My clothes didn't just tighten—they struggled to contain the mounting evidence of my greed. She tracked every new fold and stretch mark with genuine, erotic affection. Instead of feeling shame, I felt seen as a creature of pure appetite. She made it clear: it was completely fine to relax into my gluttony, to let go of tiresome old habits, and to enjoy the comfort of being owned through calories.
There were nights when the movie was background noise, and the main event was the battle of the bulge—takeout containers, mountains of leftovers, homemade desserts she insisted would taste better on my expanding gut. She would lean her head on my growing shoulder, utterly satisfied just watching me gorge myself on everything she provided. This became the thrilling, hedonistic rhythm that defined our connection.
I won't pretend the path to becoming truly huge was effortless. Gaining weight is a permanent mark of submission. There were moments of hesitation, wondering if I was letting go of too much control. But she had a powerful way of grounding me. She would say things like, "You look so comfortable, so full, my sweet piggy," or "You look happiest when your gut is stuffed." Her words were a form of psychological conditioning, assuring me that my physical surrender was her deepest desire.
Even after the relationship ended, the addiction remained. I realized the profound power of being nurtured, encouraged, and fed until my body was permanently altered. It is rare to meet someone who genuinely loves seeing you over-indulge and actively resists pulling you back. There is something incredibly affirming about that kind of connection, something that stays hard long after the last shared meal.
I am not ashamed of the fact that I enjoyed being conditioned, being fed, and being allowed to relax into a larger, more helpless version of myself. It showed me a side of intimacy I didn't know existed—a connection forged in appetite and devotion.
If I'm honest, I wouldn't mind meeting someone else who appreciates that same dynamic, or perhaps multiple women who do. Someone who loves cooking, loves seeing a partner happy to devour everything she offers. Someone who sees excessive indulgence as the ultimate act of erotic devotion. Someone who sees me as an endless feast.
I am fully dedicated to becoming truly massive—a real hog. For me, the journey doesn't end with one person. I am actively open to connecting with female feeders around the world who are ready to help me push my limits and waddle right past the point of no return. If you are the kind of woman who finds intense joy in that kind of mutual, consuming energy, you will understand what I mean. There’s a quiet, gluttonous intimacy in those moments that is hard to explain unless you’ve lived it. And if you have, well, feel free to reach out. I'm always open to talking with women who get it and who wouldn't mind helping me get even bigger.
19 hours
I'm really glad that could live it, even only a little while and sorry that relationship didn't last.