The loneliness of being an ffa
TheStoryteller wrote:
Well, I'm not really on this site for any purpose other than reading stories, but I just kind of feel alone with my fetish. FFAs appear to be the rarest type of fat fetishists, and it feels bad not to have a friend I can share my feelings and thoughts with.
I mean sure, I can tell my friends I really want this ultra-chubby guy and that I think he's sexy, but they can't relate to any of that.
Just felt like sharing this.
Well, I'm not really on this site for any purpose other than reading stories, but I just kind of feel alone with my fetish. FFAs appear to be the rarest type of fat fetishists, and it feels bad not to have a friend I can share my feelings and thoughts with.
I mean sure, I can tell my friends I really want this ultra-chubby guy and that I think he's sexy, but they can't relate to any of that.
Just felt like sharing this.
You are doing the right thing coming here, and I hope all your dreams come true! I hope you find a nice chubby Mr. Right!
11 years
The loneliness of being an ffa
Elanor is a truth-speaker! I love how you just cut right to what it's all about.
If only everyone could connect with others who will lovingly accept them. I guess that's one reason a lot of us are here -- in hopes of that happening!
If only everyone could connect with others who will lovingly accept them. I guess that's one reason a lot of us are here -- in hopes of that happening!
Elanor wrote:
It's so disappointing when right of the bat it's "hey baby, I love how fat you are, you should gain loads more!" No introductions, nothing. Like I'm not a person at all...
But to get back on topic: it isn't always fun being "the only gay in the village". I think lots of people feel isolated because of something that doesn't make them quite fit in, be it being an FFA, an FA, a feeder, or a BBW/BHM. And that's just our little niche fetish. I bet there's lots of other people struggling with feelings of loneliness for a slew of reasons too.
ghoulfriend wrote:
tbh i find it both alienating and stressful (mainly because you sometimes get flooded with attention by some really boring dudes but i'm sure that goes for any girl)
tbh i find it both alienating and stressful (mainly because you sometimes get flooded with attention by some really boring dudes but i'm sure that goes for any girl)
It's so disappointing when right of the bat it's "hey baby, I love how fat you are, you should gain loads more!" No introductions, nothing. Like I'm not a person at all...
But to get back on topic: it isn't always fun being "the only gay in the village". I think lots of people feel isolated because of something that doesn't make them quite fit in, be it being an FFA, an FA, a feeder, or a BBW/BHM. And that's just our little niche fetish. I bet there's lots of other people struggling with feelings of loneliness for a slew of reasons too.
11 years
Your stuffing fantasy
You need to make this into a short story and post in the stories section. It is just sooooo goooooood!
lesbianasexualstuffer wrote:
I want to be in a force-feeding centered BDSM relationship, and get caught by my Mistress doing something naughty, like eating dessert that she was saving for later. But instead of getting mad she just smiles sweetly and says it's ok, I can make it up to her right now. She has me help her cook a small dinner party's worth of delicious gourmet food... fancy pasta, roasted duck, a huge designer salad that's more cheese and croutons than vegetables, fresh fruit over thick but foamy vanilla mousse, a fancy spiced Italian pizza, loaves of specialty bread (savory rye, gooey garlic bread, cheese and shallot biscuits...), mounds of expensive, rich cheese, thick juicy steak fillets wrapped in bacon, crepes with custard and sweet jam, a huge cheesecake, batches of caramel chocolate cookies, homemade gelato, dark chocolate eclairs, light fluffy cupcakes in every flavor... And I'm thinking that she's going to punish me by stuffing me in front of a dinner party, there's no way she'll seriously try to make me eat all this... But I sit down and gorge myself anyway, and just as I feel like I'll burst, I weakly ask her when the guests will arrive, but I see her take out her ropes, and the last bite of cheesecake sticks in my throat. I'm powerless to stop her, she's so beautiful and sweet, and I can't let her down... I moan pitifully as she presses a beautiful handmade eclair into my mouth, and prepare for the worst. I'm so, sooo full... I'll probably get nauseous in a few minutes and have to use the safe word, oh but I don't want to, I just want to keep eating and eating... Soon I can feel my jeans forming a restricting meridian around my waist, and my belly feels like it's on fire. But this time it's different. I'm starting to feel a lot of pain and pressure, but no nausea. I groan and steal a glace at my heaving middle. It's bigger than it should be, oh my god, how is she doing this to me? My jeans feel like they're being drawn tighter by corset strings. Just as I feel like they'll cut me in two, a loud pop sounds over my muffled complaining and her giggling and teasing. Unbelievable... is it even possible to pop open jeans by stuffing? My mind feels as heavy as my groaning middle. My skin is stretched tight from chest to legs. Now even my mistress is surprised. How much can you hold, chubby girl? she muses with genuine wonder. Her hands glide over, then poke and prod my distended abdomen. I grunt weakly in between my quick panting. My lungs feel squashed between my stomach and skin. She reopens the bread basket, and garnishes each into a tiny masterpiece of butter, cheese, spices, onions... My brain is screaming at me to stop this, but the rolls are so delicious, I want more... I'm aching and trembling all over, but the fire in my belly is oozing outward, and it overwhelms my nerves so much that I feel euphoric. This is better than an orgasm; it's total surrender to gluttony and overindulgence. Adrenaline rushes into my aching jaws and renews their ravenous fervour. I notice a new sensation on my back and belly, and manage to roll my heavy head down to see. I've swelled up so much, my midsection is lightly nudging the table and the chair back. I fuss over my unnatural shape, but my mistress is mesmerized. She runs her hands over my overstretched stomach, pushing and pinching. But she can't even gather any skin with pinches, it's so very tight... I notice my blissful fire receding, and impulsively call out, ugh, don't stop! She slowly raises her gaze to meet mine, and grins. Oh, I'm not done yet, she says with a sharp, mocking tone. First you eat my dessert, then consume half this feast, and you're still not satisfied. I think it's time I taught you... She pauses and slices a huge wedge of cheesecake. ...Some portion control. I'm in for it now. I practically choke down it's rich, dense mass, she's stuffing it into me so quickly. Bottle after bottle of sparkling juice are drained, plates are emptied, containers are ravaged, pretty tray arrangements are decimated. I can feel my skin stretching, my organs shifting, and my stomach wobbling and sloshing. My arms feel tight against my sides, and my thighs are pushed apart by the weight of my bloated middle. I have lost all human shape, and am decidedly round. My mistress or I should be panicking at my impossible state, but we are powerless to curb our desires. She is frantically gathering the last of the feast now. Eat, eat, eat! She bellows, squealing with glee. I have felt my shirt riding up for a while now, but I begin to see my skin beneath it, even over the quivering horizon of my new expanse. She cheekily pokes a finger into my inflamed navel; her long slender digit doesn't even reach its new depth. I cry out in surprise, anguish, and helpless addictive pleasure.It hits me exactly how big around I've grown. If I could put my arms out, they wouldn't even reach the middle of my ballooning torso. I should feel terrified, but I've never been more stricken with ecstasy. I let out sloppy, weary whimpers and groans, and am accompanied by intense rippling gurgles from within me. My Mistress strokes me more gently now, exploring my impossibly massive expansion. You're so huge, she says, bewildered. You ate it all, every last bite, I'm... I can't believe you can do this! She suddenly springs up and unties me. My arms flop forward sharply from the pressure of my swollen back, tilting me forward so I nearly lose my balance. It sounds strange, but I can feel my stomach pushing up into my arms and legs for lack of anywhere else to go. She orders me to stand, but I fall limply to my knees under my new weight, and then forward onto my stomach. It's so massive that it props up my lolling head and neck nearly a foot off the floor. I scramble to push myself up with my hands and feet, but can get no leverage with my belly in the way. My mistress absolutely loses it, laughing and poking me giddily. With a heave and grunt, she rolls me over like a bundle of carpet. My limbs flop helplessly to the floor, splayed out like radiating droplets from splatters of spilled batter. Pushing, panting, protesting, we manage to prop me up against the wall in a mockery of a sitting position. I can't see over my belly without craning my neck, but I hear her going through the kitchen. Frantically she begins to gather leftovers and whip up batters and creams. In between waiting for mixers and oven timers, she's stooped over me, stuffing and rubbing me like a turkey. Practically all pain has been replaced by deep, intense pressure. I'm not flabby or floppy, but extremely round and heavy. She keeps feeding me well into the night, marvelling at my ridiculous proportions. I grow more comical with every bite. My arms and legs disappear into my swelling body, and I begin to resemble a large plump vegetable, like a slightly squat but swollen, smooth squash with little indents containing hands and feet. My clothing sits above and below me, torn, stretched, and vestigial. I can't move except to flip my hands and feet about in an absurd, futile manner. My mind is on a whole other level of bliss. I'm so helpless and vulnerable, my overstretched belly protruding several feet out in front of me, displaying the deep, squishy, pitcher-sized dimple that has become of my belly button. I occasionally get nervous and squirm and wobble about, but my mistress occupies me with even more delicious filling. Grinning, she climbs atop me and flops down on the tight but yielding surface of what used to be my shoulders and chest, now puffed up into some hilarious makeshift beanbag chair. With a flair, she crams one last gooey cookie into my mouth, which barely clears the surface of the swelling around my head. You've eaten every last bit of food in this house, she chides. Have you learned your lesson? I'm so bloated and crammed full, so exhausted and stretched out all over. But it feels so good, so erotic... The fiery swollen feeling is everywhere now, filing me with shivers and aches and washes of incomparable orgasmic bliss. My rational mind screams out that I'm ruined, I can never go back now. Have I learned a lesson? I dreamily watch my mistress tracing my body with her fingertips, and trembling with delight. I have learned something indeed: how to become a twisted creature that will serve and delight her always, and maybe satisfy my eternal hunger.
I want to be in a force-feeding centered BDSM relationship, and get caught by my Mistress doing something naughty, like eating dessert that she was saving for later. But instead of getting mad she just smiles sweetly and says it's ok, I can make it up to her right now. She has me help her cook a small dinner party's worth of delicious gourmet food... fancy pasta, roasted duck, a huge designer salad that's more cheese and croutons than vegetables, fresh fruit over thick but foamy vanilla mousse, a fancy spiced Italian pizza, loaves of specialty bread (savory rye, gooey garlic bread, cheese and shallot biscuits...), mounds of expensive, rich cheese, thick juicy steak fillets wrapped in bacon, crepes with custard and sweet jam, a huge cheesecake, batches of caramel chocolate cookies, homemade gelato, dark chocolate eclairs, light fluffy cupcakes in every flavor... And I'm thinking that she's going to punish me by stuffing me in front of a dinner party, there's no way she'll seriously try to make me eat all this... But I sit down and gorge myself anyway, and just as I feel like I'll burst, I weakly ask her when the guests will arrive, but I see her take out her ropes, and the last bite of cheesecake sticks in my throat. I'm powerless to stop her, she's so beautiful and sweet, and I can't let her down... I moan pitifully as she presses a beautiful handmade eclair into my mouth, and prepare for the worst. I'm so, sooo full... I'll probably get nauseous in a few minutes and have to use the safe word, oh but I don't want to, I just want to keep eating and eating... Soon I can feel my jeans forming a restricting meridian around my waist, and my belly feels like it's on fire. But this time it's different. I'm starting to feel a lot of pain and pressure, but no nausea. I groan and steal a glace at my heaving middle. It's bigger than it should be, oh my god, how is she doing this to me? My jeans feel like they're being drawn tighter by corset strings. Just as I feel like they'll cut me in two, a loud pop sounds over my muffled complaining and her giggling and teasing. Unbelievable... is it even possible to pop open jeans by stuffing? My mind feels as heavy as my groaning middle. My skin is stretched tight from chest to legs. Now even my mistress is surprised. How much can you hold, chubby girl? she muses with genuine wonder. Her hands glide over, then poke and prod my distended abdomen. I grunt weakly in between my quick panting. My lungs feel squashed between my stomach and skin. She reopens the bread basket, and garnishes each into a tiny masterpiece of butter, cheese, spices, onions... My brain is screaming at me to stop this, but the rolls are so delicious, I want more... I'm aching and trembling all over, but the fire in my belly is oozing outward, and it overwhelms my nerves so much that I feel euphoric. This is better than an orgasm; it's total surrender to gluttony and overindulgence. Adrenaline rushes into my aching jaws and renews their ravenous fervour. I notice a new sensation on my back and belly, and manage to roll my heavy head down to see. I've swelled up so much, my midsection is lightly nudging the table and the chair back. I fuss over my unnatural shape, but my mistress is mesmerized. She runs her hands over my overstretched stomach, pushing and pinching. But she can't even gather any skin with pinches, it's so very tight... I notice my blissful fire receding, and impulsively call out, ugh, don't stop! She slowly raises her gaze to meet mine, and grins. Oh, I'm not done yet, she says with a sharp, mocking tone. First you eat my dessert, then consume half this feast, and you're still not satisfied. I think it's time I taught you... She pauses and slices a huge wedge of cheesecake. ...Some portion control. I'm in for it now. I practically choke down it's rich, dense mass, she's stuffing it into me so quickly. Bottle after bottle of sparkling juice are drained, plates are emptied, containers are ravaged, pretty tray arrangements are decimated. I can feel my skin stretching, my organs shifting, and my stomach wobbling and sloshing. My arms feel tight against my sides, and my thighs are pushed apart by the weight of my bloated middle. I have lost all human shape, and am decidedly round. My mistress or I should be panicking at my impossible state, but we are powerless to curb our desires. She is frantically gathering the last of the feast now. Eat, eat, eat! She bellows, squealing with glee. I have felt my shirt riding up for a while now, but I begin to see my skin beneath it, even over the quivering horizon of my new expanse. She cheekily pokes a finger into my inflamed navel; her long slender digit doesn't even reach its new depth. I cry out in surprise, anguish, and helpless addictive pleasure.It hits me exactly how big around I've grown. If I could put my arms out, they wouldn't even reach the middle of my ballooning torso. I should feel terrified, but I've never been more stricken with ecstasy. I let out sloppy, weary whimpers and groans, and am accompanied by intense rippling gurgles from within me. My Mistress strokes me more gently now, exploring my impossibly massive expansion. You're so huge, she says, bewildered. You ate it all, every last bite, I'm... I can't believe you can do this! She suddenly springs up and unties me. My arms flop forward sharply from the pressure of my swollen back, tilting me forward so I nearly lose my balance. It sounds strange, but I can feel my stomach pushing up into my arms and legs for lack of anywhere else to go. She orders me to stand, but I fall limply to my knees under my new weight, and then forward onto my stomach. It's so massive that it props up my lolling head and neck nearly a foot off the floor. I scramble to push myself up with my hands and feet, but can get no leverage with my belly in the way. My mistress absolutely loses it, laughing and poking me giddily. With a heave and grunt, she rolls me over like a bundle of carpet. My limbs flop helplessly to the floor, splayed out like radiating droplets from splatters of spilled batter. Pushing, panting, protesting, we manage to prop me up against the wall in a mockery of a sitting position. I can't see over my belly without craning my neck, but I hear her going through the kitchen. Frantically she begins to gather leftovers and whip up batters and creams. In between waiting for mixers and oven timers, she's stooped over me, stuffing and rubbing me like a turkey. Practically all pain has been replaced by deep, intense pressure. I'm not flabby or floppy, but extremely round and heavy. She keeps feeding me well into the night, marvelling at my ridiculous proportions. I grow more comical with every bite. My arms and legs disappear into my swelling body, and I begin to resemble a large plump vegetable, like a slightly squat but swollen, smooth squash with little indents containing hands and feet. My clothing sits above and below me, torn, stretched, and vestigial. I can't move except to flip my hands and feet about in an absurd, futile manner. My mind is on a whole other level of bliss. I'm so helpless and vulnerable, my overstretched belly protruding several feet out in front of me, displaying the deep, squishy, pitcher-sized dimple that has become of my belly button. I occasionally get nervous and squirm and wobble about, but my mistress occupies me with even more delicious filling. Grinning, she climbs atop me and flops down on the tight but yielding surface of what used to be my shoulders and chest, now puffed up into some hilarious makeshift beanbag chair. With a flair, she crams one last gooey cookie into my mouth, which barely clears the surface of the swelling around my head. You've eaten every last bit of food in this house, she chides. Have you learned your lesson? I'm so bloated and crammed full, so exhausted and stretched out all over. But it feels so good, so erotic... The fiery swollen feeling is everywhere now, filing me with shivers and aches and washes of incomparable orgasmic bliss. My rational mind screams out that I'm ruined, I can never go back now. Have I learned a lesson? I dreamily watch my mistress tracing my body with her fingertips, and trembling with delight. I have learned something indeed: how to become a twisted creature that will serve and delight her always, and maybe satisfy my eternal hunger.
11 years
Your stuffing fantasy
girlstuffsgirl wrote:
My god, you write well!
lesbianasexualstuffer wrote:
holy shit I got a little carried away there... sorry for filling up the page!! :o
holy shit I got a little carried away there... sorry for filling up the page!! :o
My god, you write well!
Agreed.
*rushing to lesbiansexualstuffer's profile to see if she has written any stories*
11 years
Your kinkiest fantasy
I love this notion very much! What a delightful fantasy....
ScrumptuousSarah wrote:
My kinkiest fantasy is a feeding one combined with a psychological one.
I think that I'd be into a situation of not just simple sub, but total control. Like if I met someone who slowly fattened me up and fed me, making me huger and huger, but at the same time started doing more and more things for me and keeping me on a bed more and more until I'm just so dependent on them... A point where I literally couldn't survive without them, and they have total control over me like I'm just a toy to them. I want to be trained to react to food, and have my will and choice taken from me... I would be force fed until I couldn't even get up or flip myself over, and my internet and phone would be taken away so I couldn't call for help if I wanted to stop. I want to be totally enslaved to someone, and as I eat and eat they would slowly break my spirit and drain me of my personality and free thought... To become just a mindless blob, an eager-to-please pet. Fed and dominated to the point where I'm no longer a person, just a drooling, stuffed lump of rippling blubber...
So yeah... I'm into REALLY extreme submission.
My kinkiest fantasy is a feeding one combined with a psychological one.
I think that I'd be into a situation of not just simple sub, but total control. Like if I met someone who slowly fattened me up and fed me, making me huger and huger, but at the same time started doing more and more things for me and keeping me on a bed more and more until I'm just so dependent on them... A point where I literally couldn't survive without them, and they have total control over me like I'm just a toy to them. I want to be trained to react to food, and have my will and choice taken from me... I would be force fed until I couldn't even get up or flip myself over, and my internet and phone would be taken away so I couldn't call for help if I wanted to stop. I want to be totally enslaved to someone, and as I eat and eat they would slowly break my spirit and drain me of my personality and free thought... To become just a mindless blob, an eager-to-please pet. Fed and dominated to the point where I'm no longer a person, just a drooling, stuffed lump of rippling blubber...
So yeah... I'm into REALLY extreme submission.
11 years
Encouraging submission?
I agree with this idea about showing him your stories. That way, you expose a bit of yourself and your fantasies for him to play against.
I also think that exploring his weaknesses makes sense. While he might not mind the weight gain, and he might seem very confident, is there anyone who he might feel embarrassed around regarding getting fatter -- perhaps a co-worker, an ex-girlfriend, family members, friends?
Also, is there a favorite thing of his which you can control? Sex, of course, comes to mind, but that is the obvious one. Maybe even telling him he can't play computer games or watch football (how sexist I sound!) until he eats or gains a certain amount. This way, you create a bit of roleplay which puts him in a sub position of pleasing you in order to get what he wants.
The other idea is to find something he dislikes and threaten punishment if he fails to meet your expectations. Again, being I am being sexist, but, for example, he has to attend the chick flick of the week with you (or concert or opera or get his haircut in a style of your choice, or let you choose his clothes to wear) unless he meets whatever random goal you set.
I know this all seems a bit simplistic (expecially with my examples here, sorry), but I am sure you can come up with something very fun and interesting in order to challenge his sense of security, self-esteeem and comfort.
I also think that exploring his weaknesses makes sense. While he might not mind the weight gain, and he might seem very confident, is there anyone who he might feel embarrassed around regarding getting fatter -- perhaps a co-worker, an ex-girlfriend, family members, friends?
Also, is there a favorite thing of his which you can control? Sex, of course, comes to mind, but that is the obvious one. Maybe even telling him he can't play computer games or watch football (how sexist I sound!) until he eats or gains a certain amount. This way, you create a bit of roleplay which puts him in a sub position of pleasing you in order to get what he wants.
The other idea is to find something he dislikes and threaten punishment if he fails to meet your expectations. Again, being I am being sexist, but, for example, he has to attend the chick flick of the week with you (or concert or opera or get his haircut in a style of your choice, or let you choose his clothes to wear) unless he meets whatever random goal you set.
I know this all seems a bit simplistic (expecially with my examples here, sorry), but I am sure you can come up with something very fun and interesting in order to challenge his sense of security, self-esteeem and comfort.
fatrnfatr wrote:
A feedee can be in charge in the world and still be submissive to the feeder in terms of food and sexuality in the privacy of the bedroom. My best advice is to explore his feedee tendancies to find what can turn both of you on. Have you shown him your stories? Might be a conversation starter. Best of luck....
junepearl wrote:
I have a great feedee who is fantastic about eating everything I suggest (and more)...he's just not a submissive person.
I have a great feedee who is fantastic about eating everything I suggest (and more)...he's just not a submissive person.
A feedee can be in charge in the world and still be submissive to the feeder in terms of food and sexuality in the privacy of the bedroom. My best advice is to explore his feedee tendancies to find what can turn both of you on. Have you shown him your stories? Might be a conversation starter. Best of luck....
11 years
Humilating men by feminizing
Love this thread! Very interesting how many are into something like this.
I remember some time ago, chatting with a woman who had finally "come out of the closet," so to speak, and had openly started dating and bedding a fat man -- which had always been her fantasy, but she had restrained herself because of what friends/family would say.
She was bi, and I'll never forget what she said about the first time having sex with him (she's always only been with slender men):
"It is so wonderful! Like f*cking a big fat woman who has a d*ck!"
By the way, this is a fantasy of mine also (from male perspective), the notion of growing weaker and more unfit and more submissive as well as more feminine (curves, boobs, hips) is quite enthralling.
I remember some time ago, chatting with a woman who had finally "come out of the closet," so to speak, and had openly started dating and bedding a fat man -- which had always been her fantasy, but she had restrained herself because of what friends/family would say.
She was bi, and I'll never forget what she said about the first time having sex with him (she's always only been with slender men):
"It is so wonderful! Like f*cking a big fat woman who has a d*ck!"
By the way, this is a fantasy of mine also (from male perspective), the notion of growing weaker and more unfit and more submissive as well as more feminine (curves, boobs, hips) is quite enthralling.
junepearl wrote:
"They become more tearful like real girls and can only be consoled with a chocolate bar."
LMAO, you're hilarious.
"They become more tearful like real girls and can only be consoled with a chocolate bar."
LMAO, you're hilarious.
11 years
Gluttony is no sin!
AskDrFeeder wrote:
Jerry Falwell was a pretty fat guy...I reckon he knew at least one glutton and saw him in the mirror every day.
Jerry Falwell was a pretty fat guy...I reckon he knew at least one glutton and saw him in the mirror every day.
As always, Doc, I love your sense of irony!
11 years
Gluttony is no sin!
In many of the stories I write (and in many of my fantasies), I make gluttony out to be more than a little sinful.
And isn't that part of the fun of all this -- to enjoy the good feelings of being so ba-a-a-a-a-ad!
Many Christians, though, look down upon us gluttons (and those who enjoy gluttons' bodies) as children of the devil or something just too horrible to contemplate. This is nothing more than fat hatred -- and an inability to have fun or let others have fun.
Many fat-haters will recount that gluttony is considered one of the "Seven Deadly Sins". In reality, though, I think gluttony is not a sin at all. In fact, it may be a virtue.
A few excerpts from a 2003 article on gluttony as a sin (I have put my comments in parentheses):
According to a 1998 Purdue University study, obesity is associated with higher levels of religious participation. Broken down by creed, Southern Baptists have the highest body-mass index on average, Catholics are in the middle, and Jews and other non-Christians are the lowest. When this finding was brought to the attention of the Reverend Jerry Falwell, he was unperturbed. "I know gluttony is a bad thing," Falwell said. "But I don't know many gluttons." That is one way out of the dilemma -- to deny that overweight people are necessarily sinful gluttons. But it could also be that gluttony is not really a sin.
. . . Nor is the idea that gastronomic indulgence is an outrage against the divine order to be found in the Bible. In "Gluttony," the latest in a series of short books on the seven deadly sins published by the Oxford University Press, Francine Prose observes that most of the feasting in both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament "is, as it should be, celebratory, unclouded by guilt, regret or remorse."
It was not until the sixth century that Pope Gregory the Great classified gluttony -- along with pride, greed, lust, envy, anger, and sloth -- as one of the gravest perils to the soul.
(Growinluvhandles: See, nothing in Jesus's teachings about gluttony; it was a Catholic pope six centuries after Jesus who declared this. If you want to consider gluttony a sin, go worship Pope Gregory.)
St. Thomas Aquinas -- a hefty fellow himself, as it happens -- declared that gluttony had "six daughters": "excessive and unseemly joy" are the first two, followed by "loutishness, uncleanness, talkativeness, and an uncomprehending dullness of mind." Others have claimed that gluttony paves the way to lechery. "When the belly is full to bursting with food and drink, debauchery knocks at the door," wrote the medieval German monk Thomas a Kempis.
(Growinluvhandles: Yeah, he got this right. There's nothing like a full belly to put me "in the mood".)
Thus our expanding national girth is more a matter of economic forces than of moral failure. Yet, as Prose observes, many obese Americans still view their condition in terms of guilt and punishment. Those on group diets like Weight Watchers are especially prone to use religious language -- "sinner," "saint," "confession," "absolution" -- to describe their struggle. Perhaps we have not come so far from the sixth-century worldview of Pope Gregory the Great.
(Growinluvhandles: And of course, in modern America -- and particularly during this economic decline -- the obese and specifically the obese poor make easy targets for those who conjure up hatred. May all those who espouse such hate on their plump fellow sisters and brothers, may they be thrown into the lake of fire for eternity! No, I cannot be that cruel even to them. May these fat-haters at least have an afterlife where they learn to enjoy large quantities of heavenly food without guilt. And may they grow into such fat angels that they can no longer fly.)
Here is the link to the entire article from the Boston Globe:
boston.com/news/globe/ideas/articles/2003/11/23/the_deadliest_sin/
In conclusion, I say, "Grab some love handles, grab some deliciously fattening food, and enjoy this life to the fullest!" May our afterlives be even more heavenly!
And isn't that part of the fun of all this -- to enjoy the good feelings of being so ba-a-a-a-a-ad!
Many Christians, though, look down upon us gluttons (and those who enjoy gluttons' bodies) as children of the devil or something just too horrible to contemplate. This is nothing more than fat hatred -- and an inability to have fun or let others have fun.
Many fat-haters will recount that gluttony is considered one of the "Seven Deadly Sins". In reality, though, I think gluttony is not a sin at all. In fact, it may be a virtue.
A few excerpts from a 2003 article on gluttony as a sin (I have put my comments in parentheses):
According to a 1998 Purdue University study, obesity is associated with higher levels of religious participation. Broken down by creed, Southern Baptists have the highest body-mass index on average, Catholics are in the middle, and Jews and other non-Christians are the lowest. When this finding was brought to the attention of the Reverend Jerry Falwell, he was unperturbed. "I know gluttony is a bad thing," Falwell said. "But I don't know many gluttons." That is one way out of the dilemma -- to deny that overweight people are necessarily sinful gluttons. But it could also be that gluttony is not really a sin.
. . . Nor is the idea that gastronomic indulgence is an outrage against the divine order to be found in the Bible. In "Gluttony," the latest in a series of short books on the seven deadly sins published by the Oxford University Press, Francine Prose observes that most of the feasting in both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament "is, as it should be, celebratory, unclouded by guilt, regret or remorse."
It was not until the sixth century that Pope Gregory the Great classified gluttony -- along with pride, greed, lust, envy, anger, and sloth -- as one of the gravest perils to the soul.
(Growinluvhandles: See, nothing in Jesus's teachings about gluttony; it was a Catholic pope six centuries after Jesus who declared this. If you want to consider gluttony a sin, go worship Pope Gregory.)
St. Thomas Aquinas -- a hefty fellow himself, as it happens -- declared that gluttony had "six daughters": "excessive and unseemly joy" are the first two, followed by "loutishness, uncleanness, talkativeness, and an uncomprehending dullness of mind." Others have claimed that gluttony paves the way to lechery. "When the belly is full to bursting with food and drink, debauchery knocks at the door," wrote the medieval German monk Thomas a Kempis.
(Growinluvhandles: Yeah, he got this right. There's nothing like a full belly to put me "in the mood".)
Thus our expanding national girth is more a matter of economic forces than of moral failure. Yet, as Prose observes, many obese Americans still view their condition in terms of guilt and punishment. Those on group diets like Weight Watchers are especially prone to use religious language -- "sinner," "saint," "confession," "absolution" -- to describe their struggle. Perhaps we have not come so far from the sixth-century worldview of Pope Gregory the Great.
(Growinluvhandles: And of course, in modern America -- and particularly during this economic decline -- the obese and specifically the obese poor make easy targets for those who conjure up hatred. May all those who espouse such hate on their plump fellow sisters and brothers, may they be thrown into the lake of fire for eternity! No, I cannot be that cruel even to them. May these fat-haters at least have an afterlife where they learn to enjoy large quantities of heavenly food without guilt. And may they grow into such fat angels that they can no longer fly.)
Here is the link to the entire article from the Boston Globe:
boston.com/news/globe/ideas/articles/2003/11/23/the_deadliest_sin/
In conclusion, I say, "Grab some love handles, grab some deliciously fattening food, and enjoy this life to the fullest!" May our afterlives be even more heavenly!
11 years
Are there any christians here?
I have found this all so very interesting. I am an Episcopalian, and we know well the pleasures of food and feasting (at least in my church). I am starting a new related thread on all this: "Gluttony is no sin!"
11 years
