Chapter 1 - part oneI don't know if I fit in here. I'm young. Im inexperienced. I have kinks upon kinks upon kinks. And when it comes to feederism, I feel like I'm looking in from the outside.
I'm trying to let myself become a part of this community though, and I think part of truly belonging here involves sharing my story.
When I was fifteen years old, I had never been turned on before. I thought I was broken, and I didn't really understand why. Maybe I was asexual, even though I wanted it. Maybe I just hated my own body so much that it was getting in the way of my own pleasure. At fifteen years old, I knew exactly how many calories were in an apple. I scratched the word "fat" into my thighs and covered my face with my hair. Maybe I couldn't get turned on, because the thought of someone seeing my body and being repulsed just seemed all too likely.
Sure, I felt physical attraction. I kissed my crush and loved every second of it. I fantasized in class about his eyes and all the light touches. But I didn't really have the desire to go further than that.
My friends- sex driven, hormone filled monsters, assumed that the guys in school just weren't good enough for me. I couldn't believe that theory, though. I thought they were too good for me, I couldn't imagine someone ever being captivated by someone so underwhelming.
I had fantasies, far more than I care to admit. Mostly romantic, as most fifteen year old girls are drawn to. But they never quite felt right.
I started letting my mind slip off the regular pathways moments before I fell asleep. It was dangerous, I knew that it was. But I rarely remembered the fantasies when I woke up, and I just wanted a break from life.
At first, the fantasies were fairly normal. I imagined living with someone, helping them after a long, hard day, cooking their favorite meal. Society had always told me that cooking for a man would win over his heart.
Surely it wasn't all that strange for me to think about sitting on a man's lap, gently coaxing him to eat more? I liked taking care of people. Making sure that my significant other was well fed was just my way of showing love, right?
I let myself slip, just a little too far.
I started to think about what would happen if I convinced him to eat a whole pan of brownies. I started to imagine the way he would moan quietly, the way he would have to slip off his tie and unbutton his shirt.
And for the first time in my life, I imagined him leading me to the bedroom.
Suddenly, things were about me, not just him. I didn't solely want to make him feel good after a long day at work. I wanted him to desire me, food, and the pain that came along with it.
It was a horrifying realization. I wanted to feed him, to the point where I would HURT him. What kind of person would do that?
After a certain point, it wasn't just about the feeding anymore. Every night I thought about him, he became just a little bit bigger.
And I loved it.
I never really pictured his face. But his body? Well, it became massive. It surpassed the point of massive. And it made my legs go weak like no other thought could.
I needed to put the brakes on this situation before it evolved further. Feeding people was one thing, but imagining them gaining weight? That had to cross a certain line.
Sure, it made me feel amazing. For the first time in my life, I was tingly, and energized, and actually thinking about sex.
But it was weird. No one else would want this, right? I was just some freak who wanted to feed people, an underwhelming, awkward freak at that. There weren't other people like me, were there? This wasn't a kink, surely.
Thanks to the internet, I saw that it was. I was scared, and confused, and maybe even a little excited at first. There were other people like me. A lot of them.
I dove in deep, spent hours looking at posts, pictures and videos. But the longer I searched, the more I realized that I didn't belong here. There weren't other women like me, not that I could see.
People didn't seem to want the little fantasy that I had created. When I looked out on the sea of feederism, all I saw was men looking for sex, men looking for a woman to fatten and abuse and control. The woman seemed to be looking to make a little extra cash while they became obese. They seemed to be okay with surrendering their lives to a man they barely knew.
For most, this wasn't a lifestyle. It was something that you kept quiet, something that you hid from others, something that you indulged in late at night with stuffings and meaningless sex.
You didn't tell your friends, or your family, and a lot of the time, you didn't even show this side to your significant other.
I was disgusted at it, at myself. Articles online told me that if I was a feeder, I just wanted power. I was a terrible person who wanted to slowly kill my partner. I was someone who got off on abusing and literally murdering my partner.
I didn't understand, I felt so conflicted. It felt so good, and for me, all I wanted was for someone to let me love them and care for them. I didn't want to abuse them. I certainly didn't want to kill them.
But feederism, on the outside, didn't look like love. So I told myself that I'd never think about it again. I told myself that all this would pass, that I would find something or someone who could make me feel just as good.
2 chapters, created 4 years , updated 4 years
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