The Perfect Foodbaby

Chapter 1 - Hidden Feeder

My name is John, I am 26 years old, and at first glance, I seem like a completely normal
guy. Slim, of average height, with dark blonde hair that always falls a bit messily, and blue
eyes that often seem thoughtful. I work in an office, spend my free time with friends, play
video games occasionally, and go to the gym from time to time – at least I still do.
But behind this facade, there is a secret that I have been carrying with me for years: I am a
feeder. For as long as I can remember, the idea of intentionally making someone gain weight
has fascinated me – this control, this change, this growing softness. It's more than just a
fetish, it's a passion that I could never fully embrace.
My ex-girlfriend knew about it, but she wasn't open to it. Not that she found it derogatory –
she simply liked her body as it was and had no interest in changing it. I respected that, even
though it disappointed me. In the end, that was not the reason for our separation, but it left a
longing in me that grew stronger.
Now, after the relationship, I feel that it's time. I don't want to hide this part of myself any
longer. I want to live it out, to find someone who shares this passion – someone who lets me
pamper them, who allows me to feed them until the curves grow and every bite becomes
visible.
I know it won't be easy. Not everyone understands this, and I have to be careful about who I
talk to about it. But I am ready. Ready to finally do what I have suppressed for so long.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll find someone who is as enthusiastic about it as I am.
The decision is made – I no longer want to hide my fetish. But where do I start? I have read a
lot about feederism, but so far only in secret, discreetly in forums or on blogs. Now I want to
become active, get properly informed, and maybe even meet someone.
I sit down at my laptop, the apartment is quiet, only the soft hum of the computer can be
heard. My fingers quickly type in the search terms: Feederism community, feedee and feeder
platform, weight gain. Fetish. The results are overwhelming – blogs, forums, personal
accounts. I click through, read experiences from others, get to know the different terms and
subcategories. Some are too extreme for me, others fascinate me.
Then I come across a site that keeps being mentioned – one of the largest platforms for
feedees and feeders. My pulse quickens as I open the homepage. Profile pictures of people in
all possible sizes and shapes, descriptions of desires and fantasies. Some are looking for
extreme weights, others for gentler, controlled gains. I scroll through the posts, overwhelmed
by the openness with which people here talk about their preferences.
I take a deep breath and click on Register. The form appears – username, email, password. I
briefly consider which name I should choose. Something that isn't too flashy, but also not
boring. JohnTheFeeder – simple, straightforward. My fingers hesitate for a moment before I
click Confirm. A tingling sensation runs through me. It feels like I'm crossing a threshold that I
had long dared not to cross.
The site greets me with a flood of new impressions. Groups, chats, private messages. I am
surprised by how many people are active here. Some profiles show photos of feedees who
already weigh over 300 kilos – impressive, but not what I'm looking for. I prefer a certain size,
but nothing extreme. 150 to 200 kilos, that would be perfect. Someone who feels comfortable
but still remains mobile, who enjoys the change without losing themselves.
I'm browsing through the search filters and narrowing down my preferences. Suddenly, it
feels more real than ever before. There are real people who are looking for exactly what I can
offer – someone who pampers them, feeds them, admires their curves, and helps them let
go.
My heart races as I open the first profile that matches my preferences. A feedee who
describes how much she loves being stuffed, but is still at the beginning of her journey. I read
her words several times, imagining what it would be like to meet her, to encourage her to
enjoy every bite.
The excitement is almost unbearable. Maybe, just maybe, I'll find someone here who is right
for me. Someone who shares my passion and is ready to walk this path with me.
I lean back and let it sink in. The first step has been taken. Now the real adventure begins.
Signing up on the platform has opened a door that I didn't
Signing up on the platform has opened a door that I can no longer close – and don't want
to. Suddenly, I have countless messages, chat requests, and profiles to browse through. It's
overwhelming, but also incredibly exciting. I spend hours writing with different feedees,
listening to their stories, and finding out what they are looking for.
Some only want to write online, others are looking for something real. I quickly realize that I
don't just want this as a fantasy – I want to experience it. So I meet with a few women, all
over 120 kilos, exactly my type. Each meeting starts similarly: We go out to eat, I order
generously, laugh when they hesitate, and encourage them to take even more. It is an
indescribable feeling to pamper them, to see them enjoy, to see them let loose – and to see
them look at me as if I were the one giving them something special.
And then the nights after that. The sex is. . . different. More intense. Their bodies are soft,
warm, overwhelming. I love exploring every curve, feeling it as it arches beneath me or lies
above me. There are moments when I think: This is exactly what I want. Forever.
But then comes the disillusionment. The first one I meet is indeed enthusiastic about feeding,
but she doesn't want a long-term commitment. The next one is sweet, but she has no interest
in gaining more – she likes herself as she is, and I respect that. A third one is actually perfect,
but after a few weeks, I realize that we hardly have anything in common outside of the kink.
It frustrates me. I want more than just occasional meetings and hot nights. I want someone
who grows with me – in the truest sense of the word. Someone who shares my passion, but
also my life. Who understands that for me it's not just about the fetish, but about trust, about
devotion, about something that lasts.
So I keep writing, keep meeting, keep trying. Somewhere out there, she must be. The right
one. The one who not only satisfies my hunger but also my heart.
After months, if not years, on the feederism platform, countless conversations, and a few
intense but brief encounters, disillusionment is slowly creeping in. Maybe I'm looking too
specifically. Maybe there just aren't many women out there who want exactly what I
imagine. Or maybe I'm just not patient enough yet.
The thought won't leave me: What if I'm looking in the wrong place? What if there is someone
who would be open to it but has simply never heard of it? The idea is tempting – and at the
same time risky. I know that this fetish is foreign to most people, perhaps even unsettling. But
I can't stop wondering if there's a woman out there who would be just right for me, without
being involved in this niche community herself.
So I sign up for a regular dating app. No special filters, no niche interests – just me, with an
innocuous profile. A few photos of me, my hobbies, a few general interests. Nothing reveals
what I'm really looking for. Not because I want to hide it, but because I first need to find out if
there is any basis at all.
The first few days are sobering. I match here and there, chat with some women, even go on
a few casual dates. They are nice, attractive, interesting – but none of them would be open to
what I really want. I quickly realize that I won't find what I'm looking for here. Most people are
looking for something conventional, and I can't offer them that. Not without denying a
significant part of myself.
After a few weeks, I've had enough. I open the app late in the evening, tired from the search,
ready to delete the account for good. Maybe all of this was a mistake. Maybe I have to focus
on the feederism platform again and accept that I just need to be more patient there.
My finger hovers over the delete button – but then I see her.