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Forgot about this tumblr. Oh lordy.
You don’t only smile for the things that make you joyous, maybe of how deviant you are, or how you are faking the joy that everyone believes you should smile for.
I leaned forward on my desk, elbows slowly sliding toward my computer screen as I yawned and stretched a terrific yawn. Work was slower then usual, though I should be used to this by now, but still slower then usual. I grimaced at the clock hoping the time skipped a beat and it was that much closer to time for my ass to leap out of this seat and get the hell out of here. Though I didn’t have any significant plans today, there wouldn’t be other reason then to make money at this job, or I would be lounging on the couch playing the new game I had just recently bought. Nothing occurred out of the norm at this slow day, besides the crunching of potato chips behind me, and the excess yawning in front. Blah. Working behind a desk has it’s ups and downs. Lets start with the downs: people feel as though that isn’t your own personal bubble. They sit on the desk, reach over to look what I am gazing at on my computer screen, and even the spare few who think they are invincible for the fact that they are in front of my desk, separating one another, before I smack their face clear off.
The up side of being behind a desk is when it DOES allow me to get my personal space, collect my thoughts, bring up the occasional dirty picture, and consumes my every thought without anyone figuring out that I am actually gawking. Why would I be gawking? Well, lets just say that my boss has to be the worlds largest flirt/antagonizing that I have ever met. Most days, I do my best to steer clear, for if I didn’t, the cock would do the talking and my body would be the one getting in trouble. I tend to try to give everyone the respect that they deserve, without assuming they are some piece of meat that deserves a good “pounding”. With him? He practically begs for the idea.
Picture this: typing away at my “so called job”, doing everything I am told, when a 6’2” man comes over, leans over on my desk to just put his pudge *lightly put his bulging gut* on top of my desk to lean over and ask me a question. A few things could occur at this moment. A. Instant boner. B. Instant boner and inability to stare at his gut. C. Stare directly into his emerald green as though I did not just witness him doing such a sly gesture on top of my desk. I usually choose option B, for I am a typical male. Most days he asks me simple errands, finish up a few documents etc etc. Though some days he asks me to pick up lunch. Now I am not a secretary, but hot damn. Whenever he asks a simple question, my legs turn to jello and good lord all I know he could eat me up whenever he pleased.
With a shake of the desk as he pushes up against it, I glance upward towards where I thought his face would be. Bulls-eye. I try to avert my gaze, finding myself gawking at his too tight button up shirt, stretched to the limit, on top of the flat surface of my desk. Playing the averting game again, I try to place my eyes on to a different surface, to then realize he has been speaking to me this entire time. “…and with that I am not sure what I want. Pick me out anything besides that egg drop soup. Shit is fucking disgusting.” With the slide of his gut off my desk, he turns around and begins fussing around with his belt. I slowly grab the piece of paper that wasn’t there before from it’s position, to begin reading it. Orders from the office. I sigh, and began readying my jacket, closing the programs from my computer, and with the cash I am out the door.
Chinese food is what everyone settled on this afternoon. I smile at the thought, for we order from the same place every Thursday. Obsession wouldn’t even be close to how these people feel about this place. I walk into Lotus Palace to walk up to the cashier to stop. Everyone’s name was on the list but Aron’s…I flip the notebook paper back and forth to piece together what he eventually told me. Panic sets in for maybe I should have known his order, or maybe specifically asked for an order, forgotten to write it down, and told me it verbally.
Then my erotic side kicked in. What if I ordered him one of everything on the menu, to hope that he would come out of his office, holding his aching gut as he finished each and every individual morsel that I had ordered him. I smiled at the thought, to realize I was in public, along with next in line. I decided to reign in the idea of doing so, ordered everyone’s off the list….and then decided on going with “2 entree almond chicken, chicken fried rice with each, 6 egg rolls, wonton soup and spare ribs”. As I said it, I couldn’t believe how natural it was to order so much food, on top of what I already ordered.
~Shall continue next time <3
Of the dysfunctional families, laughing, opening gifts, and my favorite past time for secretive reasons: eating. Though the holidays leave a bitter taste in my mouth, for many reasons, I have to say spending time with those who are truly that I love, I can say that it’s all good with me. I shall push the demons back to just be joyous for the morning, afternoon, and night. Though the ideas of being with a significant other, helping them push down more food, without a glance of the strange? That would be ideal. To watch my man get bloated over Christmas food, to then snuggle up on the couch watching Christmas specials as I pick up the crumbs from the crumbling cookies that are escaping his mouth. The small things are always what I have enjoyed about these times of the year, not the gifts or the huge festive amount of food *though those are awesome*. I enjoy just having the family present, playing board games, eating till we are all over-stuffed turkeys, and just bsing until it’s time to leave. To have the thought of going home with all the left overs, to help finish eating in one night sounds arousing as all hell, kissing in between each bite, massaging of the bulging gut.
Thin and huge, the curve of my body to the curve of his growing body, all of that sounds…like perfection. To be the small spoon to his growing gut, fitting his stomach in the curve of my back, can’t really picture a more perfect evening after such festivities.
Only to type for a reason? I am not really positive of why I wanted to start typing, but I feel as though I have not done so in quite some time. Being attacked with the idea of having a root canal, then trying to fix all my other teeth, to trying to get school all up and ready? I have not been in the best of moods. Meaning not being in the mood, along with not wanting to talk/creating stories. I have been considering on doing gaining stories, full length stories just for others pleasure, along with mine as well. Meh. I intend on actually doing so, meaning I still on planning on doing a application on a cuddle buddy. Like I said before, I do intend on doing so, but actually staying bsuy for once in my life? This is not something I am used to, nor do I plan on staying this busy for long. Decemeber is a difficult month for myself, not going to get into it right now, so I shall continue on the thought of what I was planning. I don’t think this shall be a long blog, but just saying that I am still alive and kicking. Having a site full of different type of stories is something I enjoy planning on doing, and I continue to catch myself critizing on what I am typing, I tend to do so when I don’t write for a long time.
Please excuse my inability to be interesting. I shall be doing so some time this week, and I promise some good stuff. Maybe I shall be “in the mood” if you know what I mean. *wink nudge slap*……meaning horny.
Most gainers “get out of trying to slyly eat as much as they can without anyone really noticing that they are packing in more food then humanly possibly”. That’s my kind of day, where you surround yourself with family, eat food that is far to heavy to be on one plate, and watch game shows as you all try to figure out the answer first. Yes, that is my type of thanksgiving, but I would enjoy it more if I used have my plate of food to feed someone instead. It’s a silly thought, but sharing is caring, and I have to show an extreme amount of care for bellies nation wide. That’s what a good chaser/encourager does, correct? If that’s not how it’s supposed to be, then stamp me as incorrect but I shall do things my way.
Lately, motivation has been lacking in the writing department, where the no fucks have been found. It’s an interesting disease, I have, but I just don’t give two shits. Interesting as it may be, I have been lacking in the arousal factor as well, staying busy with “real-life” bullshit, on top of half-awake inspiration fests. There needs to come a time where the information I ponder up before I am in a lazy daze is transferred on the computer for me to later interpret. It would most likely be full of “herp derp and rainbows” but I don’t think anyone would mind my babble. I sure the hell don’t mind my horny mind criss-crossing back and forth between straddling a large gut to burrowing my face into a hairy chest.
I can hardly talk. I can hardly breathe. Mostly, I can hardly think without the racing thoughts speeding through my minuscule brain of mine. I will be the first to say that I am not the best with handling things like this. Nor mostly anything of the sort, like being sick, over-emotional, and absolutely exhausted from even moving up and down from sitting or standing. Did I mention that my whole body feels as though it’s on pins and needles? That as well. The best part about this whole process is the fact that even sleeping is the most difficult of tasks as well. I am falling in and out of consciousness throughout the entire resting session. I jolt awake in the most painful of all waking…ups? Sure. Whatever. You may not judge me for the fact that I am tired, bitchy, emotional, and SICK. Every person I talk to, feels as though I have an emotional grudge right above their head and all I want to do is run up and slap them in the verbal…emotional face….if that didn’t take so much energy. Everything someone says feels like a stab that I can’t even handle. I shouldn’t be allowed on the internet, but it’s the only thing I can do without being in this extreme exhaustion plowing down on my entire body. I have nothing witty to say, nor do I have anything interesting. Yet, I felt as though I should blog for the fact that it’s a damn amazing way to release this pressure of which has been lingering/pushing down on my cranium.
If I came off brash or uninterested these past few days, all I can say is that you got the lesser version of bitch-fest. Congrats, you survived bitch-week. Not saying that it is over, but saying that I could probably snap at any moment and ready thy guns. These are the days that I need a bear/chub/any fatty to just lay next to me, eat all my food whilst I am eating their body heat. I feel as though I am a walking/talking icicle. With the frigid attitude and the inability to move. How perfect is that? (As the sarcasm leaks throughout this entire section of shit-talking.) However, I did sneak in the idea of me being somewhat warm and cuddling with a larger guy so I could snuggle up against their belly as they softly chew through both of our meals…maybe this sickness is finally uplifting….or the delusion of this dayquil that is finally taking effect.
Mmmm beards. Mmmm jumping on a guys back. Mmmmmmmmmmmm video games.
Where you have something planned out in your head, but not being able to speak. It’s as though you are in a dream where as though you cannot scream or run from the monster charging right in front of you. As though your vocal chords were snipped, and your legs have fallen into the deepest sleep known to man. A lethargic mind set takes over as the “caring and attentive” mind set takes the passenger seat, nervously spins the hands of caring and attentive. Taking a break is always nice, but that amazing idea that you can’t wait to share with everyone doesn’t even matter enough to lift yourself from that sunken in bed that you call “the safe place”.
Each finger covered in whipped cream, after stirring and having a “few” taste tests to make sure it is up to your standard. Though I am a perfectionists, the mess doesn’t bother me this evening. Everything is going the way I want it to, though I keep my standards, the walls are continually shattering in front of my eyes. It’s a good feeling to stop trying. It feels as though you are finally doing something correct, and the standards that you have forever tried to live up to are now trying to live up to you. That man sleeping in my bed at this moment, is the standard that I was trying to live up to. Making sure that one day I could show someone that I am truly worth the fact that nothing else matters, but cuddling with that one person who thinks that my presence is simply enough. Breaking through the hell-hole self esteem, and up-lifting it to the fact that I am doing something finally for myself. Yes, he matters, but I matter as well. Not everything needs to be ridiculed to the fact of constant failure, but just letting happiness chime through out.
Lifting the bowl of whipped cream, and then slowly pouring it right of the pound cake, after having it cooled for an hour so it didn’t melt the whipped cream. The smell was captivating, and completely memorized, I slowly begin to spread the whipped cream by finger. Shocked and turned off by the fact that someone might eat this cake one day, I remembered why I am doing all this. I contemplate it for a moment, then giggle in realization that it doesn’t matter. The silly things as wanting to spread whipped cream, or forgetting to wash hands once in a while shouldn’t rule someones life. It should be the spontaneity of how someone does things, so at that thought, I pick up the platter with the terribly frosted cake on top and rush to my bedroom. I find him sleeping on his back, mouth hardly open to make a little “oh” figure. I stealthily shut the door and then quicken my pace to reach him. I take this moment to look at the figures of his body. His elongated legs, having an extremely nice form to them, muscle lightly trickled in, not over-whelming. Reaching up to his thigh/genital area. Thick thighs, peeking out from the constraining underwear, to the bulge that is right in the middle of the two monsterous thighs. It wasn’t to big, but it was a nice little chubby feature. Following up to the hairy belly, being nicely shaped, not to round, yet not hanging over everything. It was a nice mixture of a muscle gut, to a nice pot-belly. Going to his palm sized pecs, to the crease that runs in between them, picturing myself licking that crease, slowly tracing my tongue all the way to his strong jaw.
I ponder for a few more moments, to then slowly and softly straddle his thighs to then place the cake on the side of the bed. I hear him moan a little, so before I lose my chance, I then lean in forward, as his gut his pushing up against my flat stomach, and stick my finger in his mouth. He then slowly opens his eyes in awe yet confusion, and then slowly a smile crosses his face. His strong hand reaches and grabs my wrist, to bring in the rest of my fingers to lick. Knuckle to tip. I bit my lip, and slowly grab some of the whipped cream from the top of the cake, to slather it on his bulging gut. I then lean down to lick the whipped cream from the top crease of his gut, to the treasure trail that awaited for more joy.
Thanks for liking fatties like me :)
Of course. Everyone needs love and you guys are EXACTLY my type <3
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