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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.
I know exactly how to begin the story and everything. The middle to the end is the hard part. To figure out that amazing beginning to your story, the happiness to jot down what you have been pondering about writing the entire evening. It’s that rush. That rush you feel when you know you are doing something right, even for that moment, joy cascades into your system and completely takes over. Nothing else matters but what you are planning on writing…no not planning…but anticipating on creating with your hands and thoughts. Pure ecstasy. Realization doesn’t matter at all at this moment, where all you can do is let your fingers do the walking, while your brain does the talking. I am a morbid son of a bitch. I know this, making myself believe that everything shall work out for the best, to disagree with someone just to disagree, to await the fighting of two human beings releasing energy upon one another. To believe and yearn for something more, even though you can never have it. It’s alright to want, but it’s not right to want something that isn’t even yours to begin with, and act as though it is. I fight to fight, because I am a pusher. For someone to push away for what I think is close to me, something that holds it’s breathe close to my neck, to just backhand it in the next split second. Most likely of why I am just the “friend”. I want…need something more, but always just the friend to go back to who will understand even though he is beaten to a pulp from emotional damage. Contemplating “why can’t I be held? Why doesn’t anyone think of me that way?” I am self-aware of why this is so, but just waiting for someone to accept me for me. It doesn’t matter of when it happens, all I know is that I want it now. I shall argue with someone even when I agree with them, even when I know what is morally correct, yet I will twist my words into making them believe that I am honestly against them. A pained kitten hissing in a struggle to just be told he is beautiful, be told he is smart, to be told that he is kind.
I can tell you right now, that you shouldn’t get attached to the character in this story, for he will die. He will pass before you ever loved him. You will feel emotions of uncertainty of why he thinks the way he thinks. The reasons of not understand why he is the way he is. To feel that love for a homeless man who is begging for money, but you have no money yourself. Not sure why you want to love him, but you do nonetheless. Make this story different.
I am extremely sexually frustrated with the heaping amount of cuddle-less syndrome. No one to pull in close, to feel their body heat against your own, pushing your hands up against them to just remind you that they are actually there. To make sure that this is just a figment of your imagination, that for once you succeeded in the path of doing what you actually thrive for in life. For beating that fear of dying alone. For that fear that you know others are around you, caring for you. This is why we do the things we do, for no one wants to lie in his own bed to become a grave…alone. It’s the fear that presents itself like a rearing reminder of how we can’t do anything alone without wanting to do it with someone else. If this is a fear that I am going to be placed with my entire life, well shoot me down as ignorant for I want someone to hold me even for my last lying breath. Fear consumes all of us, even controlling some of us. I know I have had my fair share of fears, welcoming them in as welcomed guests to my home, only to realize as soon as they get the chance? I shall have a dagger placed slightly below my shoulder blade. This is something we cannot control, but to accept and begin to change it slowly for we have the chance to do so.
Welcome in your demons, because they truly do spice up your personality. Everyone has their sins that they deal with, so let it be known that I am not perfect, nor shall I ever try.