Category Archives: Personal

Catch-all Catch-up

Whatever the hell this is all about

We’ll get to the good stuff first: I am going to share a few excerpts from upcoming work I’m really excited about.

Then other stuff after; I owe it to you all. Status of current commissions, taking on new ones, and why things are the way they are.

The good stuff: excerpts! Bear in mind that these are rough and not edited.

Selunia Tuberosa

Curiosity got the better of Sandra. A few more minutes couldn’t hurt. She lowered to her knees, careful to avoid crushing any of the stalks. She resolutely crammed her hands between her bare legs to make sure she did not touch them.

Sandra peered at the buds. They were perfectly round. Through the petals, she caught a glimpse of something milky white. It didn’t look like a flower or a root bulb. It appeared to be damp or even fluid, as though she could easily tear it open and pop it with a simple prod.

Sandra sifted through her limited knowledge of floral anatomy. Could it be a stamen or stigma? Maybe even the ovary? She couldn’t tell and knew she was not qualified to determine such things, especially about an alien species.

The little bulbs enraptured her as the pearly fluid inside swirled. She smoothed her long black hair before cramming her fidgety hands back between her legs, clamping her thighs around them.

Sandra couldn’t peel her eyes away from the curious plants. The juxtaposition between the rough, fuzzy stalk and its mystical pod captured her attention. Her hands twitched again. She licked her lips, transfixed. Just one touch couldn’t hurt, could it?

Sandra glanced over one shoulder and then the other. She had been alone this entire time, and there was no reason to believe anyone was with her now. She slowly pulled one hand free and extended it toward the nearest stalk. With just one outstretched finger, she gently brushed the surface of the pod. Her finger imprinted deep on its viscous surface, gently sticking to its whorls and grooves before releasing her.

It left no residue on her skin but a deep and obvious fingerprint stained the surface of the orb. Sandra swallowed nervously, realizing that something thrummed deep within her, bubbling from her pelvis and catching in her throat. It tickled her insides and prickled along her skin. Something in the atmosphere had changed.

Understanding dawned on Sandra with instant clarity with just how serious of a crime she had committed by touching the plant. It was time to leave. Now.

Statute of Limitations*

Adrian smiled as he reviewed the task list populated by the database. Sanders’ name filled the taste subject field. He had checked a week prior, of course, to jog his memory and prepare. But the day had come, and now he too, could kick back and relax in his own way.

Oh, it was devious, he knew. Never had he indulged like this before with his own team and with the considerable freedom and resources he had to make his dreams come to life for the good of society, it was certainly a dangerous line to tiptoe over.

But just once couldn’t hurt, and in any case, it had started purely by incident. It was really Diana’s fault, all things considered. She knew she was toeing the line with her current composition and was too close to falling out of regulation. What she was thinking eating an errant jelly donut in this specific facility was entirely beyond Adrian. She was perhaps the only one on the team as dedicated to the work and regs as he was and certainly would have known better.

But she ate it, and now she was here, and he was going to enjoy it while he could.

*working title, likely to change

Brenda’s Bad Day*

She stood up straight in the mirror and smoothed her sports bra and capri-length leggings. The fire-engine red base with blue and white racing stripes that matched the set hugged her considerable curves with precision. They had been made for her, after all—just like the dozen or so matching sets in her wardrobe, all manner of different bright colors. It made her hard to miss… which came in handy now and then. With her matching 48” bust and hips that tailored to a flat but thick 32” waist, Brenda was already eye-catching.

The real shocker was the rich, deep blue of her skin. Some days it was hardly noticeable; at least, compared to days like this. Brenda looked as though blue would just ooze out of her pores and drip everywhere like squeezing a bottle of paint. Some days in the fall and winter she barely looked cyanotic and almost normal. The doctors and scientists had scratched their heads for awhile before giving her some mumbo-jumbo about tannins.

The bad news was that days like this, when she was this dark, meant that having a little bit of extra fun was a much higher risk. But she wanted to see the look on that manager’s face. Why not give him a little show first thing on a Monday morning?

Brenda shrugged her shoulders and tapped the buttons. She didn’t really get to work in the lab anymore. Legal wouldn’t even let her near the observation rooms, at least “not yet,” they said. It had been almost a year and nothing had moved forward in that department as far as she knew.

“Sorry, Bren! Liability!” they’d yell every time she knocked on the door to the suite.

So, this was her fun. Instead of lying around and just waiting for the lab to run tests on her—so many damn tests, over and over—she went for a run every morning as the staff milled into the complex and sipped their coffees. It was the closest thing she had to going to the park, since that wasn’t allowed anymore, either.

*also working title and subject to change

One of this is a commission I’m working on and I have two others in the chute somewhere also. I’m really excited for Statute of Limitations project and can’t wait to share more as it’s going to be a much more ambitious project than you’ve seen from me previously. I started it last summer and had to let the idea bake for awhile but I’m finally starting to assemble it.

On a personal note, it’s not much of a secret to see from my lack of content this year has been due to a lot going in my life, and none of it any good. It’s been one thing after the next, relentlessly. The past six months have been some of the most traumatic and challenging in my adult life. Not only have I been stuck on the struggle bus but its air conditioner is broken, the engine is misfiring, and the shocks are worn out. That’s the analogy.

It’s led to a lot of me being in-and-out in these communities in a way I haven’t before. We all have our times we need to take care of other things in our lives but there have been multiple times this year where I am so deeply hurt or triggered by something I just shut down instantly and leave for weeks or months at a time.

I don’t want to go any deeper into it than I have (you can refer to my earlier posts for context) but I realize I have been struggling a lot with the fact that the traumas and abuse that happen every day in these communities crossed over into my real life. I was always able to separate them before for a number of reasons/purposes and I think that’s why I have the image that I do. I’m known for my assertiveness, courage, self-awareness, commitment to making these communities safer, and of course my art.

But now I’m finding that I’m in a place where I can’t be just that side of me. And often when people like me who are only seen as strong and outgoing open up about their weaknesses, they are often invalidated, misunderstood, or discarded. We aren’t really “allowed” to show our weakness—and yet the turmoil I’ve endured could only leave one vulnerable and weak while they heal.

So I just… don’t say anything. The anxiety about it is too strong. I just haven’t had the resources to withstand the usual things that I can, and I’m not used to being like this. Not now, after all the work I’ve done over the years to work through things that have been sliced open again.

I’m going to stop here because if I dont I’ll just keep rambling, but it’s just a note to say that I am still in a limbo. Just writing is enough of a challenge right now even though I want to so that’s really where most of my energy is going.

Hopefully in the next update you will finally see some new goodies that you really come here for!

Thank you for reading my post today! If you enjoyed it, you may also be interested in my erotica or even a commission.

What to Expect the Rest of the Year

Those who are here for the goods: hopefully this month I will start releasing new titles. I don’t really have any other details than that. I have quite a backlog and months ago had a specific number of new things I intended to release this year but life and health have gotten in the way. So we’ll see what happens. I have three commissions ahead of everything else I have in line.

As for the rest of my usual material—blogs, essays, whatever you call them—don’t expect more anytime soon. Not forever but certainly not in any near future on my calendar.

I’m spent, y’all. I’ve been in this community for half my life.

I’ve never pretended to be anyone other than myself here. But many do not understand that Lora is just a narrow, filtered view of me. She’s a part of me but not the whole me.

And the whole me is exhausted.

I’m still stuck with the emotional and mental aftermath of what I mentioned before but also a number of other pressing things have collapsed in my life as well. While circumstances are slowly changing, I can’t really think ahead more than a week or two. And I don’t have the energy to contribute anything. I don’t really have anything to say or to give anyone and I don’t know when that will change.




A while back, some may have recalled me going through a pretty rough time with someone I met through this community. I took down the original posts, so if you didn’t catch the story, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.

Long story short things got way worse than I thought they could have ever been and after he showed up and decided to actually show up and things started going well, I found out he was married.

I don’t really want to talk about it. I don’t really know how to interact here right now. For the most part we ended on good terms but I am deep in grief right now, still pretty shell-shocked, and just going through a lot of stuff. Being around here, on the networks, etc… they are all pretty triggering and I just can’t invest in them right now.

I do still have considerable plans that I intend to finish before the end of the year; things I had started planning last year. Some of you have outstanding commissions and I will finish them as soon as I can, probably in the next few weeks.

If you are interested in a commission, feel free to reach out but keep in mind I can’t guarantee a delivery date. Expect 45-60 days for a draft. Commissions are reopened and are back to 30 days’ delivery.

I really just do not know what to do right now and need a lot of time. I’m not going away forever, just for a while.

I Saw a Feedist Couple in The Wild

A couple of weeks ago, I was waiting for the bus and across the street I saw what was clearly a feedist couple. It was a little jarring as I don’t think I’d ever seen one so overt in broad daylight before, not without seeking one out at an event or for a date or meetup.

The road on which we waited for our transport is five or six lanes wide; it’s a main thoroughfare of the city and yet I could tell almost immediately what brought them together, despite being several yards away and having no other information about them.

They were stereotypes of the kink; a tall lanky man doting on a petite plump woman. It’s possible she may have been pregnant and it was not easy to tell from the distance but even if she had not been gravid she still would have been BBW and unmistakably so.

As much as I miss sex, I fantasize more about who I will hug first and if they would have the patience to let me cling for awhile.

What grabbed my attention though was the look on the woman’s face. Something about the man’s attention on her was frenetic and disconnected. He would touch her, kiss her, embrace her, then step away to make a call and then return again. She stood in one spot and didn’t appear to really focus on anything.

We caught gazes more than once. I looked away every time. It wasn’t their contrast that got my attention—something that drives me wild in the most primal sense—nor was it her fatness, either. It was the look on her face, the firmness of her posture, the resolution she committed to not making a single move while they awaited their bus.

Mass transit in Los Angeles is notoriously awful. Quarter-hour headways in rush hour on a main road is considered frequent service. I had plenty of time to observe these two. My phone was dead, I had forgotten my Kindle, and there was nothing else to do but watch them. Even if I wanted to look away, I simply couldn’t bring myself to.

This is a bad habit I have formed in the pandemic. Being single and without any touch for a year leaves me so desperate for human contact that the best satisfaction I get is watching others interact. I don’t mean sexual gratification; just the safety and security of skin-to-skin contact. Holding hands. Cuddles. Closeness without fear of spreading disease. As much as I miss sex, I fantasize more about who I will hug first and if they would have the patience to let me cling for awhile. Will they be soft and pillowy like me? Or will they be sinewy and firm, where I can feel their muscles flex against me? Will it be a romantic partner or a friend; do they know how to bear hug and truly embrace someone? Will they squeeze and grope or just drape loose arms over my shoulders?

Consensual objectification is fun and exciting in the bedroom, in play, in feeding sessions where those fantasies can be realized and brought to life. But it’s a whole different thing when it takes over waking life, when strangers on the street can see the fraying strings that tie people together.

It’s hard not to envy those right now who have partners and families residing with them. In a world where we are all alone together, so distant from our own neighbors and friends around the corner, I feel I’ve forgotten what it means to be with someone. To just enjoy quiet company together and relish someone else sharing space. Conversely, those in families and cohabiting partnerships may be itching for some space. There’s no right or wrong or win or lose; we are all in a world right now where there is too much of one thing and never enough of another.

I did not envy this couple; I pitied them. Their interactions clearly demonstrated at least on the surface what brought them together. I felt a pang of sadness for both of them. I thought about their story. What brought them together? Did they meet on one of the several feedist community and dating networks we are so familiar with? Maybe it was a passion neither of them were aware of until they were in the middle of it; something that almost always ends up in a broken heart for both parties.

Sometimes you see a couple and they are the walking definition of a power couple. They don’t even have to really hold any social or financial status, it’s just in the way they exist and carry themselves. With proud shoulders and in our cases, full stomachs jutting outward, buffering anything that dares threaten their security and senses of self, they make no apologies for the way they take up space in the world. They are powerful simply because they exist and know their own force of will to live the way they choose is its own magic. They’re secure and satisfied.

This couple across the street, waiting for the bus, was not that. What made me uncomfortable and unable to look them in the eye wasn’t the shame or badness of seeing fatness in public, the way so many fat people are silenced into hiding and self-hate. But it was that the man with his nervous and unfocused energy, at least in this moment, clearly only saw his partner for what she was: big and fat. I’m not sure if he even saw her as beautiful. The look on her face was the same one I would give myself in so many selfies in the early aughts: it was pain and sadness and self-despise. In that moment it was clear she did not feel seen or beautiful and my shameful glances away and inability to hold eye contact likely did not help.

I think about scenarios like this a lot, about the trust it takes for a gaining feedee to place into their FA or feeder, to be willing to subject themselves to that. Consensual objectification is fun and exciting in the bedroom, in play, in feeding sessions where those fantasies can be realized and brought to life. But it’s a whole different thing when it takes over waking life, when strangers on the street can see the fraying strings that tie people together.

I don’t know their whole story. It was just a few minutes on the street and we never exchanged words. I just observed and noticed body language and sat with the impressions it gave me. I could be dead wrong, even! Maybe they were having a bad day or got some rough news. Who knows? But something about their energy oozed off them like an infected wound that day. Something wasn’t right and it was impossible not to notice.