Category Archives: Personal

I Have Something to Confess

I have something to confess. It’s actually several things but it boils just down to one thing in the end. And it’s not something that impacts anyone really but myself, though it’s meant to be a foundation for later discussions when the time comes.

This is not going to be a brief one. Double-fist your beverage or snack of choice and settle in.

It’s something I’ve always wanted to discuss but just knew it wasn’t the right time. Then I had an epiphany recently and the last puzzle piece squeezed into place. So many things made sense and I could find a common string to tie all my thoughts together and I wanted to talk about it here before anywhere else.

I’ve never quite felt that my body really belonged anywhere. I don’t mean me as a person but my body in spaces meant to attract people to it. I’ve discovered over the years that I am both too fat for the normie/vanilla crowd and too thin for the FA crowd. Neither have any problem expressing their disappointment.

To their credit, the normies drool over me until the clothes come off. They are often much more polite and reserved about it. We finish up and then they decline another date later. Some are honest and say my body turned them off once they saw it. I’ve never been accused of catfishing or anything.

The FAs are much more demanding, overt, and steamrolling. My desires and enjoyment do not even register as a possibility to them. The other fat people in the community gatekeep fatness; if one does not meet a numerical standard, then they can’t possibly be fat enough to be considered big and beautiful. And if one was that size previously but is no longer, regardless of the reason, they are shunned for hating themselves.

The message here today is not to create factions, judge others, or kink shame. There’s a much longer conversation for another day about the rampant fatphobia in the FA community. Today I am just talking about me and my experience, and the constant message about my body is that it’s always both too much and never enough.

I’m well aware of my reputation. People either love me or hate me and I don’t care either way. I know that it’s due to my high standards for engagement, my advocacy, my commitment to integrity, and my refusal to give in to regressive behavior just for instant gratification. That is to say, if you don’t step up and pay the toll, you don’t get to play. I don’t let you in my space. And that toll is demonstrating you understand I am an actual human first and foremost—because when you do that, you are investing in yourself the same way. It’s not a one-way street.

I don’t owe anyone reasons for why I am the way I am, but I also feel as though if I did share them, I would be misunderstood for simply trying to say that even in these communities, people who actually are or have been fat may still need support and humanity about things related to their fatness that can’t be solved with an orgasm. I’m one of them, but I am rarely granted that consideration at face value.

One of the reasons I feel this way is because the body that I have is the direct result of decades of disordered eating. I used to think it was just a minor thing that bubbled under the current of the rest of my life, just something in the background. But after doing a lot of trauma work this year, I realized that it was not a minor thing at all. It was and is a significant part of my life story.

Content warning from here on out: discussion of eating disorders, body image, and fatphobia, but no graphic descriptions of behaviors.

Gains and losses

It’s not unheard of that a feedist in this community would have had an eating disorder. I know I am not the first and I won’t be the last. But for the few with whom I could connect and empathize, it felt like we had to keep it a secret, even if it wasn’t. I currently do not have any formal diagnoses but after a lot of work with my health care team, it’s not something we’re leaving off the table. I’m still at risk.

When I first drafted this I went into a very long spiel about how and what and everything. But there is no way to tell it in a compact way and it wasn’t working. For all my writing and sharing of thoughts, I am still an intensely private person and I am careful about what I share and why.

I just really want to boil it down to this: I developed binge eating disorder at the age of 12 following a brief but intense period of total upheaval in my life. A number of traumatic things happened in a very short time frame and those things then continued all the way through young adulthood when I left for college. I don’t recall my exact highest weight but it was around 290 pounds at the age of 17. I had always been a slightly thicker kid upthrough my tweens but never The Fat Kid™ until I was 13. I don’t recall exactly what my “starting” weight was at that age (being a child, I was still growing anyway) but I believe I may have doubled it.

I was fortunate that near the end of my teens and the start of young adulthood a number of small but critically important things showed up in my life and changed things drastically. I regained some control and agency and somehow shook off the horror, guilt, and shame I felt about myself and my body—things that a 17-year-old should never have had to face at all. I was able to start loving myself for who and what I was and when I started practicing that self-love and owning the agency I had, weight started coming off on its own.

There was no plan, no goal, no nothing. I honestly didn’t even care if I did lose weight. But the more I chose to invest in myself the more my body changed. I ate what made my body feel good, I moved in a way that it enjoyed when I wanted to move it, and I enriched my life with friends, activities, and education that were fulfilling.

But life is life and trauma kept happening, usually in tsunamis. I no longer binged but I developed orthorexia or something similar to it in my late 20s. My weight then plummeted. According to a BMI chart or a physician I was a “normal” weight but I didn’t feel right. I didn’t look right. I was definitely underweight for what my body needed. I got that under control. I moved to California, put a bit of weight back on that was welcome and a relief… and then a bit more that was not so welcome and a burden to my mental health.

It really wasn’t a lot that I regained. My body hasn’t really changed all that much over the years since the move, but enough for me to notice. I spent time in the gym and put on some muscle after years of only focusing on cardio work and fat loss. In my early 30s, orthorexia came back in full force when I thought keto would be a great idea. It was certainly effective, but I only planned to do it for 8-12 weeks. It turned into almost six months and I had to quit cold turkey when I realized I was on the path to full-blown anorexia.

That is all very difficult to talk about. Eating disorders affect more fat people (and men!) than thin people, but time and time again the messaging I received especially as a teenager was simply to lose weight. There was no help, no one to point out “Hey, this is not a healthy relationship with food, are you okay? Is something wrong?” Because I simply wasn’t the size or shape society expected and so of course I owed this to them. I did this all entirely by myself without even understanding what I was processing and working through, just because of course a fat person should be working on a way to be less fat.

Things are much better now and I’ve really pushed myself the past few months in therapy to get to the bottom of these things and really pick them apart. In doing so I’ve been able to start putting together some thoughts and discussions that I’ve always felt and often discussed with close friends in private.

So, then how did you come about feedism…?

I know it may seem obvious: a fat girl gets fatter because she’s so traumatized that the only good thing she has in her life is food, therefore, welcome to sexuality! But that really isn’t how it worked for me and I sincerely don’t think they’re connected.

I didn’t start getting into feedism until the binge eating stopped and I had a much better handle on how to care for myself and started seeing results. My kinks always started with body inflation and while I knew feedism and fat appreciation had a big overlap. I think it was just too much for me while I was living the nightmare version of it in my real life. And I simply just didn’t feel attractive in any way. Once I was able to embrace that, I think that’s when it became safer for me to explore and enjoy. It wasn’t instant and it took a long time. And anyone who has ever played with me in that space knows that I don’t just do it with anyone and my limits are non-negotiable, just as I would respect theirs.

Me at my larger sizes were the direct result of intense trauma, abuse, and neglect. I ended up as heavy as I did because of fatphobia. I got regular checkups, had close relationships with teachers and social workers in my life, and not a single one of them ever realized that there may have been something wrong beyond just “willpower.”

There is no way, under any circumstances, I would ever willingly return to it. It’s not what I want. But I do struggle all the time with the constant messaging and pressure from others, even when it’s not directed at me. Knowing that I do know what real-life fatphobia feels like, both external and internal. Knowing that my weight loss wasn’t from self-hatred but self-love. Knowing that just because I fit into a straight size now does not mean my body is meant for the clothes and trust me, it’s just as much of a struggle, sometimes even more now, to style and dress myself because of all the baggage that comes with it.

The moral of the story…

These are very real things that affect me and I know I am not alone in this. There are longer conversations to have about the community at large and those will come in time, but I just felt the need to start saying some things out loud now, hoping it will resonate with others who may feel just as reserved about it or that they can’t share this side of themselves in this community.

I have to admit that one of the reasons I never felt ready to discuss some of this was that I often feel I’d end up trying to prove myself when I know I don’t have to. In FA-land, before and after pictures can be quite exciting and arousing for some. I know I enjoy them myself from time to time. But there’s something different about knowing I am only perceived one way and having to show that yes, I was bigger and no, I don’t owe my size or fatness to anyone or have to earn my place in this community just because I’m not as large as other people and don’t want to be.

Because outside of FA-land, in diet-culture-disordered-eating-breeding-ground-land, before and after pictures are harmful. They really are. And so I’ve just refused to show any of that, both for my mental health and personal safety.

But it’s hard, you know. It’s hard to explain that I both love myself and my body for what it is but then also still have to say in the same breath that it is constant work and a constant struggle. Self-love doesn’t cure the impacts of trauma. It helps and it’s a tool to use in the hard times but the secret is that our triggers and wounds never go away, we just learn how to manage the control they have of our lives.

I’m in one of those periods now. To put it lightly, this year has sucked a big one. I’ve been getting clotheslined by new traumas every time I stand up for the past 8-9 months, while also processing old ones. Fortunately, while there is still a mild urge to throw a wrench in my relationship with food and my body, I haven’t actually followed through. I’m finally coming to a place where I know I’m truly healing that part of me because I realized I don’t really want to give in to that dysfunction. It’s actually improved a lot with the way I feel and move in the FA spaces. I have a right to be here, exactly as I am. I’ve always known that consciously but now I own it in a different way.

I think I had to do this—essentially come out about it—in order to do that. So here it is.

It probably doesn’t make a lot of sense and if it doesn’t to you, that’s okay. Be thankful you’ve never had to deal with it. If it’s something that resonates with you, that’s what I put it out here for and I hope it can make you feel less alone.

This won’t be the last time I talk about this. It’s a foundation for other topics later. But I just had to share that as it was. I’m a non-gaining feedee with a history of disordered eating who has had unintentional massive weight loss who doesn’t want it back and still somehow manages to love her body as it is more days than not and knows she’s not the only one. It’s a mouthful (not the sexy kind) but that’s me.

If that doesn’t sit right with you, ask yourself why, because that’s a you problem.

THE END… for now

Thank you for reading. If any of this resonated and you need someone to talk to, my contact page is always open. I’ve been working on some delicious things during NaNoWriMo and I can’t wait to share them!

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

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.