Need a boyfriend who's a big doughy gamer.
One that I can come home to and find stuffed on the couch in his underwear, patting his rotundity and pulling me in to cuddle with a game in hand.
me, seeing a man with a belly: πππππππ₯΅π₯΅π₯΅π¦π¦π¦π€€π€€π€€
me, seeing my own belly: π€’π€’π€’π₯΄π₯΄π₯΄π₯²π₯²π₯²πππππππππβββ
One summer I decided I was going to be a dumb bimbo. I made a new group of friends and told nobody that I was a writer and made a point to not say anything interesting. I'd wear a blue crop top and a little white plaid mini skirt and I spent an hour on the Stairmaster every day and ate chicken breast so my abs were popping, then I'd go out at night and order a round of shots for the bar and drink spilled alcohol right off the serving tray and make out with boys and girls at dingy little house parties and go out to the rodeo and hear about all the small town drama and take groups of people home after the bars closed and show them my collection of guns. Nobody asked my opinion about anything important, but everyone still liked me. It was like being a little puppy in the sense my presence itself was the only thing required for people to enjoy me.
It was amazing, so freeing. Nothing's better than being a total idiot.
There's a very primal satisfaction to having a well-fed partner.
Watching a physical manifestation of your collective success reflect on their waistline as they (over) indulge on the excesses afforded to them.
Its obviously hot as hell watching them gorge and pack on the pounds because they can't put the fork down.
But it also makes the lizard-brain happy to know you have a biologically-successful mate.
One that isn't just surviving, not just thriving, but allowed to be gluttonous, allowed every calorie within arms reach, allowed to pack their stomach with so much food they literally can't fit in a single additional bite...
And of course, most importantly, a mate that is allowed to grow fatter and fatter as excess becomes norm and their appetite grows to match their ravenous expectations.