Because I’m a fucking princess

I recently wrote that I was chatting to a guy on the internet who wanted to jiggle my belly and lick it and do various other things to it. I had agreed to this, we even had a tentative time and day, but it never actually happened.

I didn’t mind. Because a better-looking guy, who had less to say about my flab, expressed an interest in meeting me. I got very excited. I do like it when hot guys like me.

Then that didn’t happen. I began to get very active on the gainers and feeders site. And I got a lot of attention there. Literally hundreds of men, from all over the world, got in touch with me.

There are a lot of bizarre people in the world.

One guy in New Mexico wanted me to list all the food in my fridge. He messaged me every day for two weeks, begging to know. I never told him.

A young guy in Derry wanted to drive to Dublin (at least two hours) to watch me eat crisps. He was OK with Pringles, but it was Skips that really turned him on.

I’m not sure what he was going to do while I was going to be eating these crisps.

Another man, in West Dublin, wanted to meet me and feed me and fatten me until my willy disappeared.

I deleted my account on the site. I was dangerously close to accepting one of these requests.

A request from another site (for chubs and chasers, rather than for feeders and gainers) intrigued me. He was young and good-looking. He was doing a PhD, just like me. From stalking him on twitter, I discovered we had a variety of interests in common, including tinsel and reality TV. We exchanged lots of emails and he seemed very eager to meet. And I, of course, was excited.

However, and there’s always a however, he too was belly obsessed. Obsessed. To the extent that he wanted to do unspeakable things to my belly button.

Sigh.

I’m not going to meet him. I deserve better. Because I’m a fucking princess.

And someday my prince will come.

And not in my belly button.

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