I’m giving myself 40 minutes to write this. It’s 12:30 am and I have work in the morning. This will also, hopefully, be the last post I write about the Cat Dad. I’m a bit over the space in my mind he still consumes. It’s not a large one, but, it can be less. At this point, this is the 3rd or 4th writing I’ve written about this guy, despite how many I’ve posted so far.
The Cat Dad.
We met off of Feabe. I’ve been on there a few years, on and off. I’ve never quite understood the whole, Feeder/Feedee lifestyle, but was on there for the guys who were into super fat babes. Back in November of 2022, this cute white boy messaged me. We ended up talking that whole weekend, and even met up that Sunday night, only about 5 days into talking. We lived within minutes of each other which made things so much better for the both us, but especially me. The last ex lived about 40 minutes from me, and I found out that for a relationship, I need people close to me.
Despite the completely random and wild idea of meeting at 9 pm on a Sunday night at a grocery store, we did it. We got food, talked, and kissed in the parking lot. Things were a bit too good to be true, and I should have trusted my gut.
We had dates. The first time he was in my apartment I was not prepared for visitors, and he had to use the bathroom. My place instantly gave him anxiety. He harped on it for a while. Then only just mentioned it casually, sometimes. He would never stay the night.
We shared PDA. Whenever we were out there were hugs, kisses, hand-holding, ass grabbing. You know, everything a fat babe would want after so many years and countless guys only wanting to sleep with me, but never been seen in public with. I loved the looks some women gave us. He didn’t notice, but naturally, I did. Being fat and black in spaces one wouldn’t expect me in, I kinda have a knack for observations.
I helped him and even indulged a little in this lifestyle. I loved eating and was always down to eat. I ended up weighing my high weight that January. I’m not going to say it was because of him, but I’m sure being with a feeder/feedee didn’t help. I noticed a slight shift when I mentioned to him that I wanted to lose weight.
We also never had sex. I only got him to cum once, and he seemed weird when he did. Despite being into this kink, he was pretty vanilla. Sexually, it wasn’t going to work. Nothing was going to work with him.
I’ve been working through this with my therapist for a couple of months now. I was still talking to the Cat Dad, we even hung out a few times. But then he started dating someone new. I knew that was going to stop our hanging out, and possibly our conversations. I’m not mad that I’ve been right. But what got me, realizing that he was unsure about me. He told me he wanted to go slow and all that shit. It took him 3 months just to add the label of “dating” to our situationship. But this new one, it only took a month before he added,” in a relationship” to his profile. Something about that just doesn’t sit right with me. He’s on a quest to settle down as soon as possible, aggressively dating, and I guess when you know, you know.
Looking back, me and him were never going to work. His not diagnosed yet autism was not gonna work with my ADHD and autism. I mean, I clocked him within 10 minutes of meeting him in person. Even knowing things were never going to work, I’m still feeling some type of way, a little bit. I mean, I was on the verge of breaking things off, he just did it about a week before I wanted to.
I was talking to my bestie about why I’ve been so caught up with this bro and I realize it circles back to racism. Hear me out. I’m a black femme who grew up in all-white schools. What I grew up and learned to like was the conventionally attracted white guy. That created this internalized racism, even if I couldn’t put a name to it then, or even admitted to it. So, when a conventionally white man finds me attractive, wants to date me, and is okay with being seen with me, it’s like I won the grand prize. And when someone loses the one prize they thought they wanted for all their life, shit gets rough, no matter how long or little it was in your hands.
I have more work to do to unpack that above notion. I’m still unpacking some internalized fatphobia, so this is just another piece of luggage I need to start unpacking since I just realized I’m carrying it. Yay for being more self-aware, I guess, lol.
But that’s it. It’s 1:09 am, and I’m pretty much done with this. Yes, I know this was brief, and I could have gone into more graphic details, but I’m not. I don’t think I even can. It was 4 months of my life that was a good 4 months until it wasn’t. He isn’t a bad guy, he did nothing to harm me, didn’t hurt me, and was pretty honest with everything. Other than being an asshole to random people on the internet for fun, he’s not bad. We just weren’t going to work. I knew it, he knew it. We both knew it. Neither of us did anything wrong. It just wasn’t in the cards to be together, and that’s ok. Mourning losing that prize is ok too.