My Wall-E-esque Life: Part 1

“Fat Acceptance” has been a catch-phrase for at least 40 of the years I have been alive. In 2 parts, I share my experiences and lessons learnt being a part of the…

Fat Acceptance Movement.


I’ve been fat ever since I got my tonsils out when I was 7-years old.

Fat kid, teen, adult and now a “mature” adult.


Trials (and Errors)

I’ve done dozens of diets, been prescribed Black Beauties & other speed (starting at age 8), belonged to many gyms, taken Phen-Fen (with success, but with heart valve damage), tried Topamax (fail), used Wellbutrin (fail), had a Roux en Y Gastric Bypass (with fabulous success, then epic failure), done hypnosis & acupuncture (fail & fail), become a daily Mindfulness Meditation fanatic (fail for weight loss/huge win for pain relief), have tried to have anorexia, then bulimia, hand-written hundreds of thousands of journal pages, letting them “hold” my pain, shame, revulsion, self-hate, wishes, fears, hopes &, eventually, resolution with my size.

I remain in resolution.

I will never diet or take diet drugs again. Ever.


Time & Money

Thinking about the masses of time and money I’ve spent trying to lose weight makes my head spin.


  • Going to the gym
  • Writing out menus
  • Researching rules and techniques for success
  • Real life or online support group meetings, including social networks talking about losing/gaining weight
  • Shopping slower to read labels and make sure food is “appropriate”
  • Learning new cooking methods
  • Fighting with family about the change in foods in the fridge and cupboards
artist: Sapphire4723


  • Gym membership
  • New cookbooks
  • Membership fees & apps
  • Tools for success (exercise equipment, pedometer, walking/running shoes, gym clothes, etc.)
  • Tossing all the “bad” food in the garbage
  • Buying all the “good” food
  • Probably eventually buying more “bad” food for my family because they whined so much about foisting my diet on them
  • $28,000 cash for RNY gastric bypass (GB)

Can I include the time and money (including the taxpayer’s) for the years of therapy discussing and crying about all of this?

money drain


I was a Fat Activist in the mid-late 80’s, mostly in the lesbian community. I’ve written about being fat-positive for almost 3 decades.

In the beginning, when I was in my 20’s and early 30’s, I was healthy… labs were fine, no diabetes, my joints or feet didn’t hurt. I crowed (bragged, was arrogant) about how it was the fat-hating that made fat people sick and die, not the fat itself.




diet fatter

Now, at 56-years old, I see how delusional I was. I am well on the road to dying before most people in my family did, and they all had diabetes, too. My future resides in my memories of my Cuban relatives & the diabetes complications they endured before dying. Heart attacks, going blind, having toes, then feet cut off, eventually dying in a coma because the body just gave up.

I see it coming as if it was a roaring train heading right for me.

Litany of Pain


Here are my fat-related illnesses and issues:

  • Type 2 Diabetes (diagnosed at 34 years old), now on 2 insulins and metformin
  • I heal terribly because of the diabetes, often needing antibiotics for residual infections
  • Stage 3 Kidney Disease from the diabetes
  • Pain with every step I take
  • Osteoporosis and arthritis in my feet, which have broken 3 times just from walking for exercise, and one foot breaking while swimming
  • Broke one foot falling off the Wii Fit Board trying to exercise… needed 3 surgeries to repair
  • Arthritis in my lower back, was on opioids for 8+ years for the back pain, becoming incredibly addicted, finally getting clean 3 years ago (yay me!) Now I use Mindfulness Meditation for pain relief, though many times I wish for some Norco.
  • It took me years to find surgeons I felt safe with to get my 4 hernias repaired (one surgery) and then my gallbladder out (a separate surgery, with 3 hospital visits afterwards because of infection)… several turning me away because of my enormous belly size (blessedly, I found the docs and those issues are resolved)
  • Bone loss from possibly 2 main sources: lack of exercise & the GB
  • Walking with a walker, but should be in an electric wheelchair, my feet hurting so badly
  • Using an electric wheelchair when I shop


swirl purple

My world has gradually become smaller and smaller. After 32 years in birth work (where I hurt daily as well), I am now a sedentary Phone Sex Operator. I live in a small space and leave the house only for doctor appointments, physical therapy, shopping and seeing my doggies at mom’s house.

Writing that makes me sad.


Part 2 On Its Way

In Part 2 of My Wall-E-esque Life, I will talk about the place the Fat Advocacy Movement does have in our lives. While it might not be health (despite the incessant refrain that it does), it is most assuredly have an enormous place in our physical and emotional world.

More soon!


Unfinished Writings

I have several posts pending, but cannot seem to finish any one of them.

  • My Wall-E-esque Life: “Fat Positivity” Fails


  • Pain: A Cruel Mistress


  • Gallbladder GONE!
  • Acceptance Into Anthology


Other Crap

I’m also having olfactory hallucinations again and would like to write about that, too. And then there’s 45 and his bullshit trips abroad.

I’m struggling with work, losing client after client because I am so sick I’m unable to be signed in for them to call me.


But I felt I owed my few readers at least some update about why I have not been around. Really, really, working hard on getting at least something done and posted.

Please stay tuned!


What Is “45”?

“45” is what I call POTUS, the 45th president of the United States, that horrid man who squats in the White House tweeting (LYING) about random topics to divert our attention from the fucked up bullshit he does that will, PLEASE GODDESS, get him impeached.



When Suicide Seems the Right Choice

A woman being sent back to Chile instead of being let into the United States tried to kill herself on Friday at JFK airport in New York City. She was found and Narcan administered, saving her life. She is at a hospital in stable condition.


Today, folks from the countries that evil man listed, were detained at airports around the world, many sent back from whence they came. Families were separated, some people arbitrarily allowed into the United States while others sent away.

Thankfully, around the country, people came out in droves and protested at major airports.

Lawyers also came out, pro bono, to help folks get into the country, stationing themselves at all the major airports and working, sitting on floors, in fast food restaurants and wherever they could find to help those that needed it so badly. Goddess bless lawyers!

Immigration Lawyers at LAX.

Then the ACLU initiated the fight against the executive order and “a federal judge granted an emergency stay Saturday to bar deportation of people with valid visas who landed in the U.S., following chaos and detentions after President Donald Trump’s executive order related to immigration from seven Muslim-majority countries.”

Absorbing the Pain

Today is only Day 8 of that evil man’s reign in the US and I already feel immense despair. I do not watch the TV news or even look at video of the news on the computer. I get all my information from Facebook and Tumblr feeds, reading the articles posted there. I am not supposed to listen to the news… my psychiatrist and therapist have both forbidden it because of how it affects me.

As the day wore on, I felt more and more despondent, falling to a very low place about 10pm. I talked to my Muslim lover, each of us sharing our own sadnesses… and then feelings of hope at how things were playing out around the world as the hours passed.

artist, David Kessler

I’ve had some really horrid thoughts about that man in charge of our country today. I am not a violent person, do not visualize mean things happening to anyone, but out of nowhere, really ghastly thoughts manifested all day long. I tried not to judge my random thoughts, but just allowed them to come and go without holding onto them too desperately. (A Mindfulness skill.)

My Own Despair

What was disconcerting were my own feelings of not being connected to my body, my mind floating around without having much control over it. I wrote “Immigration Ban Horror” trying to get some of the pain out of my body, but the distress actually grew instead of diminished.

I’ve thrown up several times, wanting to purge the awful feelings inside.

When I was talking to my cub (my Muslim love), I confessed I have been having thoughts of such despair I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to make it through the night.


My cublet was very loving and gentle with me, reminding me of all the reasons I must stay here on the earth (kids, grandkids, my mama, for him… and to write). Just sharing with him released enough of the pressure, the near-compulsion, that the urge has passed.

(And yes, I know enough to go to the hospital if it gets too bad again.)

What distresses me is I am not even Muslim, a refugee or someone who is being targeted with being kept out of the United States, yet my emotions have been so strong.

I can so relate to the woman from Chile who tried to kill herself on Friday; I understand her desperation intensely.

I need to figure out how to moderate these feelings or else just get off the computer altogether for the next 4 years.


I feel helpless to do anything. The only thing I can do is write and most of what I am writing is news already out there or my responses to the news. I don’t feel like I have anything new to offer, nothing of real substance, just my emotions as I react to it all.


My cub said my writing has joined the chorus of support for Muslims and disdain for the horrid man in charge, that my voice is important to the message. That was soothing.


Writing has drained me. I am going to go lay down and try and sleep. I have Hamilton on (it’s been on all night) and I’ll probably leave it on… I love it so much!

Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

thinking nasty thoughts about that evil person in DC that would make tomorrow better

Immigration Ban Horror

How can this be happening? Just when you think nothing can get any worse with that horrible, evil man who is our president, he descends deeper into a hell the world has to cope with.

Of course, those fleeing torture and death… they definitely have it worse than many of us… directly affected by the sweeping executive order that slams the door of salvation in their faces.

Does This Make You Sick? Cry? Want to DO Something?

3-year old Aylan Kurdi died fleeing Syria.
5-year old Omran Daqneesh

Tonight at JFK Airport


How can these horrible “christian” people and lawmakers turn their backs on human suffering? I cannot wrap my head around any kind of logic they could conjure. Pro-life? Fucking pigs. What about the children who are dying waiting to enter our country? The women being raped and tortured in refugee camps? Men, hopeless, feeling useless and powerless.

I wish I had answers. I suppose letting our representatives know how we feel? They don’t give one shit. No one has the cajones to stand up against that fascist dictator we now have “leading” our country.

Thank you Canada, Germany and France for stepping up and saying they will accept those trapped in American red tape. Strangling red tape.

My heart feels like it is going to fall out on the floor, I am in so much distress over what is going on. All I can do is write my feelings, trying to see through the tears, knowing I am not alone dealing with this disgusting, horrid man.


Fat Girl Stories: Hiding Food


Binge Eating & Food Hoarding discussed.


If I died right this moment and someone had to go through my room, either throwing things away or giving them to my kids, they would find, in several different locations, stashes of candy.

Quite the mind-fuck seeing the candy juxtaposed with the insulin and metformin, isn’t it.

rolling my eyes

Learned Behavior

I come by the behavior honestly.

Growing up, mom was periodically on diets. When she was, so was the entire household. I called the feast or famine cycle, “Celery or Eclairs.” Either mom created delicious baked goods or we had celery and carrots filling the refrigerator. It didn’t take long to learn to bulk up for the famine that was surely to come in a couple of weeks. As a ravenous fat child, I scavenged for calories when we were supposed to be eating far fewer of them.

You see, my mom hid candy, usually plain M&Ms, in her drawers, under her marabou-lined lingerie. Being a nosy brat, I scoured the room, looking for the candy, then eating it when it was finally in my greedy hands. I didn’t process the information that mom would know I had eaten it when she couldn’t find it. That was irrelevant. Eating it was the goal and eat it I did.

crispy M&Ms keeping company with my meds


When I was in a relationship (pick one), invariably my partner would have issues with my food intake. Reading my Facebook Memories makes me wince as, nearly every 2-3 days, I was starting yet another new diet or forcing myself to go to the Y.


When I went to the Y, I would ride the exercise bike until I sweat, go as long as I could, then get off and get in the car to go home.

And then began the fight, the tug-of-war to eat before I went home. Carl’s Jr. was open; I could go through their drive-through. I could go to the grocery store and get something quick to consume. Whatever I chose, I wouldn’t be able to eat it all, so would need to either throw the rest away or bring it home with me. (Another wrestling match in my head.)

I hated throwing the food away, especially when I could eat it later. So I’d tuck the leftover burger or sourdough baguette and cheese in my gym bag and hope Zack wasn’t awake so I could hide it in the closet.

My shoe holder (a long canvas bag that hold 12 pairs of shoes) was my favorite hiding place. Fuck, that is gross looking at that now. Then, it seemed like a brilliant idea.

I had to move slowly so the wrapping didn’t crinkle too loud, betraying my plan.


Visceral Reactions

I’m sitting here trying to figure out how to explain how much I hate discussing food with anyone, partners most of all. My body tenses as if I was about to be assaulted, every hackle raised trying to protect my Self from the (invariably) negative and judgmental bullshit about to come out of their mouths. Yeah, yeah… I know… “they mean well.” Well, it doesn’t feel well. It feels horrid, defending myself, my size, my food choices, intake and why am I still fat even after dieting/exercising/having a gastric bypass/using medications/etc.

Don’t I know what eating so much/exercising so little is going to do to me? Don’t I see my Cuban relatives as the Cautionary Tale for my own future with diabetes?

Today’s Freedom

my low glucose drawer

I haven’t had but the briefest mentions of my weight with anyone besides medical people in over 2 years… and it has been heaven. Sitting and writing, even this far out, I can still feel the intense tightening of my muscles as I remember the inevitable tap dance discussion of my weight and food the moment someone began with, “Honey, I am worried about you.”

I’m not stupid. I was a health care provider. I’ve read the articles and papers about being sedentary and fat. I know my life span is infinitely shorter because I don’t “exercise and eat right.”

But the freedom from the stress of discussing it cannot be described. Doesn’t that account for something?

It does in my world.

Cybersex: Erotic Storytelling

So, I am a Phone Sex Operator. I love my job… can hardly call it a “job” because it is such a delight to talk with the guys/gals/them. Part of my job is texting with the folks who cannot talk out loud for privacy’s sake. I’ve written about climbing onto the Internet on New Year’s Eve 1994 and that I chatted almost exclusively for about 2 years… before I even knew I had an email address or what email was. I have been an avid chatter ever since.

Vivid Imaginations


My job is essentially storytelling… verbally mostly, but also written; weaving scenarios that drive the person to pleasure, with or without orgasm. I have a blog in the job, too, doing the same thing, telling the tales that my character experiences (she is much of me). I take the unfolding of a story very seriously and because I have been a raconteur my entire life, I am able to have an awesome time doing it.

My recent story here, Nap-gasm, is a good example of how I not only draw pictures with my words, but draw the reader into the experience.


I watched you struggle more. Sweating more… grunting… but trying so hard to control your cock.

You slowed down and I chuckled out loud as you did.

But you kept up the upward slide onto my clit and my own orgasm was building, your struggle driving me closer. You were pouring sweat, dripping onto my belly… and I felt my orgasm just beginning.

I began to fall… right into your eyes… and you felt me… my contractions gripping your cock…

…and I gasped, “Cum now, my fawn.”

C’mon, Cybersex Isn’t Real!


I think the sexy chat experience depends on being able to suspend reality, pulling the imagination into the forefront, in order to “feel” what is happening. An avid reader of anything sensual (including my beloved Outlander) can attest to the written word’s ability to titillate and stimulate. This is a similar experience, but in a much more focused and condensed time-slot.

Not everybody agrees, however, that cyber-touching is as mentally-emotionally tactile as real life.

Jordan Belamire, an author, explains how she was virtually assaulted while playing  QuiVr with the HTC Vive in “A woman was groped in virtual reality. Here’s how men reacted.

Before Jordan Belamire could say hello, the man was rubbing her chest. When she said “stop” and ran, he chased her, reaching out and pinching. He even shoved his hand at her crotch and grabbed at her. “There I was,” Belamire wrote, “being virtually groped in a snowy fortress with my brother-in-law and husband watching.”

Many had fits about her claims, mostly men, saying she was nuts to think that was remotely real.

I, however, believe her.

Instead of describing it, I thought I would show you. I have permission to share this entire exchange and it has minimal changes for clarity and consistency.

The Game


Me: the Domme 

he: my submissive, who writes his pronouns in lowercase as a sign of deference, a common Internet written shorthand for showing one’s station. he also writes my pronouns in capital letters (Your) for the same reason. I will put his words in italics to make reading easier.

Words with an asterisk on either side represents an action. *smiling* is an example… it means the person is smiling, often in real life (irl). Asterisks are also used to emphasize a word in the middle of a sentence. You will see the difference in context.

Words in parentheses are when he and I speak out of Scene… still Domme and sub… but we use it for clarity of instructions or to check in with how each other is doing.


  • Me: so I want you to come over to my house… you are expecting to do some heavy work for me… maybe the lawn. So as you knock on the door… I open it and in my large living room you see a gaggle of lovely women.
  • he: my eyes widen as i see the ladies
  • he: i lick my lips
  • Me: you can see some naked by the pool…
  • he: my eyes drink in the beautiful women
  • Me: and I turn to you and ask you to please remove your clothes and put them in the box in the closet (you know the routine well)
  • he: i begin to strip and i fold my clothes neatly… naked, feeling eyes on me and loving this being right where i belong
    *breathes deep*
  • Me: I watch and nod my approval at your actions… “That’s my good boy,” I tell you
  • he: “Thank You Mistress.
    “Thank You so much.”
  • Me: I grab your wrist and pull you with me into the living room
  • he: i follow happily
  • Me: I then plop you down on a leather chair, knowing full well the wet marks you will leave there and the pulling flesh when you get up
  • he: i sit and feel the leather on my naked flesh
    i look around a little
  • Me: I take your legs and nudge them apart (it doesn’t take much for you to open them delightedly yourself… I have told my friends to watch your whorish ways)
  • he: i spread wide
    showing off my most intimate parts
  • Me: they all laugh seeing exactly what I told them to watch for
  • he: i blush a little as they laugh
    but i love it
  • Me: my girlfriends… they are looking at you… and I start asking them questions about their tastes in a man… a *submissive* man
    “Do you think he has what it takes?” I ask.
    They take turns
    “Well, it looks like he has a lot of muscles.”
    I turn to you and tell you to show your thigh muscles
  • he: i obediently flex my thighs moving my legs to show off different parts
    my quads bulge up
  • Me: “Oh, yes,” that woman validates… “Yes… they do look strong!”
    One asks if she can see your back please
    I turn to you and nod
  • he: i stand and turn to give a full view of my back. i flex and pose for the woman’s request
  • Me: she claps her hands once and says, “Dayum!”
    I then run my right hand down from shoulder to just above your ass
  • he: i smile
    i purr softly
  • Me: I lean over to you and say quietly… “While you are up, my love… show them that ass of yours… how much muscle you have there, too.”
  • he: i flex my ass
  • Me: as you begin your presentation, I move my hands as if to present your ass to the group as a prize
  • he: the muscles tightening
  • Me: one woman sighs and asks how you are at fucking
    I smile and say: “Fucking awesome.”
    she says she can imagine that with muscles like that
  • he: i smile from ear to ear as i am discussed
  • Me: I slap your ass and tell you to sit down
  • he: i gasp and sit back down
  • Me: a couple of the women that were out by the pool come in and drip all over the floor
    I hand you a towel and ask you to please dry the floor
  • he: i crawl on hands and knees and dry the floor diligently
  • Me: I tell the women… “See how obedient he is?!?”
  • he: working the towel in short quick movements
  • Me: one points out the muscles you are using as you wipe the floor
    a couple of others murmur they see, too
    “When the floor is dry, take the dirty towel to the laundry, please.”
  • he: i finish
    i rise and carry the towel to the laundry
  • Me: as you exit the room, you hear us all laughing and talking softly, almost in whispers
    you hear me… then they all chime in…
    I laugh, they laugh after
    as you reenter the room… you ask permission
  • me: “Mistress may i reenter?”
  • Me: we stop abruptly and sober up… “Yes, my cub… you may reenter…
    come sit in the chair again.”
  • he: i walk back in and sit on the leather chair once more


  • Me: “So… we have a bet going, my sweet boy…
    we have cast lots on the speed of which you can orgasm.”
  • he: i listen quietly
  • Me: “I have the bets down here on this paper… and I’ll tuck it in the drawer… so… the question is: HOW would you like to orgasm… do you need any toys? implements? How can you best achieve a fast orgasm?”
  • he: i swallow and think a moment
  • Me: (and I want to know irl)
  • he: i believe if i fuck a woman while my ass is fingered i will cum the fastest
  • Me: no no no
    the room laughs
    “He IS a slut!!!!!” “He thought he was going to get to fuck someone?!?!”
  • he: *blushes so red i look like i want to crawl in a hole*
  • Me: I laugh so hard and touch your cheek gently
    “Greedy, greedy boy.”
  • he: i am trembling as You touch my cheek
  • Me: (that was classic)
  • he: (sorry Mistress)
  • Me: (NO!!! I couldn’t have scripted it better! It was fucking PERFECT!!!)
  • he: a lot of lube on my hand focusing of my cock head and a plug in my ass would make me cum quickest Mistress
  • Me: *laughing at how fucking hilarious you are sometimes*
  • he: (thank You Mistress, i’m glad )
  • Me: “Okay… and will you just think/daydream? No visual stimulation necessary?
  • he: “Visual stimulation would make me cum faster Mistress”
  • Me:”Hmmm… so if we turned on the big screen… would it help to watch some porn then?”
  • he: “Yes Mistress it would help… it would turn me on more and i would cum faster.”     *words seem to spill out of my lips*
  • Me: I grab the remote and flip the tv on… channel, please? “What specifically… the tv can go anywhere with your voice.”
  • Me: the ladies are refilling their drinks, going to pee real quick
    they are coming back and getting settled… some eager to see what you are going to choose… hoping it will make you cum fast and hard.
  • he: i request nurse porn, a busty curvy woman in a stereotypical naughty nurse uniform is checking on a male patient and she is quickly discovering his cock needs attention


  • Me: on the tv… comes exactly what you describe! and the women kick off their shoes, curl their legs under them… some have removed their tops… everyone getting comfortable to watch The Show
  • Me: I get you off the leather chair and bring you to a wooden chair with a dildo attached to it… not even suction-cupped…
  • Me: I have paused the video until everyone, you included, are situated
  • he: i grin lustfully… i am eager
  • Me: I then lube your ass with my right hand… then nudge you down and center you… and say “Down, boy.”
  • he: i sit on the cock, slowly feeling it push in my hole… stretching and i moan as it enters
  • Me: a couple of the women laugh and clap and ask loudly… “And THAT is going to help you cum faster?!?!” *laugh laugh* you see them leaning over to slap each other playfully, their breasts jiggling nicely
  • he: my eyes dart from the tv to the women… it is all so much… i slowly rock back and forth impaling myself on it
  • Me: I then turn you so you can see the big screen over our heads… you squirming on that cock like my good slut
  • Me: “Okay… I have the stopwatch.”
  • he: i am moaning
  • Me: (now… for real… I want you to try and cum fast. You play with me, but when you need to go cum… just type now so I can stop time. Understood?)
  • he: (yes Mistress understood)
  • Me: *laughing and clapping delightedly* “Okay… is everyone ready?!?” the girls scream “YES!!!!!!!!!!!! Fucking get started already!”


  • Me: I turn to you… lean down… kissing you lovingly… and have the stop watch in my hand… and whisper to you: “GO.” *click of the stopwatch*
  • he: i stroke hard… fast… immediate… i’m bouncing… and stroking
  • Me: the girls are SCREAMING!!!! “GO! rock on that dick!!!! FUCKING GO! Look at him!!!”
  • he: strokes and moans
  • Me: everyone is howling, critiquing your style… “HARDER!” “FASTER!” “GRIP IT LIKE THIS!” Everyone has a comment.
  • Me: I stand next to you with the stopwatch… hand on my hip just watching
  • he: moanssssssss
  • Me: “Oh! he makes NOISES, too?!?!” *laughing and clapping all around* “C’mon SLUT!” someone yells… none of us can see nor care about the tv…
  • Me: I start tapping my foot… hand holding the stopwatch in your peripheral vision
  • he: ii stroke close
  • Me: someone screams “DAMN, I DIDN’T WIN!!!!!!!!!” “Fuck!” someone else yells… others are hollering their time is coming up… “HURRY UP!!!!!!”
  • Me: I just snicker softly… you hear me… and I now start shifting side to side… tapping my foot… hand on the stopwatch
  • he: now
  • Me: “GO!”

He disappeared for a few minutes to go orgasm. I wrote: *laughing my head off* that was fucking HILARIOUS and so much fun I can hardly stand it.


Experience Counts

I have found the longer the experience with chatting online, the more imaginative the mind. Voracious readers are also delightful to play with. It is easy for me to wend my way with and through scenarios with someone who can play with words; written jousting with intelligence and vocabulary.

Gotta go… another session starting soon!