Product Description
Date (relative): Age 28
Location: Attic apartment above the Cat-Spirit Café
Current Body Snapshot: 5’9”, 303lbs; thickly muscled frame wrapped in softness—belly full, ass heavy, arms strong and full
Tails: Three now; lush and full, drifting slowly in the breeze from the open window; plum fur clean and brushed, amber belly fur warm and fragrant from bath oils
Memory Flashback
I’d just finished recording a new script—slow, teasing praise with the low, quiet voice my audience loves most. I’d squatted heavy earlier that morning, still sore in the hips and thighs, still flushed from listening to the last round of edits. The window was open, city hum outside mixing with incense smoke and the last fading note of my voice through the headphones.
I sat cross-legged on the cushion in front of the mic, belly warm and low in my lap, still damp from the shower. One hand resting on its curve, the other smoothing out fur where it had gathered in folds. The whole room smelled like honey and cedar. My phone buzzed with comments and messages I wasn’t ready to read.
It wasn’t avoidance. Just peace.
Emotional Reflections
I used to chase control like it was a job. Then I chased pleasure like it owed me something. Neither held.
Now I wake up, and my body doesn’t feel like a problem to solve. It feels like somewhere I live. Somewhere I can work, and rest, and feel things deeply without apologizing for it.
There’s still softness I didn’t plan for—belly spilling over when I sit, ass spreading wide when I squat low, sweat pooling behind my ears when the city runs too hot—but I’ve stopped treating those things like failure.
They’re part of the weight I carry. And the weight I choose.
Physical Sensations
Belly pressing outward with every breath, rounded heavy and full even hours after eating. Legs thick and solid, always touching—chafed raw some days, kissed by muscle balm the next. Back stretch from floor to ceiling after a long session, gut leading the arc. Slow flex in the mirror. Watching mass shift, settle.
Noticing. Not flinching.
The strength’s still there—deadlifts, long walks, quick hoists—but now it’s layered in cushion, padded and plush, and more responsive than it used to be. Feels lived in. Feels like mine.
Self-Talk & Lessons
I’m not finished. But I’m not hiding.
This isn’t the body I feared I’d fall into.
It’s the one I chose to grow toward.
Foreshadowing
The café below me hums with life—students, spirits, businessmen, creators. I see them on the sidewalk, coming and going with pastries and plans. Sometimes they ask about my setup, or what I do with my mornings.
I tell them I work with voice. With story. With bodies and how they want to be heard.
And I mean it.
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