Living Life to the Full – Gastric and Gorgeous
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Like 99% of contemporary people, I have been doing the dance with addiction my whole life (yes, I’m looking at you wine mum). I have always loved food – the delicious satisfaction and treat of eating it, as well as that comforting full feeling that sends you into a trance. Looking around at how Orca-overweight everyone is as they waddle down the street, exemplifying 21st century over-abundance, it is clearly one of the most powerful highs around. But like most addiction spikes, nothing is ever quite enough. There is always a gap to be filled, a longing for more, more, more. Nothing ever fills me to satisfaction or is one-and-done.

Let’s not get into the cray cray of my sweet tooth. Start me on a bowl of fluffy chocolate mousse or a mint chocolate Magnum and my brain flicks the switch to ‘crackhead’ faster than you can say ‘celebrity chef’.

Now if I was pulling bongs and welfare in the Blue Mountains, then I’d be buying my magnums in bulk at CostCo. Who cares, right? But I am in the business of being a goddess, as much for my own personal satisfaction as professional pride. I love content creation and want to send my modeling into the stratosphere. I want to burn it up on Only Fans. I want a gorgeous hot body, and I just can’t get there with a puffy stomach. I’m skinny-fat. Overall I have a great silhouette but there are pockets of fat and weak areas. You can still get fat on a Size 10 body. But the world has taught me well: I can have a better life at 64 kilos than 74.

So how do I pull this off? I’m a busy career girl who can’t be bothered exercising like an elite athlete. When you’re younger, your metabolism is on fire and God, did I take it for granted. Now I have to workout like The Rock to get the same results, and I don’t want to be exhausted. My calendar fills up, I struggle with willpower… Bottom line: daily workouts ain’t going to happen. Also, my bookkeeper worked out that I spend 50k a year on food, beverage and lazy-pig UberEats nights. If I ate clean and mean, it would be $200 a week and 10k a year, more online with my frugal plans to spend smarter.

So I am torn between the gourmet piggy side of life and having a stunning model body. I am so sick of the headfuck, which takes precious mental real estate. My brain should be a sanctuary. I want an optimal body and mental state. I want freedom from the tough slog of doing it the hard way, and yes, I want to look and feel amazing.

So I decided to get a 10K procedure that stops ALL THIS INSANITY. Gastric Surgery.

I needed to impose body limits once and for all that would limit my capacity to overeat. To replace the faulty gatekeeper in my head with a hard external limit that stops me from literally fitting the food in my stomach.

I started small with a gastric balloon that takes up stomach space. It’s like a huge grapefruit, and actually looks like a breast implant filled with water. It must be my destiny to have weird and wonderful things inserted into me!

After horrendous nausea and 13 hours of dry retching, I had an exhausting few days while my body was trying to reject the gastric balloon. 7K later and I realised that it isn’t quite extreme enough. I can now eat small amounts to maintain weight and not struggle, but I’m still not going to push that weight down to diva levels.

Time to go to Turkey.

I am now going to commit and get Gastric Band surgery so I can’t overeat. I should have done this decades ago. In Australia, you practically have to be Brendan Fraser in The Whale to get it done. Your BMI has to be 27. In Turkey? Care Factor: zero. In the Australian system, obesity occupies the whole market: the fatties get every kind of gastric surgery on a plate. But everyone else on the weight spectrum is happy with their weight either. There’s a whole world waiting for you if you look a certain way: smoking. I think medecine should help everyone.

I never originally intended to do porn at this stage, or be booked out solid. But here I am. I need the life that comes with being fabulous, and want to be a nimble, exemplary escort. If this weight is not going to cut it and the balloon is a no-go, then off to Turkey I go. I think of my spirit porn animal, Aletta Ocean. What would she do? Go get it sorted. Aletta eats life for breakfast.

When I am spoiled and taken for dinner, lavished with the cheeseboard and the wine, I want to enjoy a sample – then shut my mouth. When surgery gives you a tiny tummy, a few delicious mouthfuls gives you the same feeling of happiness as the Sizzler buffet with bacon bits, and I don’t have to suffer the consequences.

I have eaten it all and drunk it all. Now, I want to make beautiful content to beat off to. See you on the other side. There is an even more taut, tight version of Christine McQueen coming your way. You lucky bastards.