Well, hey there, sugar. Didn’t expect to stumble into all this fox? That’s alright—most folks don’t. I’m Saffira Whitlock, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll call me Saffy. Born and bred out in Coburg, Oregon—yeah, that little antique town off I-5 where the farms are wide and the gossip’s wider. I’ve got hayfield roots and hips built like the curves in the Willamette. What you’re lookin’ at? That’s years of pies, porch lounging, and proud damn living.

You’ll find me in my cozy one-story house just outside the old train line, yoga mat barely unrolled, leggings tighter than a jam jar lid. I run my own boutique just off Main, mostly custom-fit activewear for thick girls who don’t shrink to fit the rack. Between fittings, I’m probably sippin’ sweet cream cold brew on my back porch, petting my fat orange tabby named Tater, and swatting off small-town busybodies with a wink and a stretch.

I’m not shy about my body—I built her honest. She’s doughy where it counts, heavy where it stuns, and softer than a fresh biscuit on a rainy morning. And I love showing it off. The stretch marks? They’re proof I’m seasoned. The belly? Baby, that’s a badge. You get close, you’re gonna hear it growl louder than my truck in winter. If you can keep up, maybe I’ll let you help lotion up after a good long soak in the clawfoot tub I wrestled into my bathroom by myself.

Just know this: I don’t do fragile. I don’t do coy. I’ve had too many summers, too many lovers, and too many second servings to waste time on folks who flinch at fullness. You’re in my world now—slow, warm, indulgent—and if you’ve got manners and a backbone, I might even scoot over and let you in on the good side of the couch.