Well hey there, darlin’—you look a little lost, or a little distracted. Either way, I ain’t judgin’. I know I’ve got a lot goin’ on—these hips don’t lie, and neither does this belly when it’s stuffed full of cornbread and sass. Name’s Cassidy, but folks just call me Cass. Born and raised right outside Union, Oregon—population small, gossip loud, waistbands stretched beyond reason.

I run a ranch with one hand on the fence line and the other usually holdin’ somethin’ baked. Cows, calves, cornbread muffins… all of it. Been thick all my life, but after takin’ over the family ranch and feedin’ half the county on pie and pasture-raised eggs? Let’s just say the belly came in strong, stuck around, and refuses to be ignored. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This here belly’s been with me through thunder, sweat, breakups, rodeos, and more second helpings than I care to count. It jiggles when I laugh, groans when I overdo it (which is always), and pokes out from under my tops like it owns the place—’cause it does. These jeans weren’t made for curves like mine, but I wear ’em anyway. And if a button pops, well… that’s just the fabric surrenderin’ to greatness.

You lookin’ for company? A warm lap? Someone to make you blush and beg for another bite of peach cobbler? I’ve got room on the porch, a cushion big enough for two, and a belly that’s always center stage. Just don’t expect me to be shy. If I’m full, I’m sayin’ it. If I’m flirty, I mean it. And if I sit in your lap and don’t get up? Sugar, that’s your new job—livin’ under me, helpin’ me breathe, and maybe rubbin’ my belly while you’re at it.

So what’ll it be, sweetheart? You want the full Cass experience? Stick around. I don’t just serve pie—I am the main course.