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Description
You have a fetish for girls wearing three-stripe adidas nylon track pants or polyester wind pants.

You've had this fetish since you were a preteen. It's been driving you crazy since.

Now in your thirties, you have the disposable income to do something in secret that you'd be ostracized for if anybody you know found out. You pay women to wear these kinds of pants and then merely hang out with them for a few hours. That's it; your intent is not nefarious. You don't make any kind of sexual advances or physical contact. You simply take in the swishy sound, the reflection of the material, how it hugs the body's curves.

You do enjoy the texture of the pants, too, but you consider asking to rub a stranger's leg or butt as going too far. That's borderline prostitution, whereas paying somebody to enjoy their company is perfectly fine.

Your posting isn't super popular. You're certain many women who read it probably think you're a creep and pass up. You've received a few prank calls on your burner phone, and you showed up at a restaurant or two only for a guy to be there waiting for you. You didn't let these obstacles stop you, though. Every few months, you'd have a good session, and those good times motivated you to keep at it.

You hung out with all sorts of girls and never turned any away as long as they wore pants that met your criteria. You weren't doing this for their body; you're doing this to see these pants in motion. They're practically working as your personal by-the-hour model.

You eventually reached a breaking point. Your desire for these pants escalated to the point where you wish you could be the pants or maybe even be inside the pants with its wearer. You feverishly searched the dark corners of the Internet for anything to help satisfy this new itch. Obviously, neither of these desires could be realized in actuality, so you had to find some other medium. Right?

That is until you learned about cannigirlism. "How can this be real?" you wonder. "If it is real, how am I only learning about this now?"

You edited your posting. Instead of "looking for woman," you wrote "looking for cannigirl." You offered a lifelong salary to incentivize whoever ate you to continue to wear track or wind pants whenever they can. You didn't expect anybody to ever reach out to you about this deal. You still didn't think cannigirls are real.

But then, after only a few days, She did.

She didn't reveal too much personal information. Not even her name. She said you'd learn everything there is to know about her throughout your lives together. She highlighted some advantages of choosing her. Since she works from home full-time as a software quality assurance engineer, it doesn't matter what clothes her bottom half. She could wear your favorite pants all day, every day. She mentioned using this new passive income to buy an ever-increasing wardrobe of track and wind pants that meet your standards. She sent a photo of her current pants selection and asked which pair you'd like her to wear on your "Assimilation Day." She seemed perfect.

And when you finally met her, you thought she was kind of cute, too. This is a win-win! You gawked at her maroon track pants, which caused her to giggle. She thought your child-like astonishment was kind of cute.

On the roof of an empty parking garage, the both of you shook hands, hugged, and then she ate you.

Description
You have a fetish for girls wearing three-stripe adidas nylon track pants or polyester wind pants.

You've had this fetish since you were a preteen. It's been driving you crazy since.

Now in your thirties, you have the disposable income to do something in secret that you'd be ostracized for if anybody you know found out. You pay women to wear these kinds of pants and then merely hang out with them for a few hours. That's it; your intent is not nefarious. You don't make any kind of sexual advances or physical contact. You simply take in the swishy sound, the reflection of the material, how it hugs the body's curves.

You do enjoy the texture of the pants, too, but you consider asking to rub a stranger's leg or butt as going too far. That's borderline prostitution, whereas paying somebody to enjoy their company is perfectly fine.

Your posting isn't super popular. You're certain many women who read it probably think you're a creep and pass up. You've received a few prank calls on your burner phone, and you showed up at a restaurant or two only for a guy to be there waiting for you. You didn't let these obstacles stop you, though. Every few months, you'd have a good session, and those good times motivated you to keep at it.

You hung out with all sorts of girls and never turned any away as long as they wore pants that met your criteria. You weren't doing this for their body; you're doing this to see these pants in motion. They're practically working as your personal by-the-hour model.

You eventually reached a breaking point. Your desire for these pants escalated to the point where you wish you could be the pants or maybe even be inside the pants with its wearer. You feverishly searched the dark corners of the Internet for anything to help satisfy this new itch. Obviously, neither of these desires could be realized in actuality, so you had to find some other medium. Right?

That is until you learned about cannigirlism. "How can this be real?" you wonder. "If it is real, how am I only learning about this now?"

You edited your posting. Instead of "looking for woman," you wrote "looking for cannigirl." You offered a lifelong salary to incentivize whoever ate you to continue to wear track or wind pants whenever they can. You didn't expect anybody to ever reach out to you about this deal. You still didn't think cannigirls are real.

But then, after only a few days, She did.

She didn't reveal too much personal information. Not even her name. She said you'd learn everything there is to know about her throughout your lives together. She highlighted some advantages of choosing her. Since she works from home full-time as a software quality assurance engineer, it doesn't matter what clothes her bottom half. She could wear your favorite pants all day, every day. She mentioned using this new passive income to buy an ever-increasing wardrobe of track and wind pants that meet your standards. She sent a photo of her current pants selection and asked which pair you'd like her to wear on your "Assimilation Day." She seemed perfect.

And when you finally met her, you thought she was kind of cute, too. This is a win-win! You gawked at her maroon track pants, which caused her to giggle. She thought your child-like astonishment was kind of cute.

On the roof of an empty parking garage, the both of you shook hands, hugged, and then she ate you.