Amber's first appearance: http://fatallyobese.blogspot.com/2017/02/amber-at-home-fiction.html
Amber winced as the ambulance bounced again. It had been a rough thirty minutes for her. The EMTs had been nice but her oversized body was suffering. An EMT spoke "We're here." Amber signed the paperwork and they pulled into a garage.
She was taken out and then inside. A head poked out from the security office and gave them a Look. The EMT gave it her name, and the head disappeared. It appeared again a moment later and told them, "Intake 6." The EMTs turned corners, following the signs. They moved down wide hallways, past large common areas, and as they passed the cafeteria Amber's stomach growled. They turned another corner and they were in Unit 6. The intake room was right next to the Unit 6 entrance and they turned inside. It was a big bare room with expensive medical equipment lined against a wall. Several staff members breezed inside as the EMTs set their cot up next to a medical transport stretcher with built in scale. Someone tared it. While the scale was resetting A nurse introduced herself to Amber "Hi, I'm Ruby I'll be your nurse, okay?"
The scale beeped. The hovermatt air pump was hooked up and the mattress under Amber filled with air and the eight people in the room slid her from the ambulance stretcher to the hospital bed. The air was released with a rush and the EMTs stuck around long enough to copy down the weight before they vanished. "1410 kilograms" someone mummered. The door opened and a good looking curvy woman walked in. She walked over to her and said "I'm Doctor Marlow, I'm the admitting physician. Welcome to the Farms. We're going to run down a questionnaire with you, then we'll give you a little bit of a briefing on what is going to happen and give you something to eat. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
The first questions were pretty standard questions, past surgeries, allergies, both medications and food, and then the doctor stopped. "Okay so here's where you need to be completely accurate and honest with us. Include as many details as possible. The answers to these questions are the basis for your treatment plan here. Understood?"
"Yes."
"When was the last time you left your house alone?"
"2-3 years?"
"Are you currently able to walk by yourself, without any ambulatory aids?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to stand and pivot to a wheelchair or commode alone?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to bathe yourself?"
"No."
"Can you sit up by yourself?"
"Not really. I can do it occasionally but it tires me out. Usually I use the bed remote."
"Are you currently able to clean yourself after using the toilet?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to stand by yourself?"
"No."
"Would you say you are bed confined from your weight?"
"Yes."
"Are you able to stand at all? Even with help?"
"Maybe. I couldn't stand up from the commode that's why I went to the hospital."
"It says you use a CPAP at night. Can you breath on your own when lying flat on your back?"
"Not for long. After a couple minutes it gets very difficult."
"How much food do you eat on a daily basis?"
"I..."
"Take your time and try not to miss anything."
"I drink maybe two two liter bottles of soda a day, I eat like 3 or four big meals..."
"Specify please."
"Like a big omelette for breakfast, with 4 or 5 eggs, cheese, 5 sausage links, 5 slices of bacon, and yogurt." Amber paused for thought. "Then I have snacks for the morning, it varies but a bag of chips and some candy usually. Then lunch. My husband comes home. I'll eat like a couple foot long subs, chips, and an apple or something. Usually I make him leave me with some ice cream for desert. Then for dinner it's like 5 hot dogs, or like 3/4s of a meatloaf."
"If that a typical day?"
"Yes. But there's somedays I go on binges and just can't stop eating. I ate three half pound cheese burgers the day before I went to the hospital and..." Amber was tearing up.
"Don't worry about that right now. We'll work on that. We're just trying to get an idea of how much you eat so we know how much to feed you. We don't want you to starve."
"Who is your primary caretaker?"
"My husband."
"Any children?"
"No."
"Any family members who are morbidly obese."
"My mother was, and my sister is, but she's not as big as me."
"Alright. Now we're going to do the least favorite part of the intake for every one of our new residents. We're going to clean you and give you a physical exam. It's going to be very invasive and more then likely painful. You're going to be on the bath table flat on your back but Respiratory will have you on your CPAP. We're going to be getting rather rough with you because we don't want you to bring any bacteria in that may be on your skin from the hospital."
Amber took a deep breath. "Alright."
They used the hovermatt to slid her over to the bath table. It hard durable plastic, about 8 feet wide. There were tiny holes drilled into it underneath Amber and gutters ran alongside the table to collect water. There were railings that could go up and they helped her roll onto her right side, then to her left, long enough for them to get the hovermatt out. Then they began. Under the direction of Ruby, the CBRN (Certified Bariatric Registered Nurse) they began to clean Amber. Meanwhile Dr. Marlow, had been joined by Dr. Wilcox and they began to examine every inch of Amber while the nurses cleaned. First her hair, telling her to focus on her breathing, smiling at her from behind their face masks and eye protection, disposable gowns swishings as they moved. Hair, face, chin, arms. The doctors had her do dexterity tests. The CBRN and CNAs then started with her feet. The doctors were concerned about diabetic ulcers but there were none. The wounds on her legs, where fluid had built up and her skin had split from the strain, where cleaned and redressed. They stopped and spread her legs apart gently and then two lifted her heavy double belly. Marlow immediatly began palapting around her FUPA and gave her a brief vaginal exam. The CNAs continued cleaning, the smell of the deep fat folds that hadn't been adequately cleaned in months filled the room. Doctor Wilcox examined the underside of her belly inside the folds looking for fungal infections. Once they were finished they wiped down her saddlebags and the outside of her hips, where they flowed from underneath her belly.
Amber waved to get attention and Dr. Wilcox said "Yes?"
Amber tried to talk but could only wheeze as almost all of her 650 pounds pressed on her chest.
"Say again?"
"I need to" [gasp] "piss."
Wilcox waved the CNA who was about to move her leg back to the center away. "Just go. And if you need have a bowel movement now would work too."
So she did. While the CNAs washed the surface of her belly and her breasts she emptied her bowels and her bladder onto the table, although one CNA did grab some of the urine for a urine sample. She could feel her shit smearing underneath her and against the table. When they rolled her the table and her massive ass where rinsed first then carefully washed with them forcing the massive cheeks aside to clean deeply inside.
Bathing completed they then dried her, powdered every fold, and used antifungal cream under her breasts and inside a fold on her right leg. They rolled her back onto a hovermatt, not the same one the EMTs had used, and moved her back to the transport stretcher, sitting her up. She was taken back to the Admit room. She was disconnected from the CPAP and then they started doing everything else. Labs were drawn, an EKG preformed, blood pressures taken, and lungs listened too. Then her legs were tightly wrapped to force the liquid from her legs back into her abdomin. The plan was to force it up there where it could be eliminated natrually. She was then catherized, the plastic tube stuck up her urethra and into her bladder, where it was flushed with sterile water. It was all done rapidly and with her completely nude. Finally she was covered in a massive hospital gown and the team wheeled her down the hallway. Another move and she was in a massive comfortable bariatric bed. She was rolled to get the hovermatt out from underneath her, there was another between the fitted sheet and the mattress, and left alone for a few moments to catch her breath.
A knock on the door and Doctor Wilcox, in his late 30s, tall, and muscular, with glasses and a slight stoop, walked in, tailed by a younger man carrying a tray, and shook her hand. "I'm Doctor Wilcox the Director. Welcome."
"Thank you." Amber mummered, focusing on the tray as it was placed before her. The lid was removed revealing 3 large slabs of lasagna. The young man disappeared.
"Go ahead and eat." Wilcox said with a grin. "I'll get my speech out of the way while you do. We specialize in what we call Living Large. Our goal isn't to starve you until you loose weight. We're going to start you off at quantities of food that you're used to and we'll start to scale you back. It will be healthier food then you normally eat. I find that a lot of patient's are suffering from vitamin deficiencies and we're going to give you tablets at first, but we hope to maintain healthy vitamin levels by natural means. I've got a basic plan here and we'll adjust it as we move along. Basically we want to get you out of bed, just to stand at first, and eventually to turn and pivot to a wheelchair or commode. First with assistance and then alone. We'll also start managing your health problems better then before by adjusting your medications weekly. Our long term goal is for you to walk out of here to continue your weight loss at home. All this will start tomorrow. Starting tomorrow we'll be putting you on a fluid restriction as well so we can measure urinary output. Any questions?"
Amber shook her head, still devouring the lasagna. Wilcox smiled, taking in her massive pear shaped frame one last time before heading out of the room. He was going to meet his wife for dinner.
Friday, November 10, 2017
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Wilcox Farms Introduction
Doctor Henry Wilcox had abandoned the historic family occupation of dairy farming and gone into medicine. Specifically bariatrics. As Doctor Wilcox had proceeded through his medical career he'd discovered a market niche.
Super morbidly obese people, one's who could barely walk, were immobile, or needed nursing support, were residing either at home, dependent on family with no medical training, or nursing facilities with limited bariatric experience and equipment. This resulted in increased hospitalizations of super obese patients. So Dr. Wilcox decided to open his own Residence and Nursing Facility specializing in morbidly obese patients. For insurance purposes, and because there needed to be quite a few medical professionals on site a standard Skilled Nursing Facility would never have, it was opened and classified as a subacute hospital. He could get away with it because the Center for Disease Control classified Obesity as a disease.
Since it had opened in 2005 it had done exceedingly well. Dr. Wilcox had focused his efforts on making it easier for his patients to live their day to day lives, rather then straight weight loss. In an effort to avoid patients, who'd been used to large quantities of unhealthy food for years, bringing unhealthy food in from the outside out of desperation he provided good tasting healthy food, in large quantities at first, then scaled back the amount of food slowly over time. Delicious, healthy snacks were also provided. Calories, carbs, and fats were tracked for record keeping purposes only and the diet was only incidental. Physical therapy played a huge role in his facility too. It was not unheard of for a 500lbs patient to enter his facility bed confined and leave, only 100lbs lighter but walking out.
He'd built the facility from the ground up on a corner of the family property, overlooking woods, hills, and dairy cows peacefully grazing. He was also only 20 miles from the city limits of the fattest city in his state. It started as a 50 bed facility but was soon upgraded and expanded, year after year, till he had almost 200 beds. He also had a specialized 50 bed ventilator unit (located in the original building) for bariatric vent patients, an in house operating room, ambulance bay with EMT office, and cafeteria for visitors and ambulatory patients. It also featured the largest and best bariatric showering room, a research and development office for the development of bariatric mobility devices, and outpatient services, including psychiatric, life coaching, personal finance training, and healthy cooking classes. Wilcox had realized that for many of his patients the first months or even years of their residences at his facility would be spent confined by their weight to the rooms so the rooms were comfortable, large and airy, yet warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Windows could be opened onto individual porches so the fresh country air could permiate the rooms and visitors, or ambulatory patients could step outside.
Wilcox had a secret though, a secret that only his wife (More on her later) knew. Wilcox was an FA. It was a secret because if it had been known the rising star in the American Society for Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery had been attracted to fat men and women (Wilcox is bisexual) it would have been a disaster, not only for Wilcox but for the society and all the doctors and healthcare professionals that sang his praises to their obese patients. For Wilcox his entire treatment plan, emphasising what he called "Living Large" over dramatic weight loss, was the result of his fetish.
Super morbidly obese people, one's who could barely walk, were immobile, or needed nursing support, were residing either at home, dependent on family with no medical training, or nursing facilities with limited bariatric experience and equipment. This resulted in increased hospitalizations of super obese patients. So Dr. Wilcox decided to open his own Residence and Nursing Facility specializing in morbidly obese patients. For insurance purposes, and because there needed to be quite a few medical professionals on site a standard Skilled Nursing Facility would never have, it was opened and classified as a subacute hospital. He could get away with it because the Center for Disease Control classified Obesity as a disease.
Since it had opened in 2005 it had done exceedingly well. Dr. Wilcox had focused his efforts on making it easier for his patients to live their day to day lives, rather then straight weight loss. In an effort to avoid patients, who'd been used to large quantities of unhealthy food for years, bringing unhealthy food in from the outside out of desperation he provided good tasting healthy food, in large quantities at first, then scaled back the amount of food slowly over time. Delicious, healthy snacks were also provided. Calories, carbs, and fats were tracked for record keeping purposes only and the diet was only incidental. Physical therapy played a huge role in his facility too. It was not unheard of for a 500lbs patient to enter his facility bed confined and leave, only 100lbs lighter but walking out.
He'd built the facility from the ground up on a corner of the family property, overlooking woods, hills, and dairy cows peacefully grazing. He was also only 20 miles from the city limits of the fattest city in his state. It started as a 50 bed facility but was soon upgraded and expanded, year after year, till he had almost 200 beds. He also had a specialized 50 bed ventilator unit (located in the original building) for bariatric vent patients, an in house operating room, ambulance bay with EMT office, and cafeteria for visitors and ambulatory patients. It also featured the largest and best bariatric showering room, a research and development office for the development of bariatric mobility devices, and outpatient services, including psychiatric, life coaching, personal finance training, and healthy cooking classes. Wilcox had realized that for many of his patients the first months or even years of their residences at his facility would be spent confined by their weight to the rooms so the rooms were comfortable, large and airy, yet warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Windows could be opened onto individual porches so the fresh country air could permiate the rooms and visitors, or ambulatory patients could step outside.
Wilcox had a secret though, a secret that only his wife (More on her later) knew. Wilcox was an FA. It was a secret because if it had been known the rising star in the American Society for Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery had been attracted to fat men and women (Wilcox is bisexual) it would have been a disaster, not only for Wilcox but for the society and all the doctors and healthcare professionals that sang his praises to their obese patients. For Wilcox his entire treatment plan, emphasising what he called "Living Large" over dramatic weight loss, was the result of his fetish.
Friday, October 6, 2017
How Long
NOTE: This is a complete fantasy, nothing is really supposed to be real or anything. I doubt that any human could actually live to be this big, but who knows, we may find out in a few years.
How much longer?
Some days, when I'm trying to sleep and failing, a rare occurance given how tired I constantly am I like to think. I think about my massive form lying helpless in my bed, unable to sit up, roll on my side, much less get up and walk.
As I'm thinking I think about my fat. I love my fat. The last weight we did was 1358lbs (616kg or 97 stone) but I'm sure it's over 1400 now. My massive belly, overflowing my body on both sides to rest on my hips, where the fat is spread out, although on the right it approaches the edge of the bed because my belly always hung lower on that side. My ass, which used to be very prominent, is now shapeless and flat from the years I've spent lying on it, and is also approaching the edge of the bariatric bed. My breasts droop low resting on my belly. My wrists are buried in fat, my forearms packed with flesh, and my upper arms droop. My legs are no longer definable as such, my inability to move has led to them swelling with fluid. My calves still touch even though my legs are the widest part of my body. I can't move my feet because the huge quantity of tissue down there has paralyzed my ankles. The size of my legs has forced the massive lymphodema on my right thigh off the side on the bed onto a cushion placed on a table to support it. I have several others, and they're always leaking. I'm 5'6" (66 inches) tall but my belly is 70 wide leaving me with two inches of room on the 72" wide bed.
I get aroused thinking of it and wish I was still able to pleasure myself. When He comes home he generally does it, but only after I've been a good Piggy and have stuffed myself to capacity, a number which gets higher each time. At 1400 pounds the combination of layers of flab, not to mention a sizable FUPA buried under my belly, makes sex extremely difficult. Since I'm unable to lift my massive belly at all, the caretakers have to help lifting it and gently moving my delicate legs so He can access my buried pussy and reward me for my hard work.
I wonder, how much longer will they be able to clean me? How much longer can they lift my massive rolls and roll my gargantuan frame to wash me and change my sheets? The caretakers clean me the same way, gently, and slowly, massaging lotion into each inch of my overstretched skin, and powdering every fold. They empty my urinary catheter as well as the fecal collection bag, before flushing sterile water up the tube. Since reaching my anus and urethra is such a chore with the layers of fat covering it we use the tubes and they work fairly well. They also change the oxygen cannula to keep bacteria from forming.
Which leads me to think of my health. My resting heart rate is around 120, my blood pressure in the high 190s to 200s, and that's WITH extremely strong medications to control both my heart rate and blood pressure. Even the shortest period of time without my oxygen makes me dizzy, and sometimes I require my CPAP. My cholesterol is always very high, even with multiple different pills to control it. My blood sugar requires quite an insane amount of insulin daily just to keep it within normal limits, due to my out of control diet and insulin resistant diabetes, but even with the strictest daily monitoring of my sugar levels the doctors still worry that my kidneys will be destroyed by my diabetes within a year or two requiring dialysis treatments. They also believe that my musculoskeletal system has been so damaged by my weight that even if I miraculously was able to drop my weight by say, 1200 pounds, the chances of me having a normal life, without significant confinement both to bed and a wheelchair, are very low. I take nearly 40 medications a day, from the blood pressure pills to the pain pills, insulin to nebulizers, I take practically one of everything in the pharmacy, just to keep me alive. Who knows how much longer though?
And I wonder, how much longer? How long until my heart gives out, finally overwhelmed by my diet and obesity. How much longer until my lungs can no longer expand against the pressure of my own weight? I come from a very athletic family and have a natural pulmonary and circulatory system that would be envied by professional athletes. Yet with a hundred stone of weight on my frame even my naturally superior internal systems can't survive much longer.
Generally, before I drift back to sleep, my thoughts come to a conclusion, realizing that the real question I'm asking myself is how much longer can I remain the massively obese sex and food consuming machine that I am before it kills me. Then I drift to sleep requiring only the certainty that I will consume massive amounts of carbs, and delicious trans fats tomorrow in my mind.
How much longer?
Some days, when I'm trying to sleep and failing, a rare occurance given how tired I constantly am I like to think. I think about my massive form lying helpless in my bed, unable to sit up, roll on my side, much less get up and walk.
As I'm thinking I think about my fat. I love my fat. The last weight we did was 1358lbs (616kg or 97 stone) but I'm sure it's over 1400 now. My massive belly, overflowing my body on both sides to rest on my hips, where the fat is spread out, although on the right it approaches the edge of the bed because my belly always hung lower on that side. My ass, which used to be very prominent, is now shapeless and flat from the years I've spent lying on it, and is also approaching the edge of the bariatric bed. My breasts droop low resting on my belly. My wrists are buried in fat, my forearms packed with flesh, and my upper arms droop. My legs are no longer definable as such, my inability to move has led to them swelling with fluid. My calves still touch even though my legs are the widest part of my body. I can't move my feet because the huge quantity of tissue down there has paralyzed my ankles. The size of my legs has forced the massive lymphodema on my right thigh off the side on the bed onto a cushion placed on a table to support it. I have several others, and they're always leaking. I'm 5'6" (66 inches) tall but my belly is 70 wide leaving me with two inches of room on the 72" wide bed.
I get aroused thinking of it and wish I was still able to pleasure myself. When He comes home he generally does it, but only after I've been a good Piggy and have stuffed myself to capacity, a number which gets higher each time. At 1400 pounds the combination of layers of flab, not to mention a sizable FUPA buried under my belly, makes sex extremely difficult. Since I'm unable to lift my massive belly at all, the caretakers have to help lifting it and gently moving my delicate legs so He can access my buried pussy and reward me for my hard work.
I wonder, how much longer will they be able to clean me? How much longer can they lift my massive rolls and roll my gargantuan frame to wash me and change my sheets? The caretakers clean me the same way, gently, and slowly, massaging lotion into each inch of my overstretched skin, and powdering every fold. They empty my urinary catheter as well as the fecal collection bag, before flushing sterile water up the tube. Since reaching my anus and urethra is such a chore with the layers of fat covering it we use the tubes and they work fairly well. They also change the oxygen cannula to keep bacteria from forming.
Which leads me to think of my health. My resting heart rate is around 120, my blood pressure in the high 190s to 200s, and that's WITH extremely strong medications to control both my heart rate and blood pressure. Even the shortest period of time without my oxygen makes me dizzy, and sometimes I require my CPAP. My cholesterol is always very high, even with multiple different pills to control it. My blood sugar requires quite an insane amount of insulin daily just to keep it within normal limits, due to my out of control diet and insulin resistant diabetes, but even with the strictest daily monitoring of my sugar levels the doctors still worry that my kidneys will be destroyed by my diabetes within a year or two requiring dialysis treatments. They also believe that my musculoskeletal system has been so damaged by my weight that even if I miraculously was able to drop my weight by say, 1200 pounds, the chances of me having a normal life, without significant confinement both to bed and a wheelchair, are very low. I take nearly 40 medications a day, from the blood pressure pills to the pain pills, insulin to nebulizers, I take practically one of everything in the pharmacy, just to keep me alive. Who knows how much longer though?
And I wonder, how much longer? How long until my heart gives out, finally overwhelmed by my diet and obesity. How much longer until my lungs can no longer expand against the pressure of my own weight? I come from a very athletic family and have a natural pulmonary and circulatory system that would be envied by professional athletes. Yet with a hundred stone of weight on my frame even my naturally superior internal systems can't survive much longer.
Generally, before I drift back to sleep, my thoughts come to a conclusion, realizing that the real question I'm asking myself is how much longer can I remain the massively obese sex and food consuming machine that I am before it kills me. Then I drift to sleep requiring only the certainty that I will consume massive amounts of carbs, and delicious trans fats tomorrow in my mind.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Trailer Park Love
2008:
I got the job as manager of the Wyatt Estates through my cousin, who was basically a slumlord without the intelligence to be successful at it. I was out of work at the time and the offer of free housing with a small salary and benefits was to much for a high school dropout with minimal skills.
I'd grown up in a grimy little apartment in a grimy little beach city on the coast of Connecticut. My mother was a recovering heroin addict and former prostitute who fell off the wagon and wasn't around much after I turned 7 so I was pretty much raised on fast food by my much older sister. While my metabolism could handle the poor diet her's couldn't and she was at least 350 pounds by the time I turned 16 and she turned 26. Perhaps that's where my love of large women came from. Now that's I'm an adult I realize that my sister probably ate to excess, just like her smoking, both cigarettes and marijuana, to help with the stress of being a teenager with school, a full time type job at a fast food place, and raising a younger brother. I had started working at a cruddy little gas station/convenience store, where I would stay for 8 years, and dropped out of High School to make more money, although I did eventually get a GED. In 2008 when the recession hit the gas station did poorly and 4 months before the job offer at the trailer park I came to work to discover it in flames and the owner in custody for arson.
When I accepted the job for my cousin I had been out of work and borderline homeless since the my last job had gone up in smoke. My sister was in Bridgeport with a husband, twin babies, and a nice job as an assistant manager at a grocery store. I did odd jobs until my cousin called me up. Apparently the old manager had been arrested in a neighboring town selling stolen property. If you're getting the impression this wasn't the classiest of locations you'd be correct. I of course moved my belongings into the manager's single wide, located on the edge of the estate. It was pretty well hidden with trees and bushes on three sides and the office facing the driveway on the other.
The day after I moved in I was practically deluged in irritated tenants angry about everything from structural and plumbing problems to complaints about the tenants in 4SW. Apparently they had loud parties with people going in and out all night. I fixed holes in floors, cleared clogged drains, discovered the residents in 8NW had weed growing behind their place, and that the tenants at 10NE never walked their trash to the dumpsters.
I was wrapping up work on the wheelchair ramp to 12SE where a rather formidable woman lived with a severely disabled adult son. They had arrived back from somewhere by wheelchair van as I finished, and as I threw my tools into the back of the beat to hell club cart we used when I saw her. I hadn't seen her before.
She was Latina, 5'5" tall, and at least 350lbs. She was standing in the doorway of 11SE, wearing stretched leggings and a too small tee shirt that let her belly escape and flop over the top of her waistband. She had wide hips and big saggy boobs. She waddled out and I revised my estimate. At least 400. She was carrying a small child, maybe one year old, and waddled slowly down the four stairs to the level road and then waddled across. She ignored me and I forced my eyes down to my tool box. I looked up again though after she passed to see a beautiful round ass. The leggings were too small and the top of her ass crack showed as she slowly climbed the wheelchair ramp to knock on 12SE's door.
I made a point of looking up the resident of 11SE. It was occupied by a Regina Gomez and son. She was my age, 24, and behind on the rent several months worth. I flipped through the rest. One payment was delayed, but that address was also listed in the vacation ledger for the next two weeks, so I had been assuming they'd forgotten to pay before leaving. There were two others, one was the woman with the disabled son in 12SE and the other was the man in 5NE. The back cover had a single sheet of note paper, presumably for my cousin, One "12SE. Ejecting a disabled tenant is bad press." Two, "5NE, has 3 kids, and has been working around the park to help pay his rent." Three, "11SE, single mom with a sick baby and no where to go, what am I supposed to do throw her out!?" The note was clearly old and the entries had been made at different times, considering the 5NE one was in a different colored ink. I flipped back to the book. 12SE had payed her rent for this month, 5NE had paid a reduced amount and I'd seen a slip with his hours of work put in there, but11SE hadn't paid anything. I grinned impishly, and the next morning I grabbed the book and walked down the court to the southeastern road and then went to 11.
When she answered she was panting and sweating. She was wearing a too small shirt that exposed her midriff, which displayed stretchmarks, new and old, before running into her pants. Behind her heat rolled out of the trailer along with a stale dirty smell, a mix of sweat and stale cigarettes. I asked if I could come in and talk about the rent. She became very nervous and quiet. She waddled back inside the sweltering trailer, unfortunately these pants fit better then the ones from before, and sat in an huge armchair covered in an old sheet. I sat on a kitchen chair facing her.
It was messy but not like a hoarder house. It had been properly baby proofed and there weren't any bugs, or excessive dirt around. Several ashtrays were full of cigarettes. The packs read American Legend, the cheapest cigarettes locally available. She picked up the cigarette and asked "what about it?
"It's late" I said "I understand you have a child but surely you can arrange childcare for them for a few hours a day. We can work something out, a reduction in rent..." I trailed off.
She'd been watching me closely, and I'd been watching her. Watching the sizeable belly slopping inside her pants, her nice, but no where near as grand as her ass, breasts, large and saggy inside her shirt. She smiled at me. "I do some work for the woman across the road, but she only pays me $15 a day. I think we can work out another arrangement, help me up." I stood and she grasped my hand with a small fat and moist hand pulled herself to her feet and pulled off her top. She didn't have a bra on. She grabbed me and pulled me close. I had about 6 inches on her and I got hard against her belly as she kissed my chest.
We wound up in the back bedroom with her massive ass in the air while she gasped and wheezed like a stuck pig and I slammed into her watching the beautiful ass ripple with each thrust. The smell of sweat and general unwashed fat person were stronger, but even that added to the sexiness. Both of us came and I more or less fell onto her soft form. She scrabbled for a pack of cigarettes and I light her cigarette before placing one of my camels in my own mouth. The baby started crying in the other room and she waddled out, still naked, to deal with him. I dressed.
The next day I began reinforcing the floor under my single wide my placing cinderblocks underneath it hoping against hope.
Present:
I was in the office when my cell phone rang. "Come over here I need to take a piss."
I left the office and crossed through the small yard to the trailer zigzagging around my stepson's bike. That's what I called him anyway, since we were married in all but name and walked up the concrete stairs and walked in.
She was propped up on the bariatric bed. She'd prepared by putting her cannula in her nose, and I pulled her legs to the floor while she pushed herself to the edge of the bed. She put her left hand on the bed rail and I pulled up with my left hand while she braced herself on my right and pushed. All 650+ pounds of glorious obesity stood and she waddled the five steps to the commode leaning on her walker. She urinated and then I helped her to her feet. She leaned on the walker and bent over, exposing the much wider, somewhat flatter, but still glorious expanse of flesh in front of me. I wiped quickly and then caressed it as she slowly stood up and waddled to the bed. She slumped into it. "Before you go would you mind getting me some chips, and maybe a soda or something?" she asked between breaths.
I left her with three bags of chips and a 2 liter of Coke before crossing the yard. I paused outside the door to let my erection subside again and went back to work, hoping to finish before our kids returned from school so I could "ride the whale" as she called it.
I got the job as manager of the Wyatt Estates through my cousin, who was basically a slumlord without the intelligence to be successful at it. I was out of work at the time and the offer of free housing with a small salary and benefits was to much for a high school dropout with minimal skills.
I'd grown up in a grimy little apartment in a grimy little beach city on the coast of Connecticut. My mother was a recovering heroin addict and former prostitute who fell off the wagon and wasn't around much after I turned 7 so I was pretty much raised on fast food by my much older sister. While my metabolism could handle the poor diet her's couldn't and she was at least 350 pounds by the time I turned 16 and she turned 26. Perhaps that's where my love of large women came from. Now that's I'm an adult I realize that my sister probably ate to excess, just like her smoking, both cigarettes and marijuana, to help with the stress of being a teenager with school, a full time type job at a fast food place, and raising a younger brother. I had started working at a cruddy little gas station/convenience store, where I would stay for 8 years, and dropped out of High School to make more money, although I did eventually get a GED. In 2008 when the recession hit the gas station did poorly and 4 months before the job offer at the trailer park I came to work to discover it in flames and the owner in custody for arson.
When I accepted the job for my cousin I had been out of work and borderline homeless since the my last job had gone up in smoke. My sister was in Bridgeport with a husband, twin babies, and a nice job as an assistant manager at a grocery store. I did odd jobs until my cousin called me up. Apparently the old manager had been arrested in a neighboring town selling stolen property. If you're getting the impression this wasn't the classiest of locations you'd be correct. I of course moved my belongings into the manager's single wide, located on the edge of the estate. It was pretty well hidden with trees and bushes on three sides and the office facing the driveway on the other.
The day after I moved in I was practically deluged in irritated tenants angry about everything from structural and plumbing problems to complaints about the tenants in 4SW. Apparently they had loud parties with people going in and out all night. I fixed holes in floors, cleared clogged drains, discovered the residents in 8NW had weed growing behind their place, and that the tenants at 10NE never walked their trash to the dumpsters.
I was wrapping up work on the wheelchair ramp to 12SE where a rather formidable woman lived with a severely disabled adult son. They had arrived back from somewhere by wheelchair van as I finished, and as I threw my tools into the back of the beat to hell club cart we used when I saw her. I hadn't seen her before.
She was Latina, 5'5" tall, and at least 350lbs. She was standing in the doorway of 11SE, wearing stretched leggings and a too small tee shirt that let her belly escape and flop over the top of her waistband. She had wide hips and big saggy boobs. She waddled out and I revised my estimate. At least 400. She was carrying a small child, maybe one year old, and waddled slowly down the four stairs to the level road and then waddled across. She ignored me and I forced my eyes down to my tool box. I looked up again though after she passed to see a beautiful round ass. The leggings were too small and the top of her ass crack showed as she slowly climbed the wheelchair ramp to knock on 12SE's door.
I made a point of looking up the resident of 11SE. It was occupied by a Regina Gomez and son. She was my age, 24, and behind on the rent several months worth. I flipped through the rest. One payment was delayed, but that address was also listed in the vacation ledger for the next two weeks, so I had been assuming they'd forgotten to pay before leaving. There were two others, one was the woman with the disabled son in 12SE and the other was the man in 5NE. The back cover had a single sheet of note paper, presumably for my cousin, One "12SE. Ejecting a disabled tenant is bad press." Two, "5NE, has 3 kids, and has been working around the park to help pay his rent." Three, "11SE, single mom with a sick baby and no where to go, what am I supposed to do throw her out!?" The note was clearly old and the entries had been made at different times, considering the 5NE one was in a different colored ink. I flipped back to the book. 12SE had payed her rent for this month, 5NE had paid a reduced amount and I'd seen a slip with his hours of work put in there, but11SE hadn't paid anything. I grinned impishly, and the next morning I grabbed the book and walked down the court to the southeastern road and then went to 11.
When she answered she was panting and sweating. She was wearing a too small shirt that exposed her midriff, which displayed stretchmarks, new and old, before running into her pants. Behind her heat rolled out of the trailer along with a stale dirty smell, a mix of sweat and stale cigarettes. I asked if I could come in and talk about the rent. She became very nervous and quiet. She waddled back inside the sweltering trailer, unfortunately these pants fit better then the ones from before, and sat in an huge armchair covered in an old sheet. I sat on a kitchen chair facing her.
It was messy but not like a hoarder house. It had been properly baby proofed and there weren't any bugs, or excessive dirt around. Several ashtrays were full of cigarettes. The packs read American Legend, the cheapest cigarettes locally available. She picked up the cigarette and asked "what about it?
"It's late" I said "I understand you have a child but surely you can arrange childcare for them for a few hours a day. We can work something out, a reduction in rent..." I trailed off.
She'd been watching me closely, and I'd been watching her. Watching the sizeable belly slopping inside her pants, her nice, but no where near as grand as her ass, breasts, large and saggy inside her shirt. She smiled at me. "I do some work for the woman across the road, but she only pays me $15 a day. I think we can work out another arrangement, help me up." I stood and she grasped my hand with a small fat and moist hand pulled herself to her feet and pulled off her top. She didn't have a bra on. She grabbed me and pulled me close. I had about 6 inches on her and I got hard against her belly as she kissed my chest.
We wound up in the back bedroom with her massive ass in the air while she gasped and wheezed like a stuck pig and I slammed into her watching the beautiful ass ripple with each thrust. The smell of sweat and general unwashed fat person were stronger, but even that added to the sexiness. Both of us came and I more or less fell onto her soft form. She scrabbled for a pack of cigarettes and I light her cigarette before placing one of my camels in my own mouth. The baby started crying in the other room and she waddled out, still naked, to deal with him. I dressed.
The next day I began reinforcing the floor under my single wide my placing cinderblocks underneath it hoping against hope.
Present:
I was in the office when my cell phone rang. "Come over here I need to take a piss."
I left the office and crossed through the small yard to the trailer zigzagging around my stepson's bike. That's what I called him anyway, since we were married in all but name and walked up the concrete stairs and walked in.
She was propped up on the bariatric bed. She'd prepared by putting her cannula in her nose, and I pulled her legs to the floor while she pushed herself to the edge of the bed. She put her left hand on the bed rail and I pulled up with my left hand while she braced herself on my right and pushed. All 650+ pounds of glorious obesity stood and she waddled the five steps to the commode leaning on her walker. She urinated and then I helped her to her feet. She leaned on the walker and bent over, exposing the much wider, somewhat flatter, but still glorious expanse of flesh in front of me. I wiped quickly and then caressed it as she slowly stood up and waddled to the bed. She slumped into it. "Before you go would you mind getting me some chips, and maybe a soda or something?" she asked between breaths.
I left her with three bags of chips and a 2 liter of Coke before crossing the yard. I paused outside the door to let my erection subside again and went back to work, hoping to finish before our kids returned from school so I could "ride the whale" as she called it.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Pinned By Lard - Henri
Henrietta was tired. She'd just worked a 12 hour day shift at a long term care/skilled nursing facility. Henri, as she was called by her boyfriend, the love of her life, was 29, about 5'3" tall, 180 pounds, and not very attractive. Her breasts were small, droopy, and shapeless, her face plump, pale, with acne scaring, and dark rings around her eyes. Her hair was always messy looking, and she smoked around two packs of cigarettes a day which gave her a raspy smokers voice and a chronic cough. Her best asset was her butt but it's large curvy shape of a few years ago was gone leaving it to look wide, flabby, and droopy.
Their rundown looking townhouse occupied the middle of the block. In the front window two window units hummed. Henri took a deep drag off of her cigarette and unlocked the door. The warm humid air and the familiar smell washed over her.
In the dim smog, lit by only a couple lights and the TV, she observed Eric, huge, immobile, sexy Eric. He was lying, as always, in bed, his massive body splayed around him, pinning him to the bed in what used to be the dining room. Currently he was taking short sporadic drags on a cigarette, another bad habit of his. Sweat beaded his forehead and she could smell urine through Eric's ever present BO. She stepped up to the bed grinding her cigarette out into the full ashtray just as Eric, with a final gasp, expelled the last of the smoke, stubbed his out, and carefully replaced his cannula in his nose. "How are you dear?" She asked and they kissed. She put her arms around his neck feeling her breasts pressing into his huge soft chest. He didn't reciprocate, his arms had long since gotten to heavy for him to go to the effort required hug her in return at that angle, where there was no support for the weight of his arm flab. As she released him he smiled at her, exposing his yellow teeth and said "Hungry."
She laughed. "You're always hungry."
He laughed back breathlessly. "Damn right Henri."
Henri headed to the kitchen and grabbed a container of cookies. She brought them to him and then asked "Do you still need to pee or can I clean you up?"
Through a mouthful of cookie he replied "I could piss."
Henri stepped across to the beautiful built in china cabinets, now full of various care products.The one on the left was full of bathroom care supplies. Henri pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed a urinal and extra disposable chux pad. She stepped back across and pushed Eric's belly up. She pulled the used Chux pad out and then bracing the underside of his belly with her arm forced his FUPA back until she found his penis, uselessly buried inside his fat pad. She pressed the urinal against it and Eric emptied his bladder. Henri capped the urinal and quickly wiped down the area to prevent infection.
Henri dumped the urinal into the toilet and then got into the shower. She bathed herself as quickly as possible, changed into sweat pants and a tee shirt and started dinner. As soon as the chicken was out of the fridge she grabbed two bags of chips and a bottle of soda and walked it into Eric to give him something to snack on while she prepared dinner. Fried chicken and french fries tonight, along with the nearly dozen medications Eric took at night.
Henri ate her comparatively small portion in the kitchen while Eric devoured his in his bed, scarfing at the pile of chicken and fries. Henri finished and began the dishes. She stepped into Eric's room and found him looking satisfied, with grease on his face and hands, lighting his after dinner cigarette. She gathered the dishes and he breathlessly thanked her. Henri smiled the warm feeling of pleasing Eric filling her stomach. She started the dishwasher and stepped back into Eric's room. She opened one of the cabinets, got Eric's breathing treatment out, and filled the nebulizer. While Eric's lungs were bathed in medication to open them up so he could breathe, Henri filled a bucket with warm water, gathered the soup and bed pan and then headed back into Eric's room.
Eric hated this part of the day. His intestines were shot, so overloaded with fat that they had trouble moving his shit. They were helped somewhat by a large dose of laxatives. Every night after he was full and his breathing treatment was finished he would be rolled onto his side. Henri would remove the chux pads from his butt crack and he would roll onto his back again and start bearing down. Usually it wasn't to difficult but it was the hardest physical exercise he did all day. After he had emptied his bowels he then had to roll back on his side so Henri could remove the waste and clean him up. After she cleaned up his waste she then washed down his back quickly. He'd roll back to where he belonged and she'd do a quick wash and dry.
Henri watched Eric's back roll away from her. A mound of shit lay piled in the bed pan. She removed it and began cleaning his backside and back. She dried it quickly and he rolled back onto his back. Using the bed remote he raised his head so he could breathe properly. His face was red and he was wheezing. Eric took a washcloth and washed the surface of his form as far as he could reach while Henri worked up from his legs. Then she tackled the folds and crevices. Just a quick wipe and dry. Then she powdered inside his folds to try to keep it somewhat dry to prevent infection. Last she helps his use urinal again and cleans his fat pad and as much of his penis as she can find. Henri replaced the powder in the bathing supplies cabinet, carried the bucket to the bathroom and dumped it. She stripped off her pants and shirt and returned to Eric's room with more food and soda. It is understood that this is her time. She places the food on Eric's table, puts the soda in the fridge, and then takes off her panties and bra.
She climbs naked into Eric's bed and lays against him. Eric feels himself grow hard deep underneath all his folds. He drapes a huge fat arm across her shoulders and cups one of her breasts. Henri sighs. No words are exchanged. Eric switches the TV over to HGTV, her favorite network, and she snuggles in closer to him pressing as much of her curvy body into his soft flesh as possible. Sometimes she gets out lotion and tenderly lotions and massages his body. But tonight she's to tired. She lights a cigarette and takes a drag, the smoke and nicotine warming her insides. She finishes the cigarette and falls asleep next to Eric, head leaning on his shoulder.
Their rundown looking townhouse occupied the middle of the block. In the front window two window units hummed. Henri took a deep drag off of her cigarette and unlocked the door. The warm humid air and the familiar smell washed over her.
In the dim smog, lit by only a couple lights and the TV, she observed Eric, huge, immobile, sexy Eric. He was lying, as always, in bed, his massive body splayed around him, pinning him to the bed in what used to be the dining room. Currently he was taking short sporadic drags on a cigarette, another bad habit of his. Sweat beaded his forehead and she could smell urine through Eric's ever present BO. She stepped up to the bed grinding her cigarette out into the full ashtray just as Eric, with a final gasp, expelled the last of the smoke, stubbed his out, and carefully replaced his cannula in his nose. "How are you dear?" She asked and they kissed. She put her arms around his neck feeling her breasts pressing into his huge soft chest. He didn't reciprocate, his arms had long since gotten to heavy for him to go to the effort required hug her in return at that angle, where there was no support for the weight of his arm flab. As she released him he smiled at her, exposing his yellow teeth and said "Hungry."
She laughed. "You're always hungry."
He laughed back breathlessly. "Damn right Henri."
Henri headed to the kitchen and grabbed a container of cookies. She brought them to him and then asked "Do you still need to pee or can I clean you up?"
Through a mouthful of cookie he replied "I could piss."
Henri stepped across to the beautiful built in china cabinets, now full of various care products.The one on the left was full of bathroom care supplies. Henri pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed a urinal and extra disposable chux pad. She stepped back across and pushed Eric's belly up. She pulled the used Chux pad out and then bracing the underside of his belly with her arm forced his FUPA back until she found his penis, uselessly buried inside his fat pad. She pressed the urinal against it and Eric emptied his bladder. Henri capped the urinal and quickly wiped down the area to prevent infection.
Henri dumped the urinal into the toilet and then got into the shower. She bathed herself as quickly as possible, changed into sweat pants and a tee shirt and started dinner. As soon as the chicken was out of the fridge she grabbed two bags of chips and a bottle of soda and walked it into Eric to give him something to snack on while she prepared dinner. Fried chicken and french fries tonight, along with the nearly dozen medications Eric took at night.
Henri ate her comparatively small portion in the kitchen while Eric devoured his in his bed, scarfing at the pile of chicken and fries. Henri finished and began the dishes. She stepped into Eric's room and found him looking satisfied, with grease on his face and hands, lighting his after dinner cigarette. She gathered the dishes and he breathlessly thanked her. Henri smiled the warm feeling of pleasing Eric filling her stomach. She started the dishwasher and stepped back into Eric's room. She opened one of the cabinets, got Eric's breathing treatment out, and filled the nebulizer. While Eric's lungs were bathed in medication to open them up so he could breathe, Henri filled a bucket with warm water, gathered the soup and bed pan and then headed back into Eric's room.
Eric hated this part of the day. His intestines were shot, so overloaded with fat that they had trouble moving his shit. They were helped somewhat by a large dose of laxatives. Every night after he was full and his breathing treatment was finished he would be rolled onto his side. Henri would remove the chux pads from his butt crack and he would roll onto his back again and start bearing down. Usually it wasn't to difficult but it was the hardest physical exercise he did all day. After he had emptied his bowels he then had to roll back on his side so Henri could remove the waste and clean him up. After she cleaned up his waste she then washed down his back quickly. He'd roll back to where he belonged and she'd do a quick wash and dry.
Henri watched Eric's back roll away from her. A mound of shit lay piled in the bed pan. She removed it and began cleaning his backside and back. She dried it quickly and he rolled back onto his back. Using the bed remote he raised his head so he could breathe properly. His face was red and he was wheezing. Eric took a washcloth and washed the surface of his form as far as he could reach while Henri worked up from his legs. Then she tackled the folds and crevices. Just a quick wipe and dry. Then she powdered inside his folds to try to keep it somewhat dry to prevent infection. Last she helps his use urinal again and cleans his fat pad and as much of his penis as she can find. Henri replaced the powder in the bathing supplies cabinet, carried the bucket to the bathroom and dumped it. She stripped off her pants and shirt and returned to Eric's room with more food and soda. It is understood that this is her time. She places the food on Eric's table, puts the soda in the fridge, and then takes off her panties and bra.
She climbs naked into Eric's bed and lays against him. Eric feels himself grow hard deep underneath all his folds. He drapes a huge fat arm across her shoulders and cups one of her breasts. Henri sighs. No words are exchanged. Eric switches the TV over to HGTV, her favorite network, and she snuggles in closer to him pressing as much of her curvy body into his soft flesh as possible. Sometimes she gets out lotion and tenderly lotions and massages his body. But tonight she's to tired. She lights a cigarette and takes a drag, the smoke and nicotine warming her insides. She finishes the cigarette and falls asleep next to Eric, head leaning on his shoulder.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Pinned By Lard - Introduction
Eric, age 30, lay in his bed breathing heavily. Around him the detritus of his day lay scattered. He was in what was formerly the ground floor dining room of a small townhouse, Eric was completely immobile, pinned to his bed by his enormous obesity. Three months ago he'd managed to briefly stand on a scale and it had put his weight at 800lbs even. A week later he'd tried to stand again and been unable to do so. Eric's life expectancy with his weight and health issues was 37 years old.
Eric's body was a shapeless blob. His feet were swollen with fat, his thighs and shins swollen with lyphedema. His hands and arms were weighed down with so much excess adipose tissue that even lifting his hand to his mouth, his only true physical exercise, was a workout. His belly was massive, sitting on his thighs, it would have reached to his knees if he could have stood, covered in stretch marks and discolored skin. His "moobs" perched on top, with a thick layer of excess tissue circling under his arms to his back. Underneath his massive belly his "fat pad" had completely swallowed his penis. His head was sunk into his chest, and his face was completely shapeless. Pale, blotchy, with dark circles under his eyes. He kept his head shaved, and a nasal cannula ran from the oxygen cylinder in the corner of the room, to his shapeless nose. If he were to roll over his back would feature rolls of fat and his buttocks would be a mere shapeless mass of flesh.
Eric had given into the inevitable. He'd allowed his already precarious health to deteriorate completely. Instead of the health of a 30 year old his health was worse then many people three times his age. His list of medical conditions included High Blood Pressure, Rapid Heart Rate, Type 2 Diabetes, Sleep Apnea, Asthma, Gout, Osteoarthritis, Congestive Heart Failure, Lymphedema, Obesity Hypoventilation Syndrome, COPD/Emphysema, fatty liver disease, and Cellulitis. His blood pressure was chronically high, averaging at 170/90, (Normal 120/80) his resting pulse was around 90-100 beats per minute (Normal is 80 BPM) and even on 3 liters per minute of oxygen being delivered through his nasal cannula his blood oxygen level in his extremities hovered around 89-90% (Normal 95%-100%) due to his pack to two pack a day smoking habit and perfusion problems. His diabetes which was barely controlled by his medications was putting stress on his kidneys and his liver was so overloaded with fat that it was 50% functional or even less.
Eric's skin, overstretched by his obesity, was an additional constant source of issues for Eric. It was discolored and stretched so tight that if to much pressure was put on any part of it it could tear. Since his body weight had climbed faster then his skin could keep up so his fat was pressed into his body cavity, putting pressure on his internal organs. This led to increased difficulty breathing, as his diaphragm and lungs fought to expand against his own fat, decreased bladder capacity as the pressure onto the organ forced urine either back up into his kidney's or down his urethra. He had constipation issues due to high fat content in the organ itself and pressing against it from the outside.
Eric's challenges were not limited to the physiological. Unable to walk he was confined to a bed for everything. His girlfriend, Henrietta, who he called Henri, had to bathe him there and take care of his bodily functions too. Both were a challenge. For defecation if Henri was there he could roll on his side, roll back, and use a bed pan. If she wasn't he would simply go onto a chux pad that had been tucked into his rolls to try to create some sort of a diaper for him. For urination Henri would force the rolls of fat aside until she got to his penis, and he would go into a male urinal, Henri would then dry any urine that had dribbled from his useless dick into his fat folds. On the occasions she wasn't there he went into a chux pad, folded into his fat pad to hold it's position.
Cleaning Eric was a problem because Henrietta had to work 40-50 hours a week as a nursing assistant, Eric, who really should have been cleaned well daily with special attention to his folds, was bathed completely and totally, only about twice a week. Daily Henri would clean every crevice and surface around his ass and fat pad, but for everything else she could only do a quick wash, dry, and powder. Twice a week, on her days off, she would fill several buckets with soapy water, pile up a bunch of towels, and get to work, digging gloved hands deep into his folds, applying copious amounts of baby powder, and then massage lotion every inch of Eric's massive form. Eric hated these days but accepted them as a necessary evil to keep the stench, bacteria, and fungal infections at bay.
Eric smelled. Bad. Especially in summer Eric would smell bad as the oppressive heat overwhelmed the small window units that cooled his room. Because Eric's gargantuan form produced tons of heat and sweat, Eric was constantly hot and sweaty. The sweat, coupled with difficulties cleaning up after he used the bathroom, the enclosed space of the room, the smoke from his cigarettes, and the garbage he accumulated, added up to quite the smell. Henri had built up an immunity to it, but an outsider would have been knocked flat on their back.
Of course Eric's weight wouldn't have been a problem if it hadn't been for his eating. Eric always ate three large meals a day. But someday's he would eat only those three meals, sometimes he would eat breakfast, snack slowly through to lunch, (grazing) eat lunch, and slowly snack through to dinner. But sometimes he would stuff himself for hours, eating everything he could, wheezing through full mouthfuls, as his body struggled to keep pace with his colossal appetite. Henri always kept tons of snacks and liquids within Eric's reach because when "the hunger," as she jokingly referred to it, struck, he could eat pounds of food. For a while she kept track of the calories he consumed in a day. At the very least he consumed about 3'000, in the big meals she cooked for him. On those days he smoked 30-40 cigarettes, painstakingly removing his oxygen and trying to breath without it for each one. On his bad days he would smoke almost nothing but once consumed nearly 80'000 calories worth of snacks and soda. Henri would come home and find that the floor was covered in wrappers, empty chip bags, crumbs, empty soda bottles, and Eric, lying wheezing and gasping, covered in crumbs and stains, rubbing his belly.
Eric's body was a shapeless blob. His feet were swollen with fat, his thighs and shins swollen with lyphedema. His hands and arms were weighed down with so much excess adipose tissue that even lifting his hand to his mouth, his only true physical exercise, was a workout. His belly was massive, sitting on his thighs, it would have reached to his knees if he could have stood, covered in stretch marks and discolored skin. His "moobs" perched on top, with a thick layer of excess tissue circling under his arms to his back. Underneath his massive belly his "fat pad" had completely swallowed his penis. His head was sunk into his chest, and his face was completely shapeless. Pale, blotchy, with dark circles under his eyes. He kept his head shaved, and a nasal cannula ran from the oxygen cylinder in the corner of the room, to his shapeless nose. If he were to roll over his back would feature rolls of fat and his buttocks would be a mere shapeless mass of flesh.
Eric had given into the inevitable. He'd allowed his already precarious health to deteriorate completely. Instead of the health of a 30 year old his health was worse then many people three times his age. His list of medical conditions included High Blood Pressure, Rapid Heart Rate, Type 2 Diabetes, Sleep Apnea, Asthma, Gout, Osteoarthritis, Congestive Heart Failure, Lymphedema, Obesity Hypoventilation Syndrome, COPD/Emphysema, fatty liver disease, and Cellulitis. His blood pressure was chronically high, averaging at 170/90, (Normal 120/80) his resting pulse was around 90-100 beats per minute (Normal is 80 BPM) and even on 3 liters per minute of oxygen being delivered through his nasal cannula his blood oxygen level in his extremities hovered around 89-90% (Normal 95%-100%) due to his pack to two pack a day smoking habit and perfusion problems. His diabetes which was barely controlled by his medications was putting stress on his kidneys and his liver was so overloaded with fat that it was 50% functional or even less.
Eric's skin, overstretched by his obesity, was an additional constant source of issues for Eric. It was discolored and stretched so tight that if to much pressure was put on any part of it it could tear. Since his body weight had climbed faster then his skin could keep up so his fat was pressed into his body cavity, putting pressure on his internal organs. This led to increased difficulty breathing, as his diaphragm and lungs fought to expand against his own fat, decreased bladder capacity as the pressure onto the organ forced urine either back up into his kidney's or down his urethra. He had constipation issues due to high fat content in the organ itself and pressing against it from the outside.
Eric's challenges were not limited to the physiological. Unable to walk he was confined to a bed for everything. His girlfriend, Henrietta, who he called Henri, had to bathe him there and take care of his bodily functions too. Both were a challenge. For defecation if Henri was there he could roll on his side, roll back, and use a bed pan. If she wasn't he would simply go onto a chux pad that had been tucked into his rolls to try to create some sort of a diaper for him. For urination Henri would force the rolls of fat aside until she got to his penis, and he would go into a male urinal, Henri would then dry any urine that had dribbled from his useless dick into his fat folds. On the occasions she wasn't there he went into a chux pad, folded into his fat pad to hold it's position.
Cleaning Eric was a problem because Henrietta had to work 40-50 hours a week as a nursing assistant, Eric, who really should have been cleaned well daily with special attention to his folds, was bathed completely and totally, only about twice a week. Daily Henri would clean every crevice and surface around his ass and fat pad, but for everything else she could only do a quick wash, dry, and powder. Twice a week, on her days off, she would fill several buckets with soapy water, pile up a bunch of towels, and get to work, digging gloved hands deep into his folds, applying copious amounts of baby powder, and then massage lotion every inch of Eric's massive form. Eric hated these days but accepted them as a necessary evil to keep the stench, bacteria, and fungal infections at bay.
Eric smelled. Bad. Especially in summer Eric would smell bad as the oppressive heat overwhelmed the small window units that cooled his room. Because Eric's gargantuan form produced tons of heat and sweat, Eric was constantly hot and sweaty. The sweat, coupled with difficulties cleaning up after he used the bathroom, the enclosed space of the room, the smoke from his cigarettes, and the garbage he accumulated, added up to quite the smell. Henri had built up an immunity to it, but an outsider would have been knocked flat on their back.
Of course Eric's weight wouldn't have been a problem if it hadn't been for his eating. Eric always ate three large meals a day. But someday's he would eat only those three meals, sometimes he would eat breakfast, snack slowly through to lunch, (grazing) eat lunch, and slowly snack through to dinner. But sometimes he would stuff himself for hours, eating everything he could, wheezing through full mouthfuls, as his body struggled to keep pace with his colossal appetite. Henri always kept tons of snacks and liquids within Eric's reach because when "the hunger," as she jokingly referred to it, struck, he could eat pounds of food. For a while she kept track of the calories he consumed in a day. At the very least he consumed about 3'000, in the big meals she cooked for him. On those days he smoked 30-40 cigarettes, painstakingly removing his oxygen and trying to breath without it for each one. On his bad days he would smoke almost nothing but once consumed nearly 80'000 calories worth of snacks and soda. Henri would come home and find that the floor was covered in wrappers, empty chip bags, crumbs, empty soda bottles, and Eric, lying wheezing and gasping, covered in crumbs and stains, rubbing his belly.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Video Series
In which a woman dying of her obesity documents it with her FA husband
Video One - Introduction
Lena lay in the massive bed exhausted. She'd spent the day drinking soda and struggling to the bariatric commode only a few steps away way almost to much for her. Her hand went unconsciously to the box next to her and she started consuming the slice of pizza. She gulped another swallow of soda and glanced out the window. Outside rain gushed down. A breeze blew in the open window bringing a chill and she shivered. Her massive frame quivered.
Lena weighed about 600 pounds. She was long past caring. Her daily life was an endless cycle of food, struggling to move, and catnaps with actual sleep at night. She was on a dozen different medications and was constantly hungry. Today as she finished the last pizza and listened to the rain drumming outside and she realized that she was dying. Slowly yes, but faster then she should be at her age.
Lena was not turned on by her size. She was accepting of it and too lazy to make a change. She decided, purely to herself, to create a youtube page and blog to tell her story. Within 15 minutes she had a plan laid out on her laptop.
Her husband came home and found her sitting up in bed looking more lively then she had for days. Todd was a Chemist and secretly turned on by his wife's incredible weight and, even more secretly, her health issues.
"What's going on sweetie?" He asked his incredulous face taking in the unopened bag of chips on the bed next to her, the other unopened containers of saturated fats that fed her during the day he was at work and the only partially completed pack of cigarettes.
Lena looked up at him her eyes sparkling. "Todd" she breathed heavily "I had a great idea. First though," She paused for breath, "I'm dying from all this fat, you'll admit that right."
Todd sat down in a chair facing the bed his penis growing hard. "Darling you're always perfect to me."
Lena rolled her eyes "Physically Todd my weight is killing me. Literally. My blood pressures high, my sugars are messed up, I can't move without oxygen, my organs are buried in fat and are failing, and my heart never drops below a hundred beats a minute. I'm fucking DYING."
Todd said "Look if you want to get healthy..."
"Todd I'm done for. In three years you'll be single. Less. But I want your help creating a video series and youtube channel and website to warn people about being so fat."
Todd clicked. "Alright but you know that show my 600lbs life? Maybe we could get you..."
"No Todd." Lena said "I don't want to change I just want to make my mark on the world."
VIDEO ONE:
"Hello everyone" Lena said "My name is Lena and I am super morbidly obese. I'm so obese that it's killing me. This isn't a cry for help its a warning to you, loose weight and shape up." Todd panned the camera over her massive frame. Her calves, thick and red from exertion and fluid build up, her thighs, thick as Todd's waist, with folds, and covered in cellulite, with a bandage on the right one where her overstretched skin had burst. Her legs as a unit had been deformed as her weight had given her knock knees sending her legs off at the sides. Her butt was squashed flat as the bottom layer of blubber. Her belly, the biggest asset was in two folds, the bottom liquid one covering her pelvis and the top one overflowed at the sides and perched on top. Her belly button had been pushed off center by the massive amount of tissue in her abdomen. Her gut was carpeted in stretch marks, old and new, and the underside of her belly was the brown color of toughed chaffed skin. Her breasts were tucked up and covered by a sheet.
Lena continued "I'm going to be posting videos on how I live, if you an call it living, at this size, and what little life hacks my husband and I have discovered to help me survive."
They watched as it uploaded and then went to bed not expecting very much.
But out there in the world of the internet a person with a certain type of woman stumbled onto the video and posted it to a certain page where a bunch more people watched it.
Video One - Introduction
Lena lay in the massive bed exhausted. She'd spent the day drinking soda and struggling to the bariatric commode only a few steps away way almost to much for her. Her hand went unconsciously to the box next to her and she started consuming the slice of pizza. She gulped another swallow of soda and glanced out the window. Outside rain gushed down. A breeze blew in the open window bringing a chill and she shivered. Her massive frame quivered.
Lena weighed about 600 pounds. She was long past caring. Her daily life was an endless cycle of food, struggling to move, and catnaps with actual sleep at night. She was on a dozen different medications and was constantly hungry. Today as she finished the last pizza and listened to the rain drumming outside and she realized that she was dying. Slowly yes, but faster then she should be at her age.
Lena was not turned on by her size. She was accepting of it and too lazy to make a change. She decided, purely to herself, to create a youtube page and blog to tell her story. Within 15 minutes she had a plan laid out on her laptop.
Her husband came home and found her sitting up in bed looking more lively then she had for days. Todd was a Chemist and secretly turned on by his wife's incredible weight and, even more secretly, her health issues.
"What's going on sweetie?" He asked his incredulous face taking in the unopened bag of chips on the bed next to her, the other unopened containers of saturated fats that fed her during the day he was at work and the only partially completed pack of cigarettes.
Lena looked up at him her eyes sparkling. "Todd" she breathed heavily "I had a great idea. First though," She paused for breath, "I'm dying from all this fat, you'll admit that right."
Todd sat down in a chair facing the bed his penis growing hard. "Darling you're always perfect to me."
Lena rolled her eyes "Physically Todd my weight is killing me. Literally. My blood pressures high, my sugars are messed up, I can't move without oxygen, my organs are buried in fat and are failing, and my heart never drops below a hundred beats a minute. I'm fucking DYING."
Todd said "Look if you want to get healthy..."
"Todd I'm done for. In three years you'll be single. Less. But I want your help creating a video series and youtube channel and website to warn people about being so fat."
Todd clicked. "Alright but you know that show my 600lbs life? Maybe we could get you..."
"No Todd." Lena said "I don't want to change I just want to make my mark on the world."
VIDEO ONE:
"Hello everyone" Lena said "My name is Lena and I am super morbidly obese. I'm so obese that it's killing me. This isn't a cry for help its a warning to you, loose weight and shape up." Todd panned the camera over her massive frame. Her calves, thick and red from exertion and fluid build up, her thighs, thick as Todd's waist, with folds, and covered in cellulite, with a bandage on the right one where her overstretched skin had burst. Her legs as a unit had been deformed as her weight had given her knock knees sending her legs off at the sides. Her butt was squashed flat as the bottom layer of blubber. Her belly, the biggest asset was in two folds, the bottom liquid one covering her pelvis and the top one overflowed at the sides and perched on top. Her belly button had been pushed off center by the massive amount of tissue in her abdomen. Her gut was carpeted in stretch marks, old and new, and the underside of her belly was the brown color of toughed chaffed skin. Her breasts were tucked up and covered by a sheet.
Lena continued "I'm going to be posting videos on how I live, if you an call it living, at this size, and what little life hacks my husband and I have discovered to help me survive."
They watched as it uploaded and then went to bed not expecting very much.
But out there in the world of the internet a person with a certain type of woman stumbled onto the video and posted it to a certain page where a bunch more people watched it.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Amber At Home - (Fiction)
Amber glared up at the 4 men and a woman clustered around her. One was her husband, Frank, and he looked worried. She wanted to smack him. He should know what was going on, hell everyone there except him knew it. The EMTs knew it. She could see it in their eyes.
Her husband had called Julian Ambulance directly because the surrounding neighbors were used to them by now. Last week it had been for severe back pain. The week before had included 4 days of transports counting one to the doctor, a doctor who'd despaired of her health and wrote prescriptions to try to extend her useless life. Today she couldn't get off the toilet. Well not the toilet she hadn't sat on that porcelain monstrosity in over 3 years. It was her bariatric commode. She had know this day would come ever since she'd given up on loosing weight 2 years back and had watched her health get worse.
Simply she was too fat to stand up. Her body couldn't support her weight. In fact she was amazed she'd made it to the commode. She'd barely been able to take the three steps. She'd urinated and tried to pull herself up with her walker but her legs wouldn't obey. She'd waited a minute, taking deep breaths through her nasal cannula and tried again. She'd gotten her husband in and they'd tried but it was no use. So now the EMTs, all of them looked to be slightly younger then she was at 30. One of them, a sandy haired guy who needed a hair cut and a shave, crouched down to get to her eye level. "So we're going to help you stand up. Do you think you can pivot?"
Amber, still catching her breath took a deep breath in through her nasal cannula sucking oxygen through the thin plastic. "No." She said.
The EMT nodded. "Ok. We're going to stand you up, move the commode, and slide the cot behind you in it's place."
Amber didn't like that. Sitting, with her mass of flesh at rest was bad enough she didn't even want to think about getting to her feet. But she had no choice. Three of the EMTs braced themselves. One took her hands and the other two got under each arm with their gloved hands. She bit her lip and their hands dug into her overstretched sensitive skin compressing the fat of her upper arms. Frank got a hold of the commode and on a three count she tried to push off the floor. The EMTs pulled her to her feet and she stood there gasping her knees, ankles, hips, and back filled with shooting pain. She felt her nipples harden. Her knees were on the verge of giving out as the scrapping of the commode being dragged back came through and she felt the stretcher of the metal bump into the back of her thighs. She slowly collapsed backwards wheezing. Everyone took a break and then she was helped into a lying down position with her two swollen legs as close together as possible. The EMTs strapped her tightly to the cot so she didn't lean to one side. Her oxygen got switched over and she was taken outside.
One of the EMTs opened the back of the ambulance pulling out a sort of claw. It was a "powerload" which, according to the companies website, could lift a total of 700lbs. The hydraulic lift raised her inside with two EMTs helping lift, and they headed for the hospital.
Propped up in bed, her folds washed and dried, she tried not to cry. Frank was currently talking with a doctor outside and as usual she felt so guilty that she'd put him through this. Instead of living in a wonderful house on his salary he made as a lawyer they lived in a small bungalow with the living room converted to a sick room with a bariatric hospital bed, oxygen concentrator, commode, and piles of supplies with his paycheck going to the massive expense of keeping her alive.
The doctor turned leaving Frank by himself. Frank had given to doctor the impression he was a dimwitted enabler who didn't have the heart to deny his wife anything she wanted. Which was another reason he suspected the doctor was recommending this. He probably figured some separation would help Frank get out from being an enabler. Guilt knawed at him. Unknown to everyone Frank was incredibly turned on by his wife's increasing helplessness and, yes, he could admit it to himself, impending death. To Frank the unhealthier his wife was the better.
The doctor left the room and Amber lay stunned. Congestive Heart Failure? But how! It was controlled, she was taking numerous water pills, she shouldn't be having this problem. But she knew it was what the doctor had said. Her uncontrolled diet was causing liquid retention causing increased pressure on her heart and lungs and swelling in her legs. They wanted to move her to a Nursing Home for rehab. Mostly to control her diet. She hated the thought of controlled intake, no, she thought, not hated, FEARED, not getting food when she felt hungry. Nevertheless that was how it was going to be. Frank hugged her and she started crying. At age 32 all 641 pounds of her were being admitted to a nursing home.
Her husband had called Julian Ambulance directly because the surrounding neighbors were used to them by now. Last week it had been for severe back pain. The week before had included 4 days of transports counting one to the doctor, a doctor who'd despaired of her health and wrote prescriptions to try to extend her useless life. Today she couldn't get off the toilet. Well not the toilet she hadn't sat on that porcelain monstrosity in over 3 years. It was her bariatric commode. She had know this day would come ever since she'd given up on loosing weight 2 years back and had watched her health get worse.
Simply she was too fat to stand up. Her body couldn't support her weight. In fact she was amazed she'd made it to the commode. She'd barely been able to take the three steps. She'd urinated and tried to pull herself up with her walker but her legs wouldn't obey. She'd waited a minute, taking deep breaths through her nasal cannula and tried again. She'd gotten her husband in and they'd tried but it was no use. So now the EMTs, all of them looked to be slightly younger then she was at 30. One of them, a sandy haired guy who needed a hair cut and a shave, crouched down to get to her eye level. "So we're going to help you stand up. Do you think you can pivot?"
Amber, still catching her breath took a deep breath in through her nasal cannula sucking oxygen through the thin plastic. "No." She said.
The EMT nodded. "Ok. We're going to stand you up, move the commode, and slide the cot behind you in it's place."
Amber didn't like that. Sitting, with her mass of flesh at rest was bad enough she didn't even want to think about getting to her feet. But she had no choice. Three of the EMTs braced themselves. One took her hands and the other two got under each arm with their gloved hands. She bit her lip and their hands dug into her overstretched sensitive skin compressing the fat of her upper arms. Frank got a hold of the commode and on a three count she tried to push off the floor. The EMTs pulled her to her feet and she stood there gasping her knees, ankles, hips, and back filled with shooting pain. She felt her nipples harden. Her knees were on the verge of giving out as the scrapping of the commode being dragged back came through and she felt the stretcher of the metal bump into the back of her thighs. She slowly collapsed backwards wheezing. Everyone took a break and then she was helped into a lying down position with her two swollen legs as close together as possible. The EMTs strapped her tightly to the cot so she didn't lean to one side. Her oxygen got switched over and she was taken outside.
One of the EMTs opened the back of the ambulance pulling out a sort of claw. It was a "powerload" which, according to the companies website, could lift a total of 700lbs. The hydraulic lift raised her inside with two EMTs helping lift, and they headed for the hospital.
Propped up in bed, her folds washed and dried, she tried not to cry. Frank was currently talking with a doctor outside and as usual she felt so guilty that she'd put him through this. Instead of living in a wonderful house on his salary he made as a lawyer they lived in a small bungalow with the living room converted to a sick room with a bariatric hospital bed, oxygen concentrator, commode, and piles of supplies with his paycheck going to the massive expense of keeping her alive.
The doctor turned leaving Frank by himself. Frank had given to doctor the impression he was a dimwitted enabler who didn't have the heart to deny his wife anything she wanted. Which was another reason he suspected the doctor was recommending this. He probably figured some separation would help Frank get out from being an enabler. Guilt knawed at him. Unknown to everyone Frank was incredibly turned on by his wife's increasing helplessness and, yes, he could admit it to himself, impending death. To Frank the unhealthier his wife was the better.
The doctor left the room and Amber lay stunned. Congestive Heart Failure? But how! It was controlled, she was taking numerous water pills, she shouldn't be having this problem. But she knew it was what the doctor had said. Her uncontrolled diet was causing liquid retention causing increased pressure on her heart and lungs and swelling in her legs. They wanted to move her to a Nursing Home for rehab. Mostly to control her diet. She hated the thought of controlled intake, no, she thought, not hated, FEARED, not getting food when she felt hungry. Nevertheless that was how it was going to be. Frank hugged her and she started crying. At age 32 all 641 pounds of her were being admitted to a nursing home.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Introduction
This blog is on the subject of extreme obesity. Rather then ignoring the dark aspects of SSBBW Fetishism this blog wallows in it. This blog contains both Fiction and Non Fiction Material. If you don't want to be here, if this isn't your thing and you don't want to know don't go further.
To Everyone: Presume all content is 18+/Adult Only and Not Safe For Work. All posts are about people who are adults. Submitting any images, videos, fiction, or anything that could be taken for child pornography will be you banned and reported. I understand I'm screwed in the head but I'm not that screwed in the head and if you are please go elsewhere.
If you are curious (As in not into the fetish but learning) about the fetish in general or health problems faced by the obese, morbidly obese, and super morbidly obese, welcome. I'm sure there will be few of you. If it's not tagged fiction and tagged Information in the title and you're looking for information then it's what you're looking for. Remember everything on here is my own opinion.
If you are a BBW/SSBBW/BHM/SSBHM welcome. Once again information will have (Information) in the title. Fiction will have (Fiction) in the title. Please please please if you have personal experience, advice for other people, or anecdotes please leave a comment. If we get anything interesting I'll copy and paste your comment and repost it with (Comment -SSBBW/SSBHM) in the title. Please sign your comment with whatever one you identify as: BBW/SSBBW/BHM/SSBHM.
If you are a fellow fetisher welcome. Feel free to comment and submit your stories or anecdotes. I know this is the bottom of the page but this blog is for you.
Thank you for your time. Enjoy
To Everyone: Presume all content is 18+/Adult Only and Not Safe For Work. All posts are about people who are adults. Submitting any images, videos, fiction, or anything that could be taken for child pornography will be you banned and reported. I understand I'm screwed in the head but I'm not that screwed in the head and if you are please go elsewhere.
If you are under 18 (Or not an adult yet in your home country) I understand you may be curious or have the impulse to click through but I don't want to corrupt you or be responsible for your parents/guardians discovering something you don't want them too. Instead email your questions or comments to me here: bbwsinthewild@gmail.com.
Obviously I can't stop you from clicking through but I've given you an alternative so now it's up to you.If you are curious (As in not into the fetish but learning) about the fetish in general or health problems faced by the obese, morbidly obese, and super morbidly obese, welcome. I'm sure there will be few of you. If it's not tagged fiction and tagged Information in the title and you're looking for information then it's what you're looking for. Remember everything on here is my own opinion.
If you are a BBW/SSBBW/BHM/SSBHM welcome. Once again information will have (Information) in the title. Fiction will have (Fiction) in the title. Please please please if you have personal experience, advice for other people, or anecdotes please leave a comment. If we get anything interesting I'll copy and paste your comment and repost it with (Comment -SSBBW/SSBHM) in the title. Please sign your comment with whatever one you identify as: BBW/SSBBW/BHM/SSBHM.
If you are a fellow fetisher welcome. Feel free to comment and submit your stories or anecdotes. I know this is the bottom of the page but this blog is for you.
Thank you for your time. Enjoy
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